#yb fanfic

[yandere-to-express]

The wrong cranium

Gender neutral

Part 4

"He won't eat pickles," the harried mother said, one hand carrying a baby and the other feeding french fries to the bigger child, one by one, the grease coating all five fingers, bringing a dull, worn shine to the wrinkling skin, the blood-red lacquered nails. Her claws embedded into the crispy yellow sticks, she carried the great haul en-mass into the maw of the child, which opened languorously to accept the filial offering.

You could not avert your gaze from the repulsive sight. Your hands, which are holding a palm-sized notepad and a cheap dollar store pen, had gone stiff, shaking, holding back violent urges you had never felt before.

"I understand," you murmur robotically, letting yourself cling to the walls of your skin. Your hand writes down something. "I will bring a replacement."

"Wonderful," the mother praises. "What a good employee. Did you hear that, Tom? Don't cry anymore."

The child's eyes are hazy, his face slack except for the mouth. Tear tracks are lining his cheeks, but they have already gone dry and salty. You note, with a shiver going through you, that there is mucus leaking out of his nostrils, which means there will be used napkins left on the table. Please, put it in the plate. Put it in the plate. Put it in the plate, with the other messes.

"Sure thing," you talk aloud, not addressing anyone.

Absentminded, you make your way back to the kitchen. The line cook, Hannah, takes one look at you and grabs your notepad, skimming the orders and doing her work without a word of complaint or a whisper of friendliness. The notepad is stuffed back in your hands, and you're left to stand alone on the door threshold. The skin all over you has pebbled in aggression, the feeling astringent against your psyche.

You un-tense your shoulders, swallowing it down. How long has it been? All day, all you could do was watch the outside wistfully, tracking the shades of blue behind clouds drifting in and out. Darker and deeper it went, but never dark enough, never changing hue to the lovely orange that awaited the end of day. Your uniform has grown damp and saggy around your figure too. As a sweat drop drips down your temple, you notice the rigid curve of your spine, vertebrae packed tightly together.

No wonder. You feel smaller. The work has worn you down in more ways than one. You look down at your hands— and see your wrist bones, jutting out. Your veins are swollen under your skin, and when you turn them over, you can watch the visible proof of your pulse, desperate with each pump, blue and green intertwined.

Thump.

You trace it down your inner arm, dipping into your elbow. It jumps inside your bicep, like the whimper of a wound.

Thump.

Inside your neck, it climbs to your skull. You tilt your head back, unblinking, staring at the tiled ceiling and the sharp fluorescent light overhead, staring back at you. Dark flowers bloom in your vision.

…Thump.

Your neck cracks, bringing relief. You inhale, but the process is chopped. It clings to your throat before surrendering, disappearing into your lungs; you feel its function distinctly with every motion. Your chest rises almost exaggeratedly, and caves in with equal fanfare through every breath. Mechanical. A step in the algorithm.

It's a slow coming realization, impeded by exhaustion: there's no instinct to your body. It moves, it acts, but it doesn't know. It obeys you. But it doesn't obey as it has done for the past decades you've had it. It obeys because it's yours, because you know it should do certain processes in the background of your daily life. It's pure, unknowing, a blank slate of renewal and reduction both.

"It's not empty," you whisper. "I'm not empty. I'm okay."

A clatter draws your attention away. In the other room, TK is helping Hannah prepare orders, which reminds you of the hours and hours left of your shift. You hurry over to help them and deliver the dishes to their respective buyers, taking payments and receiving new orders. Cleaning abandoned tables.

In one, you stop in your tracks.

The slimy napkin you dreaded to death is sitting alone in the middle of the table. You can feel the disgusting paws of the sullen child all over it, soaked into the very air it is surrounded by.

Utilizing a second napkin, you pick it up. Drop it in the plate. Done, you tell yourself, wishing away the trembling. It's over.

You go back to the kitchen. You carry perhaps a dozen plates in one weak hand, though it doesn't quiver— it doesn't have the energy to. They're put beside the sink, just like every other dish that's passed into your hands. Without hesitation (but with a certain resignation) you start washing. Rinse, soap up, scrub, rinse. Metal wool, sometimes. Extra soap for grease. Twist furiously inside the mouths of cups, then let the frothing tap water outpour down the rims, bathing your hands dull beige.

As the water keeps running, you look at the vortex above the drain and exhale.

Chest caves in, rises back up.

It's dark inside. You can see the hint of dark, murky green, laden with moss or something worse that you cannot imagine, but you don't look away.

It's so… unending. You visualize a round, wide-open mouth in its place, and think of the amount gulped down its gullet. You cannot calculate it (too tired, too uninterested) but it makes you freeze and stare a little more intently. How parched, how hungry would you need to be, to consume so wholeheartedly?

You move the cup aside to see it more clearly. The drain keeps working, and the water keeps going, and the smell of wet metal wafts over to you. The vortex, over time, loses its color, then its lines…

Then its sound.

The drain is dark and quiet. There's no telling what lies inside it, but you know. You don't need to see to know, bu̟t̰ ̫y͙o͍̼u̻̪ ̠g̤a͎z̡e into its dept̶h̸s̶,̷ ̴d̸o̶w̵n̷,̴ ̵d̶o̷w̴n̶ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̷p̶i̵p̴e̴,̸ ̶a̶n̸d̸ ̷s̵q̴u̸i̷s̴h̶̢͍e̶͚ḑ̸ ̷̳i̸̭̱n̴̦��s̸̫̞i̵͚̠d̶̢ę̷ͅ ̴̣t̵̗̰h̶͔ę̸ ̸̩ț̷̘i̷̩g̷̪͉h̷͎t̵͎ ̶̖t̶͚̣u̴̢n̶̻ͅn̴͓e̵͖l̷̠̬s̷̢ ̶͜a̶̟ṋ̸̪d̴̘͓ ̷̖l̶̖̼a̴̺b̴͈̖y̷̥͙r̷̮̙i̶̙̼n̵̬̦t̵͉h̶̻̞i̶̫ṇ̴̱e̴̫ ̵͎̻n̶̮ḛ̸t̷̗̣w̸̠o̴͓r̷͓k̷͇ ̷̼̩o̵̢ͅf̴͇͜ ̸̡n̶͉o̴̡̞t̶̢̖h̵̥̝i̵̗n̸͍g̵̣̹n̸̫e̸͈͇s̴̯s̶̟̲,̴̼ ̶̲y̶̥o̴͉̫u̷̖̼ ̸͚f̶̖̩e̴ͅe̵̠̜l̷̤̹ ̴̰i̵̯t̵̮ ̴̧͎p̵̱u̴͉l̵͎̥s̴̨͍̖͉̤i̸̞̞ͅn̵̞̤g̸̖̘,̴̪̱̭̝ ̴͖c̶̮͔͕͜o̴̘̰̳̖n̸͔s̵̺̳t̷̗̩r̷̲̭̖͜i̵̩̜̯c̴̡̡̣̪ͅt̴̡͍͇ͅį̵̹͓̙n̶͇̼͎g̴̤̥̠̬.̸͚̘͎̤̼ ̸͖̦͔̗D̵̨̡̼̳r̷͕̗̣͖̜a̵̜̼g̶͙͍̫̤g̴̠̣̲ͅi̶̤̯̝̭͜n̵̨̬̠g̷̨̢͈͔̭ ̵̹̬̩̤̮d̵̡͍̺ͅͅȩ̷̳̣e̷̡̞̩p̴̝̲̳̪e̸̡̳r̴̖̯ͅ,̵̫̘̤̩ ̴̙̞͖̣̝f̶̢̡̼̼͇e̵̙͕̝̤e̷̗͈͕͍ḑ̶̜̭̝̮i̷̼͉̜̪ṉ̵͚ģ̶͍̼ ̴̱̟͙o̴̫n̵͚͉ ̸̡̦͉y̷̯o̶̢͕̣̲u̶̟͓—̷̢

01101000 01110101 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01110100 01100001 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01110100 01100001 01101001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101001 01101110 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110011

||SAVE//:01100110 01100101 01100001 01110010||

You stumble back with a desperate, raspy inhale, your chest rising and stuttering in motion. Curled inward, you watch the running sink, the shards of a broken cup crunching beneath your feet.

Some animals eat their prey whole, don't they?

You shudder, sinking to your knees, uncaring for the shattered ceramic. The sharpness sinks into your skin, but doesn't break. Like how play-dough cannot be hurt, because it's not meant to be. You repeatedly and rapidly attempt to restart your breathing process, but something is not responding. The respiratory structures and organs below your neck aren't working.

There's no air. Why are you so calm?

You try to wheeze for a breath. It doesn't work. If anything, it's complicating your work. You try harder. It resists harder. You cannot breathe, you cannot breathe— you drag your hands along the floor where you're lying on your knees, thinking you could crawl away to safety.

"Hey."

You hear a voice, saying your name. It puts a new knot in your throat.

"Are you there? I heard—"

The door opens to let in TK, their eyes searching and worried. When they spot you, they are quick to run to your side.

"Oh my God," they whisper, horrified. Their hands hover for a moment, snapping left and right like they can't decide what to do, and then settle behind you, clutching your shoulder and rubbing your back. "Hey—" Your name, spilling so easily out of their lips. "Come on, calm down, it's okay. You're okay. I— Follow my breathing, okay?"

You stare at them with dead eyes, and unwilling flesh. Nevertheless, they narrow their eyes determination, and begin making their chest move. It rises, rib cage flaring, diaphragm flattening, blood rushing, and you try to follow the rhythm.

A wheeze of air passes through.

"That's it," TK encourages, voice alike a sob, as if mirroring your utter anguish. "The muscles tighten, air comes in… And they soften, air goes out."

Their chest falls back, pulse calming down. You can hear it moving inside them, the friction of bone and ligaments, and the relief of air, blooming into blood.

Your lungs let go. Air passes through, out, and when you breathe next, it goes in as it's supposed to, without error or stubbornness.

TK relaxes. "Yeah. Just like that. You're a natural, aren't you? Passed with flying colors." There's a placid, but worn lull in the atmosphere. "Are you okay?"

Are you ever? You manage a small nod, not trusting your voice— to not crackle or to not burst into wails, no idea which. You've never felt such a wild, discomfiting mix of emotions before; things that have no right lingering close had suddenly tangled together, all without your consciousness noticing.

You imagined that this is how a newborn baby, just out of the womb, would feel. Overwhelmed. Frightened. Lonely, yet not. Out of control, but simultaneously in control for the first time of its existence.

You settled on 'overwhelmed.'

"Good," TK replied, rubbing your back a bit more. "Wait, let me get you some water—"

They stood up to get it, carefully side-stepping the ceramic shards. You should probably ask them not to, but you couldn't even muster the strength to lift your head, so you couldn't protest when TK held the cup tilted for you, matching the flow to the speed of your gulps.

"Dehydration worsens everything," they said. "I remember my mom nagging me about it. She never let me leave the house without drinking a tall glass of water, and the habit stuck. Once I got into college and had my first taste of freedom, I decided I'd cut myself some slack and relax on routine."

"Didn't work?"

TK snorted. "Nope."

They took the cup and washed it at the sink. You remembered that your job won't wait for you, and the customers won't either, so you attempt to stand up… only to flinch away at the sound of clattering shards, falling from your limbs.

TK turns to look at you, but you can only stare at the debris and your unscathed arms. The fragments aren't safe— their edges are sharp, glinting like chef's knives spread out before stove fire, but despite this, as you turn your forearms over and back, you can only see unmarred flesh, without any scarring visible.

What the fuck happened to me, you think.

You were fine this morning. There was no complicated existence to panic about. While you sat beside Peter and talked about nothing, everything felt as pleasant as can be. And here you were now, frozen in fear. Unable to finish even one waiter shift because you were too busy stressing about a defective body.

"Hey," TK calls out to you, "I think you should clock out now."

"Huh?" You can't. The shift's not over yet. And in the game, wasn't today exceptionally busy? You couldn't leave TK to handle it alone— well, technically you could, but you'd feel guilty. You don't want to get used to someone picking up the slack for you, because there was a very real chance that you'd snowball down that rabbit hole.

"Thanks, TK, but I don't wanna push my luck today," you said, kneeling down, and started to collect the shards by the handful. If they didn't hurt you, why not use it to your advantage?

"Jesus— don't just scoop them up! Use a broom at least, what if you get hurt?"

"It's fine, they aren't sharp."

TK didn't seem convinced, but let you clean the mess anyway, taking over dish washing duty instead. You were grateful for that. You didn't know what looking at the drain again would do, and you intended to avoid that fate for as long as you could. Collecting all the fragments on your apron, you dropped them into the trash bin and swept the remaining dust off, rushing out to collect orders and clean tables.

 

 

All day, you slaved away in the restaurant; cleaning, serving, dealing with idiots. While you worked, you did your best to hold yourself together, to keep your pieces in one place until the time when you could fall apart, a shattered body all over the couch.

Your lifeline, as it were, was the promise of a nice night out. As you mopped the floor tiles, tidied tables, and topped up coffees along the counter row, your mind went out to the fantasy of a quiet, chilly night, the smell of earth and grass under an empty space. Maybe after the date, Peter could take you to the park? You resolved to ask him about it… once he came back.

You checked the hour: four thirty. Fifteen minutes left until your shift ends. When was he going to arrive? At the very end? That would be incredibly suspicious, and for his sake, you prayed to a higher power that he'd refrain. You didn't mind, per se, but you were the type to just blurt things out without care for propriety, and the more obvious Peter got, the more effort required to keep your fucking mouth shut and not give it away.

Sighing, you threw away an abandoned receipt into the trashcan below the register, and wondered whether it was worth it to keep quiet. He'd catch on eventually, and you'd have to talk.

That's what's scaring you, isn't it?

"Alright," came TK's voice, "out with it. What's up?"

"What's up… with me?"

"Yeah." Obviously, was what followed naturally, but you had learnt that TK had a modicum of tact, so of course they would leave it out. "You've been working here for weeks now, but never have I ever seen you sigh in all our time together— not even when the boss threatened to sack us without severance pay."

Okay, scary. Original Y/N was double scary. Props to whoever they were. "It's… kinda complicated, and I don't think I can explain it without sounding like a maniac."

They grinned. "A dash of intrigue? No prob. Just know that you can tell me any time, any day, alright?"

You seriously didn't deserve this person's kindness. You just didn't. This was such a fact that it didn't even make your heart twinge. When it all crashed down and your life was in shambles, you would have to send them some sort of consolation gift, to thank them for their care.

"Thanks, TK. I wish I could tell you."

"Glad to hear that. By the way, could you check in with Hannah? I think she needs a line chef in the kitchen— I'll handle the customers."

They glance out the window panes, squinting behind their glasses. "Oh, geez. Guess who's knocking on our door? The evening rush."

You turn to look, only to freeze at the sight of a familiar silhouette, barely visible behind the reflection. Same height, same shirt, same gangly limbs, and when you shifted for a better view, you were able to glimpse the face under the hood: a pair of wide-open, bright blue eyes, and a smile curving horrifically.

Yup. That's him.

"Is it me, or… is that guy looking in?" TK asked, discomfited.

"Lookin' in, sorry. That's, uh, my boyfriend."

"Your—" Their head span around in a perfect hundred-eighty degree to goggle at you. "Your— what? This guy? Your—"

They looked back, as though checking whether or not they were hallucinating the creep factor, but no, TK, you thought, that's one-hundred percent natural. All bio creep. No preservatives or artificial coloring added, honest-to-god, bona-fide creep. I'm so fucking sorry to subject you to this.

"Your boyfriend," they said.

"Yeah."

"Just so we're clear, it's not the eighty-year-old man leaning on the cane, but the two-meter tree branch with fangs, right?"

"You're absolutely correct."

TK stared at you speechlessly, mouth moving without words, and you let your vision zoom out into distant lands, resolutely watching the yellow leak stain on the ceiling. Please, end the conversation. Right now.

"You know what," TK said at last. "This is not my problem… If he turns out to be a serial killer, let me know and I'll call the police for you."

"TK, please stop talking. I'm dying."

"You will once he drags you into an alleyway."

You know what they say: first impressions last forever. In Peter's case, it seems he's ardently devoted to push this rule to its worst potential, constantly disturbing the peace in hopes on garnering even the slightest bit of distrust. Why was he watching you creepily at the diner when he could just hang out by your apartment window? That was perfectly private! This is public!

You caught his gaze through the glass, and waved at him. Despite his eerie appearance, Peter broke into an angelic smile, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and waved back. Seeing as you were paying attention, he began mouthing words: Hello. Something that looked like 'darling'. I'm here, followed by a pointed finger at his feet. Then, lifting his wrist and putting his index finger on it, miming a wristwatch. Okay?

Ah, was he trying to hurry you up? Was that a guilt-trip thing, or just an innocent 'Is your shift over?' You'll never know because you'll never ask, and even if you asked, he'd obviously answer with the latter just to gain brownie points. This wasn't the right time to be honest yet. For neither of you.

Before you could get tangled up in unnecessary thoughts, you sent him a thumbs-up and went back into the kitchens. Hannah did need help— there were simply too many orders at once, and Stephan just wasn't good enough of a multi-tasker to handle the extra load. You helped until the workload went back to normal, then clocked out, waving bye to TK as you went back to the entrance.

While you were gone, the sky had darkened, rain clouds gathering above to drizzle drop by drop. When you stepped a foot outside, you were immediately caught in a pair of arms, warmth swallowing you up.

"I missed you all day," your stalker whined, covering the top of your head with his chin. "How was it? Did you get fired?"

You relaxed into the heat, the embrace, releasing a frigid breath. Your head was silent for the first time since this morning, unburdened by worries or distractions. No clutter to push out… Nothing to sigh about.

Just Peter's scent, and his hug, and his excited, pleasant voice.

"Darling?" he asked concernedly. "Was it bad?"

You wrapped your arms around him in return. Mustering the energy to speak was impossible, so you sank further into the comfort, not even feeling the rain soaking your jacket.

"Heh, not that I'm not enjoying this… but are you okay? Do you need— Do we have to reschedule? I don't mind. We definitely can. Anything you want, okay? Just, will you please talk to me?" He sounded a bit shaky. "It's… ha ha, just, it's weird to not hear you when I chatter. You know?"

You force yourself to speak. "It was—"

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d̷̢̢̟̏̂a̶̛̬̘͊͒̾ŗ̵̣̯͇̽͐͊̑k̷̤͎͙͙̎͑̑̌ ̶̻̞̞̻̏͊͑̏d̷̳͉̱̯̽́̆ạ̸̥͙̔͂̊̾r̷͇̿́k̶̥̼̲̐́̈̏ ̵̗̪̯̪̎͆d̴͍̤̞̓a̷̰̟͚͛̊͐r̶͇̋̈́͒k̸̺̻̰͎͆̿̄͠ ̸̡̹̊̀̾͗a̴͈͉̱̻̎̀d̵̝͈̄́̓ã̵̲̩͖r̵̪̞̗̓k̵̗̊͗̀̍ ̷̛̪̖͔̗͒̌ď̵͓̊̅̈́ǟ̴̡̜̈k̶̨̘͚̈̀́ȓ̴͓̽͑k̶̳̺̙̈́̐͛k̶̖͐ ̵̡̪̄͒́̄d̴͍̥́́ȃ̷̺ȓ̶̗k̶͎͊ ̴̯͕̀͑͠k̸͈̝̗̎̑̏f̷̠̳̭͉̍̒̀k̷̛͔̓̾k̵̞̃͋͝k̸̞̎̋k̸̝̀͛̓̕ ̶̟͚̩̈̀̇̀ḍ̸̙̫̣̋̕a̴̲̦͓͒r̵͙͑̂͗k̶̨̻̽̃ ̷̓͜d̶̢͍̳̔͌ã̴̧̬̠͖̉̈k̸̖̞̾͊̇͝r̵̲͔̼͝ ̷̘͚̀̒̿̕k̴̰͈͠d̴̜̭͇̙̐̂͋ã̵̤͔ṙ̷̯̭͂k̶͍̇̑̅̒ ̶̠̥̮̓͘d̵͈̖̃́̏̄á̷̳͔̲̏̈́̚r̶̦̋k̴̨͛ ̴͍͉̄̓d̴̯̓a̵̯̓͋̿ͅr̸̦̻̟̖̄̅̈́̄k̷̲̓̆ ̴̤̤̅d̴̢̖̀̀ͅã̷̡ͅk̷̢̢̥̬̒̿̆̽r̸̥̘͌̀͑͜ ̷̻̔͝W̴͙̱̬̮͒͋̏͝W̷̘͎͠W̸̖̺̃͌̇Ẅ̶̪͙͉́̈́́W̷̔́͋̀̀̈́̔͂̔̂̄̚͝͝͝W̵̍̓͛̂̒͘͠W̸͑̽̃̐̓̒̈́W̷͊̋͑̽̌̈̈́̀͗͊̈́̇́͘͠W̶̆̎̐̊̎́̈́̌̋̀̕̚W̵͌͆̃́̅̇͐̎̑͐͘Ŵ̸̛̀̈̈́͆̈́̎̆̒̀W̶̊̏̒̋̏̐̌̈́́̚W̸̉̋̅͑͆̍͘Ẁ̴͛̂͗̓͆̐͑͌͐͒̕W̶͝  and at the bottom of the drain, you stood, awaiting y̤̏̓̐̕̚͠o̘͆͝ú̢̞͚̲͈̟̲̅̾̄̓r͍̟̝̐̾̃ͅs̢͍̤͂́͝ḙ̰̆̓̿̾̕͝l̛̟͕̬̯̬̲͇̩f̩̻͚̫̽ in your own stomach /// when will you S̸̛̥T̵͖̚O̴̯͌P̸̪̅ ��̫̀S̸͈͗T̵̲͆Ȯ̴̜P̶̪̑ ̷̲̐S̸̠͊T̷̖̊Õ̷̬P̷̤̉?̴͎͋ ̵̱̉?̸̳̎?̴̖́ fear consumes you, pushes you down its gullet, and you stand here wondering when did you die? M̸E̵E̴E̷E̶E̶ 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011 E̵E̴E̸E̷E̶E̸E̶E̸E̸E̶E̵E̶E̶—

"—fine," you answer. You were stopped from lingering on it. You recognize it now. "I missed you too. All day."

"You did?" Peter asked. "Really? Missed me? When, how did that happen?"

"Do you want me to describe it like, a case report? Like an interrogation tape? 'Where were you last night, what was your purpose' style?"

"Why not?"

Well, there was it: why not? Maybe it'd make him happy.

"The first time," you started, burying your face into his shoulder. "I was taking orders, and this middle-aged lady came in and tried to ask for a second order on the house because she dropped the first one on the pavement. But in a really polite, aggravating way. You know how some rude people act well-mannered? I wanted to punt her into the curb."

"And then you thought about me?"

"Yeah. I wished you were there so I could get you a second order on my paycheck."

"…You mean, you weren't thinking of me because you wanted someone more reasonable, but because… actually, I don't know. Why did you think that?"

"Well," you murmured, "obviously, because I like you."

Suddenly craving contact, you removed your tired arms from around his waist and put them over his shoulders, around his neck. You had to stand on your tip-toes for that, but somehow, the position wasn't as taxing as it was in your before-life.

Luckily, Peter was there to support you. He crouched a little to reach your legs, then hauled you up under your thighs, carrying you on one bicep with no visible strain. 

...Woah.

You were abruptly eye to eye with him— and better, you were privy to the tender little flush on his face, close enough to savor the sight without shame.

"So you'd— put up with me being an asshole just cause you… like me."

You averted your eyes. This closeness seemed to be a two-way street, unfortunately. "Not exactly 'put up with'. I imagined you there and thought, even if you were being a jerk, I'd give you a meal cause you'd look cute eating it."

Was that weird? Double standards existed for everyone--- people would have different thresholds for different people, right? You weren't abnormal in that regard. Were it anyone else, you'd be insulted, exasperated, impatient— with him, your priorities lay somewhere else. You'd have rather died than compensate that customer, but somehow, the image of him stuffing his face full warmed you head to toe. 

Your mind flashed back to your dinner date last night. The glow of Peter's round cheeks, the happy sigh of relieved hunger, his languorous, steady heartbeat as it pulsed under your touch. A healthy, full heart. Flowing blood.

Uh, you thought, embarrassed for no reason. Let's not linger.

"You know what," you said. "This is mortifying. Let's talk about something else."

He made a cute little snort, then laughed with bared teeth, molars glinting in the street light. You could barely suppress the urge to smash your mouths together. How dare he smile like that? How dare he make you so happy, with only the movement of his face? You released the want through your breath, let it dissipate.

"Let's go to the van," Peter suggested. Without waiting for a reply, he started carrying you across the crosswalk, one hand gently braced on your hip.

"Peter? Peter! Oh God, I can walk, I can walk I can walk I can walk— let me down, people are gonna look!!"

He paid no heed to your desperate wails, merrily making his way down the road. What an asshole, what a bastard. Your heart was so warm, so squished, so warm.

[carbuncle-paws]

Thank you guys for 300+ kudos on the fic! That seems like a lot to me since the fic is pretty new, so I made this last night when the numbers were getting close to celebrate! And as a gift to you ;3

A version with hair on the placeholder char can be seen under the cut below! (reminder, reader's appearance in either pic is not canon)

[darkgodcomplex]

Rusted Smiles

Peter (Your Boyfriend) X Reader

AO3 Link

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, Leg Amputation, Agoraphobia, Kidnapping, Nightmares

Enjoy :)

You're drifting. Images come and go from your mind, never sticking around enough to really remember. Where are you? Home? The diner? Your apartment?

You're at your apartment. At least, you think you are. The ceiling feels much too tall. You're in your bedroom. No, the kitchen.

Lucy is making you coffee. You shiver, the apartment is cold. Was it always this cold? You attempt to walk over to her, reaching for the warm cup, but you can't seem to move. Lucy turns to look at you. She's mouthing something, but nothing is coming out. The silence is deafening.

Then suddenly the world is loud. She's screaming, "Please! Please don't leave me!"

Her face morphs, twisting into Don's face, then TK's. They're all screaming. A blob of flesh, moving towards you.

"Darling, please don't leave me!"

You step back, suddenly able to regain use of your limbs. You turn heading towards the door. They yell after you, even as you slip outside and slam the door shut, holding them inside.

You're not on the street. You're in the woods. It's cold. A heavy snow has fallen. You trudge forward. When you look back, the apartment building has disappeared. You shiver, tugging your sweatshirt closer to your body as you keep moving.

You hear a car revving... or is it a van? You swivel your head around. The soft rumbling changes to a guttural growl. Your eyes land on a dog a few meters away.

It arches it’s back in a defensive position, growling lightly. As it sneers, you see rusted metal teeth protrude from it's mouth. It snaps, biting the air before pouncing at you.

You stumble back, racing through the woods. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, along with the snapping of the dog's metal teeth. The snow fall gets heavier as you run. Is it even winter? You're so cold. You need to leave. You need to escape-

As you step, your left leg sinks into the snow. You tug, but it stays stuck. You can still hear the dog behind you. There's snow in your shoe, you can't feel your leg. It's so cold. It's so cold. You close your eyes. You hear the snap of metal teeth and a sickening crunch.

You jolt awake, hands gripping for something and finding sheets. Where are you? You feel dizzy... and cold. Groggily, your eyes try to focus.

"Lay back down, you're okay." A hand presses you back down. You're in a bed. "Just relax."

You blink. A concerned face stares down at you.

That's when everything hits you. The kidnapping. The escape attempt.

The bear trap.

You struggle, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Really, you need to rest." Peter tries to soothe you.

"I need to see-" You grunt, reaching a shaky hand towards your legs. "I just need-"

"Fine. I'll show you, just lay back. You're pretty heavily drugged."

Reluctantly, you lean back against the pillow he tucked behind your head. You shiver, secretly glad to not have to move. All your limbs feel heavy.

"Don't freak out." Is all he says before he flips the blanket off you.

It takes a moment to process. Your eyes trail down your leg to where it... just stops. Just above the knee is where your leg ends. A thick gauze is wrapped around the wound, already bloodied. You dread to think of how much blood you lost.

Maybe its the drugs, or maybe it's just the shocking revelation, but you don't feel angry. Not at Peter, not at the bear trap, not even at the circumstances. Instead, you start to cry. Heavy tears fall down your face, which is pale from the blood loss. To your own surprise, you reach out to Peter.

"Y-You're not g-going to let me die, right?" Is all you can choke out between the tears and the drugs.

His eyes widen, "Of course not." He grabs your hand. His palms are warm as he rubs up your arm. "I disinfected it and you have painkillers and antibiotics in your system. I'll take care of you, I promise."

Tears still fall. You rub at them with your hand. You feel him gingerly crawl into the bed with you, arm wrapping around your shoulders to cradle you lovingly. "It's okay, it's okay."

You clutch onto his shirt. You tremble, pressing your hands against his warm body. You wince as you feel you leg, or rather what used to be your leg, brush against the bed. You don't want to die here. You don't want to die of infection.

"I won't let anything happen to you." Peter buries his face in your hair as he holds you. "Don't worry, the next round of painkillers should be hitting you soon."

They already are. You find yourself unable to cry anymore, a wave of blissful indifference washing over you. Your eyelids start to droop.

"I have to go to the store to grab more medical supplies." Peter lays you down gently as he gets up. "Rest while I'm gone."

You try to reach for him again, but you find that your hand won't move. "Will y-you get me apple j-juice?" Your words are slurred. "For some r-reason I really want apple juice."

He gives a light smile, petting your hair. "Of course, darling."

You fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You wake feeling like someone just shoved you down several flights of stairs. You groan, trying to sit up. You're alone. Once again, you pull the covers off.

It's almost like you didn't expect it to be real. Yet, here it is. You stare at your amputated limb. A wave of nausea rushes over you. Shakily, you reach a hand down, feeling down your leg to where it simply stops. Above everything else, it simply feels weird.

The door opens and you jerk your head up, eyes wide as Peter steps in.

"Oh, you're awake."

He's holding a few pills as well as a glass of apple juice. Saying nothing, you reach for the glass.

"Take the pills first, then you can down the juice." He tells you, handing you the cup. "These painkillers aren't as strong, so you won't be sleeping as much."

You gulp down the pills, happy to drink all the apple juice. You've never craved apple juice a day in your life, but it was like food to a starving man right now.

Peter gave a light laugh, "Your body must need the sugars." He says, kneeling by the bed to watch you.

When you finish, you hand him the cup, wiping your mouth.

The two of you sit in silence for a long moment.

"How do you feel, darling?" He asks, reaching to look at your wound. "I changed the bandage again while you slept."

You shrug, chewing on your lip.

His eyes slide up to look at yours, hand ghosting over the bandages. "Are you okay?"

The truth is, you don't have a single thing to say. Anything you could say would just get caught in your throat. Surprisingly, you still can't find it within yourself to be angry. You're just scared.

You reach for him. He grasps your hand without hesitation, holding it tight.

"I love you." He says firmly, looking into your eyes. "Everything is going to be okay."

You give a swift nod, bottom lip trembling.

"You should eat something." Giving your hand a squeeze, he lets go, hooking one arm behind your back and the other under your one knee to lift you up. Your arms scramble to wrap around his neck.

He carries you out into the kitchen, gently setting you down in a chair. He hurries back to the bedroom, coming back with a blanket that he drapes around your shoulders.

"Does soup sound good?" He grabs a can from the cabinet. "It'll be nice and warm."

He manages to heat up the soup without any disasters and serves the bowl in front of you. You stare down at it.

"Oh, right, a spoon." He hurries to the drawer, coming back to hand you a spoon.

It's only then that it hits you. You're entirely dependent on him now. You certainly can't walk, especially if he decides not to give you a prosthetic or a wheelchair. There's no way you could ever outrun him now.

Still, you dip your spoon into the soup, bringing it to your mouth. It's salty and delicious, you eat the whole bowl.

When you're done, he takes away the bowl. You watch as he cleans it.

"What am I supposed to do now?" You speak up hoarsely.

He looks over at you as he turns off the faucet, brows scrunched in worry. "What do you mean, darling?"

"What am I supposed to do with my life?" You stare down at the table. "I can't go anywhere. I can't do anything here."

"You can do whatever you want." He says. "I'll just be here to help you."

In the following weeks, your leg heals nicely. You're haunted by nightmares and phantom pains, but physically, you're fine. You and Peter fall into a routine. For meals, he carries you to the kitchen for breakfast and sets you on the counter so that you can help. While he works, you read or knit or paint or any other of the countless activities he put together for you. He bought you everything you ever could've asked for. Then, in the evenings, you curl up on the couch and watch tv. It's simple... and you almost like it.

On one evening, he left to pick up groceries. You were left on the couch to read, thumbing through the book when you hear him come back. He bursts through the front door, smiling.

"I have a gift for you, darling." He grins, setting the groceries on the table. "I'll be right back."

You perk up, setting down your book. He returns from his van holding a pair of crutches. Hurrying over, he sets them near the couch. "I figured it's best if you could get around the house on your own." He smiles, watching you grab them. You heave yourself up, wobbling. Your muscles definitely aren’t what they used to be. Peter’s hands ghost your waist, ready to catch you if you fall.

You grip the handholds of the crutches, swinging yourself forward. You manage to wobble around the living room.

“See? Look at you go.” He says proudly. You smile at him.

“You know, I was thinking.” He moves closer to you. “Maybe we could go for a walk? Outside, of course.”

You glance over at the door nervously. Why did the idea make your stomach twist?

“We don’t have to today.” He says quickly. “After all, you’re still getting used to the crutches.”

“Yeah.” You echo quietly. “After I get used to the crutches.”

That night, the two of crawl into bed. You’ve been sleeping together for a while now, ever since your leg healed enough to not hurt when bumped. Peter lays on his back, your head on his chest as you clutch onto him.

“Goodnight.” He says gently, rubbing his fingertips up and down your spine.

“Goodnight.” You say, hugging him tighter.

You’re at the diner, sitting in one of the booths. It’s loud, like it always is. Servers are bustling in and out, people are chatting loudly. TK sits across from you. The only thing that’s in front of them is a glass of apple juice.

“Has the diner been busy?” You ask.

They simply stare at you, smiling.

“… Are you still looking for a new apartment?”

Silence.

“TK, are you alright?”

As you speak, the diner goes silent. You turn your head, everyone is looking at you. Nervous, you look back at TK, who is slowly opening their mouth.

“TK?”

Blood gushes from their lips, an impossible amount, dripping down their face and onto the diner table. You try to scramble away, but as you lift yourself away from the table, you fall to the floor.

Your leg. You only have one leg.

Everyone has begun to laugh. You look around in panic. They all stare at you, smiling with their pointed metal teeth.

You bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. Peter is grasping you in an instant, tugging you close.

“It’s okay now, I’m here, I’m here.” He grabs your face, pulling you so that your forehead’s touch. “You’re safe.”

“I was at the diner, and everyone had these teeth-“

“Do you know where you are now?” He says, thumb brushing your cheek as he nuzzles your faces together.

“Home?”

“Home. That’s right.” He says lightly. “Nothing can hurt you here.”

You throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as he lulls you back to sleep. Before you fall asleep, however, a single thought flickers in your head.

What are you so afraid of, if not him?

You move around the house, getting a better handle of the crutches. It’s nice to not completely rely on Peter for getting around. You’re able to get your own food and sit in the living room whenever you want.

You stand over Rat’s cage, peering in as Peter comes out of the hall, having just finished work.

“What are you doing, darling?”

You look up, “Nothing.” You tell him, hoisting yourself over to him.

“You’ve gotten a handle on those pretty well.” He observes, watching you move.

“I have.” You say proudly, moving around to show off.

“I think we should go out today then.” He says. “I think a walk would be romantic.”

A pit settles in your stomach. You have been doing well with the crutches. Honestly, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want to go outside.

“Okay.”

Peter gives you one of his jackets. It’s big on you, but warm. He ties your shoe for you.

Unlocking the door, he pushes it open, heading out in front of you and holding the door open. You crutch forward, lingering in the doorway, looking out.

A cold breeze hits your face. Slowly, you begin to crumble in on yourself, shaking your head slowly.

“Darling?”

Your body trembles, lower lip quivering as you try to move back.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

You quickly try to move back, but your crutch catches on the wall, sending you tumbling backwards into the house. You land hard, having the wind knocked out of you.

Peter rushes to your side, kneeling down as you shake your head, tears falling down your face.

“Don’t make me go outside, don’t make me go.” You sob quietly.

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” He quickly moves to shut the door, returning to your side after. He scoops you up, carrying your trembling form to the bedroom. You hold onto him for dear life.

Curling up on the bed, he rocks you, kissing your forehead as he whispers soft reassurances. As you calm down, he leans close, whispering in your ear.

“Don’t worry darling, you never have to leave again.”

[malkavianiz]

-Emo boy? -… -What are you doing? -You forgot it? -What? -Next week is the exam and the teacher assigned you to help me with the studies of that subject, if I let you get sick from a stupid rain, how are you supposed to teach me? -But you said you didn't need my help… -Forget it! You will help me and you have no choice, now walk or we will both end up soaked. -Well… -Wait! -Now what? -Don't get too far away, my jacket is big but I won't be able to cover you enough if you get so far away… -...Thanks, Peter -Whatever…

[dms-saggicorn]

Aight back at it again with some writing, a little different this time around:

Just imagine you and YB walking hand in hand through a meadow, a sea of blues, pinks, purples, and reds surrounding you both.

The warm sun shone down on this fine summer's day much like any other.

You for but a moment take out your phone and a pair of headphones.

YB frowns thinking he surely bored you or worse upset you somehow.

To his surprise, however, you hand him one of your earbuds with a smile on your glowing face.

Of course the lanky man takes it putting the small device in his ear, matching the right earbud in yours.

What plays in this:

Flowers for you, my darling~

Background Source

Sprite is a combination of art from @y0urb0yfriend

[lireynoutan]

"Move against the Code"

Hello there (＾Ｕ＾)ノ~ＹＯ

Unfortunately, I don't have any art for this day since I didn't prepare anything for Halloween, but I decided to share something important. ♪(´▽｀)

This is the cover of my fanfiction "Move against the Code" or "Ход против кода".

So far, it is only available in Russian, but I have plans to make it in English as well. I have been working on it for a long time and, well, it has gained a large audience. ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

I do not know if this is possible, but I will leave a couple of links here so that you can find this story and familiarize yourself with it.

I hope you like it. (～￣▽￣)～

[the-sinister-story-teller]

~My MasterList + Do's and Don'ts~

MasterList:

Helluva Boss: ~None~

Hazbin Hotel: Drag Queen!Angel Dust Headcanons A Charming Surprise~Charlie x Male!Reader : SFW But I Love You~Angel Dust x Transmasc!Reader : SFW Angel Dust x Male!Reader~Friends To Lovers : SFW Angel Dust x Male!Reader~Looks May Be Deceiving : NSFW Angel Dust x Male!Reader~I Got You Now : SFW Angel Dust x Reader~Healing : SFW Dating Vox Headcanons Dating Angel Dust Headcanons Dating Husk Headcanons Alastor Oneshot : NSFW Dating Alastor Headcanons Dad!Alastor Headcanons Will You..?~Charlie x Male!Reader Will You..?~Charlie x Male!Reader (Part 2) It was just a bad dream...~Charlie x Male!Reader

Tokyo Ghoul: Juuzou Suzuya Headcanons

AOT: ~none~

MCU: Marvel Character Headcanons Chapter 04 Of Loki Fanfic

Lackadaisy: ~none~

TADC: ~None~

Stranger Things: ST Billy and Eddie Headcanons

Harry Potter: Harry Potter Character Oneshots!

DC: Red Hood Headcanons

FPE: ~none~

IT (2017): ~none~

Your Boyfriend: Br0ken colors and YBG headcanons!

Br0ken Colors: Br0ken colors and YBG headcanons!

Creepypasta: ~none~

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~FANFICTIONS~

All of my fanfic's are on Quotev.com if you want to see them!

This book in particular is my own universe that I made. All characters (besides ones that I specify that aren't mine) belong to me. Fanart is much appreciated! ^u^

[bloody-peach]

I'm thinking of writing a story with my oc and Peter from Your Boyfriend.

But the thing is gonna be: my oc is the most touch-starved, lonely, desperate for love and companionship kind of person. Never given any basic emotional needs as a child and grew up neglected and abused (all but sexually....kinda [meaning she's still a virgin, but she's been in some bad relationship where she was violated]) and she tries to make friends but they never stick (not because of Peter, but because people just don't care). She lives all alone in her own apartment in an apartment complex, but it might as well be solitary confinement in a prison. Just, the epitome of Markiplier's 'oh it's adorable, oh it's traumatized, oh it has anxiety'.

Now knowing Peter, this is perfect. No friends, needs love, lonely, just absolutely perfect.

But then he hears my oc's story. He listens to how her mother had remarried and left her to rot away with no bed, ragged clothes, and her health deteriorating, just so her mother could play housewife with her new husband. Or how she was taken to the side by her sister and told the flaws of her life, at 11 years old. Or how her sisters taped her mouth shut because she was crying too much since their parents abandoned them with no warning and no hint of coming back.

Then when he officially meets her and they start hanging out, he sees how much she needs him. When he leaves something small at her place, she steals it and hides it in her room, because she believes he'll disappear like everyone else in her life that she deeply cared for, and she wanted something to remember him by. Or she makes a small doll of him that she keeps with her because she feels safe and comforted when she has it with her, and she can't sleep without it (until she gets to keep the real thing).

And the fact that she is so loving, kind, and caring. She finds out his favorite foods and snacks and she keeps them in her house when he comes over. The way she holds him when he starts to cry, how she pets his head gently like a mom would comfort a child. She has so much affection and love to give because she's been isolated from people almost all her life and she had no one to give it to until Peter showed up.

If Peter's not crying, then I fucking am.

So yeah, I wish I could draw this as a comic form. Maybe once I get better, I'll be able to, but yeah.

[bennydunbar]

Merman! Peter/ Merjelly! YN

It wasn't the first time Peter had swim rather deep into the ocean. Though, being part shark, he's often around the surface and hunting.

This was until he met a merjelly — the first merjelly he had ever laid his eyes on, and it was love at first sight.

It would be deemed unnatural, to fall in love with his own prey. Yet he made companionship with the peculiar merjelly, and the both of them had been struck by Cupid's arrow.

It became a routine for the both of them to bring their catch of the day to the spot where they first met — a little far from his own underwater cavern, right in the twilight zone. East to the Capricorn constellation.

As time passed by, the both of them realised that they meant the world to each other. And it is then that they decided to bound themselves together on a Blue Moon. Promising the other to grant them rest if one of them were to pass first, according to merfolk culture.

They share a breath for the first time, a touch so tender as Peter's new partner was afraid of accidentally stinging him. He doesn't care, his darling is his now.

But fate is a cruel thing. For despite how infinite the love they hold for each other, they can never truly be together.

The merjelly cannot survive if they were washed up to the shore.

The merman couldn't protect them from the bigger fish.

And according to merfolk culture, the spouse must eat their mate's remain to lay them to rest.

[totallyanopossum]

Peter x Y/N

Looks are deceiving

Peter becomes obsessed with the innocent looking Y/N, who is so much more than she seems. She's got a hidden backstory and always wears long sleeves. Peter saves her and lets her finally know it's okay to not be okay. He'll be here for her rain or shine.

TW: Cutting

He first saw her when they were waiting in the hall for detention, he wondered what a small Lil innocent girl in a cute cow sweater was doing here surly she must be in the wrong place. He listened in as she talked with the guy near the door.” is this detention?”, “yeah just gotta wait for the teacher.. hey ain't you an honor student what are you doing here?”,” Oh well, Mr. Hendrix wouldn't let me go to the bathroom”, “Oh yeah he's a bitch but he'll usually let you during the last 10 min if you can hold it”, “this wasn't the kinda thing that could be held and I bled threw my pants and into the chair and so I waited till everyone else left and I took the chair and put it on his desk”, “Damm, but why are you were he should be disciplined”, “my behavior wasn't showing mature conflict resolution apparently but he did get talked to”. Peter thinks damn lil badass her looks are deceiving... I'll have to drop by Mr Hendrix later.

They go in and she sits in the back he takes the desk next to hers, fascinated he glances at her and sees she's actually doing homework. He draws but his sharpie dies and he starts cursing under his breath, she sees this and takes out a pen and taps his leg he's about to snap when he turns but just sees her holding out a kinda fancy-looking pen. He asks if it's for him, and she says it is, he takes it and nods thanks. He checks out the pen and it's nice, one side sharpie marker one side fine tip. When detention is over she's out the door so quickly he has to hurry after her. “hey your pen”, she stops and turns, looking him up and down, “You can keep it”.

He keeps the pen treasures it and works on a drawing for her, he's obsessed and starts following her, finds her locker, where she sits at lunch, and what she eats, he learns everything he can. He notices something else about her, a change in how her wardrobe changes going from cute colorful sweater outfits to jeans and a hoodie or jacket and band teas, he didn't expect her to listen to those bands. He notices how her makeup changes no more colorful intricate looks and turns into slept-in tight liner. He notes how the life, that spark leaves her eyes, how she's no longer on honor roll, how she's absent more. He wonders what has caused this change but is nervous to approach so he doesn't.

Last night she got beat up and passed out and woken up by a bucket of water being poured over her and screamed at to leave. She hurriedly packed luckily she has a car she bought herself,loads her stuff up and leaves she only had time to dry off and change at the bus bathroom then she headed to school. And of course, it was assembled day, and she had to listen to some lecture on shit. It's not even lunch and she's itching for something to take the edge off.

She is having a rough fucking day and needs something to help take the edge off, she sees the school bully Peter smoking in the hall. He’s never given her trouble before, so she heads toward him not caring if she gets a beating she'll take pain as an ethos as well.

Peter sees the girl that he's obsessed with come right up to him he doesn't know what to say but before he can she snatches his cigarette and takes a big inhale he's kinda impressed she doesn't start coughing but he's confused he didn't know she smokes, she's still puffing, “can I keep this one”, “uhh yeah it's your”,” thanks”, she gives him a lil wave and walks off. He's so confused but even more obsessed this is their first real encounter other than her letting him borrow and keep a pen of hers. All day he keeps thinking about how their lips both touched the same cig.

When his mind clears he wonders what sparked her behavior, she usually stays in the shadows and doesn't openly break the rules. So he follows her after school but she gets in her car and drives off, but she usually takes the bus or walks this is new. The next day at the break he sees her leaning against a tree and he goes to her and pulls out a cig, “want another”, she pulls out her earbuds, “huh”, “need another”, “oh fuck yeah”, he lights it up starting it for her and hands it off and they pass it back and forth, “thanks I needed this”, “no problem anytime”, “are you as scary as they say’, “sometimes yeah”, “cool”, bell rings and she heads to class.

That day she takes the bus, her friend lets her park her car at their place temporarily, when she gets off he follows her and watches from a distance as the one girl goes inside and she gets in her car and drives off. He thinks she's living in her car, what how long has this been going on? The next day Peter and Y/N get assigned a project together, Peter thinks this is the perfect opportunity to get closer and maybe ask some questions. He turns to her, “so we should get together and work on this”, “oh um yeah”, “we can go to my place”, “your parents won't mind”, “nah there chill”, “okay then when are you free”, “how about today”, “oh umm yeah sure umm here let me give you my number so you can send me the address”,he gets her number very glad to have it he sends her the address.

He goes right home and cleans up quickly. His parents ask what's up and he says how someone's coming over to do a project, his parents can't believe it but are good with it. She drives over to his place and sees they have a u drive way and plenty of parking space and she parks and goes and knocks. His mom opens the door as Peter comes down the stairs, she greets his parents. Peter takes her up to her room, his mom says she'll be up with snacks soon. They go into his room and she looks around, “you shoved everything in the closet when I was heading over did you?”, “yeah and under the bed”, “nice”. She goes over to some cushions in the corner, “can I”, “yeah”,he is kinda nervous having her in her now. She takes the cushion and sets it against the beds front board and she sits and gets out her laptop,”can I get the wifi password”, “yeah one sec”, he gets her the password and she starts woking. “so i don't usually do homework so how should we do this”,”oh don't worry I'll have this done in 20 minutes”, “what how?”,she pats the floor next to her and he sits and watches but is confused. “what are you doing?”, “first find the paper we need in Russian, second Google translate it, 3rd fix up the Grammar make it sound right and done”, “you know russian”,yeah its about all I have that connects me to my heritage”,he watches as she works, impressed.

A knock at the door and his mom comes in with fresh pigs in a blanket, “here you go”, “this was from the oven ms king you made fresh snacks”, “oh it's no big deal dear”, “thank you”. He sees the way she's eyeing the food,”go ahead eat”,she sets her computer down and dig in and starts eating,the way she eats shows him she's so hungry, “aren't you gonna eat?”,”eat as much as you want, she's making dinner later”. She eats almost all of it,”you full?”, “stuffed”, he eats the last few. She goes back to working,”anything I can do”, “yeah sure read threw this let me know if a part sounds weird”,he takes the laptop and does that and when he finds a weird part she reaches over to his lap and fixes it they get it all done quickly.”so that's done I should get going”, “you can stay and chill I got a good sound system we can listen to something”, “that sounds nice yeah if you don't mind”, “I don't mind”. So they chill and listen to music Peter is glad to see her smile and the life return to her eyes,”where's the bathroom”, “down the hall last left door”,she goes and seeing herself in the mirror she sees she actually smiling again and her eyes she looks alive again it makes her get emotional tear up a bit.

 She comes back and sits down and he sees somethings wrong,”you okay something wrong”, “I umm (wipes eyes) I'm okay”.Her voice cracking gave her away, “Y/N what's wrong you can talk to me”, “no you'll make fun of me like the others”, “others… no I won't, I won't tell a soul”. She's crying now, “I'm so tired”,he opens his arms to hug her. She sees this and takes the opening snuggling up to him and he holds her as she crys. She explains how her adopted parents have been pressuring her her whole life to be perfect and she finally broke and her grades are slipping and how they kicked her Monday and she's been living in her car and she's barely gotten any sleep In days. “Shhh shhh it I'll be okay I'll take care of the bully's at school and you'll stay here my mom will feed you make sure you gain that weight back and you'll be able to sleep soundly here”, “you you know the one good thing about all this has been that I lost weight”, “whyd you want that”, “I've never been skinny but didn't have a problem with being chubby but in the back of my mind I did wanna be skinny cause I've always wanted to be picked up and carried”, “huh that's not a reason to lose weight just a reason to find a strong guy”, “yeah where”,next thing she knows she lifted off the ground and he's holding her bridal style, “right here”, “woah but your so skinny”, “all muscle”,he walks her over to the bed and sets her on the edge,”so what you say you good with my plan”, “your plan?”, “yes you stay here I take care of bullies and my mom will fatten you back up”, she doesn't wanna have to rely on someone but right now she cracked open vulnerable, she nods yes. She hugs onto him pressing her face against his chest, “but your parents”,”dad was a foster kid he won't let you be homeless and mom she's got a big heart and loves to cook... we’ll head downstairs I'll explain to them and you can get whatever you need from your car okay”, “okay”,he wipes her face brushes her hair back and they go.

She goes and gets her bag from her car and he fills in his parents, when she comes back in she looks at them shyly, his dad says “your welcome here Y/N”, his mom says “do you have any food allergies things you hate”, “I prefer garlic powder to the actual thing but that's it”. “Just like peter” . Peter takes her back upstairs,”do you wanna shower or anything”, “yeah that sounds nice”, he takes her to the bathroom and gets her some towels,”feel free to use any of my stuff”, “thanks Peter”,she showers it's nice to finally feel fully clean, she drys off and changes into pj's and her hair wrapped in a towel she heads back to his room. “you got a blow dryer”, “yeah over here”,he gets it out for her. She dries her hair then gets some brushes and stuff from her bag and goes over to the bed,”can I”, “yeah what's mine is yours”,she sits on the bed and starts to braid her hair he watches fascinated he knows how to braid but never been very good at it,your really good at that, “thanks ... can you braid?”, “yeah but not very well”, “I could teach you or do it for you”,that idea is so tempting to have her touch him and do his hair. “Another time you need to rest”,she yawns “yeah”.

 After doing her hair she lays down and the pillow it smells like him she likes it, “thank you for the drawing peter I really like it I didn't know you were so talented”, “you knew it was me”, “yeah smelled like sharpie and cigarettes your the only one who smokes I know”, he lifts up his shirt and turns his back to her showing her his tattoo,”did you design it”, “yeah I design all my tattoos”, “you have more”,”yeah but there below the belt so for another time”, “it's pretty so detailed”. He puts his shirt back on and lays down facing her they just look at eachother he sees she's tired,his mom calls out dinners ready, “are you hungry or wanna sleep”,”I'm still full I wanna sleep”, he gets up and pulls the blanket over her,”you sleep”, he goes and eats. When he comes back she's asleep, seeing her asleep in his bed he likes that sight a lot. He changes and gets ready for bed. He hears her and looks over, looks like she's having a nightmare she wakes up startled,”hey it's okay just a nightmare”,she nods and he gets in and lays down and puts a hand on her shoulder trying to comfort her, “they'd kicked me out before temporarily before I had a car and I had nowhere to go I woke up to a man humping my leg trying to get my pants off... that's what tye nightmare was about”, “I won't let anyone hurt you anymore.”

She reaches out and puts a hand on his chest. He looks down and sees her arm it's covered in scars. That's when he realizes he's never seen her in short sleeves before. “You always wear long sleeves this is why”,she pulls her arm back,”oh shit umm”, “it's okay I don't judge you can I see”,she nods and holds out her arm and he feels the scars, “your not mad”, “oh no never”, “I needed something to take away the pain I couldn't waste the money on drugs so pain is what I used.. that day I took your cigarette I was on my way to cut in yeh bathroom but the cig worked good too”, “I won't stop you from cutting or smoking just let me know if you need bandages okay I'll clean you up”, “thank you Peter”. She starts to cry a bit, he grabs her and pulls her into a hug and holds her rubbing her back,”what's a cute pet name in Russian”,”малютка”,she helps him learn to pronounce it,”close your eyes clear your head rest I've got you малютка”. She does as he says and falls asleep quickly, he stays up a while and just watches her.

The alarm goes off in the morning waking them,”what's that”, “it's the alarm”, “oh what time is it”, “6:30 got half an hour to get ready”, “mmm okay”. He releases her and she stretches and gets up,they get up and get ready she changes and does her makeup doesn't take her to long,he takes longer to get ready and while he's getting his accessories she comes over to take a look, “wow you got lots of gear”,”yep you like it?”, “yeah I've always thought you look cool”,  “thanks wanna try some”,”really?”. He nods and she says yes so he picks out a collar that matches his and puts it on her it's big on her but he likes how it looks you can definitely tell it's his,and he puts a chain belt on her,you'll need this till you gain back your weight and your pants fit right again,she looks in the mirror, “thanks Peter”. They head down and have breakfast and take their lunches and walk to the buss stop,he sees her get nervous,”I'll take care of the bully's dont worry about that ive got”,he notes how she reacts when he says that ,”what does малютка mean”, “umm it means baby lil one”, last night she was raw and open and rn she's feeling more shy with how close she's gotten with him but she won't push him away,”and how would I say my”, “moy”, “it I'll be okay moy малютка... is it okay I say that”, “yeah .. well umm it is it's just something you only say to someone very close and special to your heart” ,”so it's not something said lightly”, “yeah”, “good.”

The bus arrives, “walk in front of me to the back”, she does as he says he notes the whispers and stares so he puts a hand on her waist as they walk and eveyones goes silent deadly silent. They sit he sees she anxious and scratching at her arm, “do they hurt”, “no just when they heal they get itchy”, “do you need something to take the edge off rn”, “I can hold out but a smoke at break would be nice”, “your on”, he puts an arm around her and is holding her to him, to his surprise she presses against him leaning into his hold,they get close to school. “I wanna let everyone know not to mess with you and the best way is for them you see me holding touching be near you, you okay with that?”,she swallows knowing that is the best tactics and she is okay with it she likes the contact but everything from last night and him calling her a pet name it's confusing her feelings a bit,”yeah I'm okay with that”,he can see she's a bit shy nervous but understands it's not from being uncomfortable it's from feelings. So they head onto school him right behind her and a hand on her waist when she stops by her locker. He glares at everyone who looks their way and he's never more than 2 feet away from her. At break they share a smoke he lights it for her and notes a slight blush when he passes it to her. “How you doing darling”, “nervous but that's going away”, “your doing good”. The day goes well no run inside or trouble,bus ride back home she's tired from being stressed all day and she leans her head on him so quietly she didn't even mean to say it outloud but he hears “why's he smell so good”,he doesn't comment playing off that he didn't hear her.

They get back to his house and he cleans up his desk so she has a place to do homework and he lays in bed and watches her, eventually getting up and standing beside her “whatcha doing”, “homework obviously.. but I'm almost done”, “good”. She finishes the work then sits in the pillow corner, puts on her headphones and starts writing on her phone,he's curious and goes to her, “sorry I'm used to being alone and don't want get in your way bother you”, “you won't bother me whatcha doing you”, “i draw I write”, “ooo what kinda stuff”, “umm it's a bit embarrassed but I write fan fics and short stories”, “you don't gotta say more..but umm can I sit with you”, “your like a dog ain't you, cute caring protective always wanna be close and wears a collar”,she reaches up and tugs on his collar a little, he realizes she's the shy type in publicity but relaxes in private, and the collar tug did something to him,”okay never thought about it like that but it's accurate”,she moves forward, “come on moy shchenok sit” ,he sees how she opened up a spot behind her and he moves into it with her between his legs he's surprised when she leans back on him and tilts her head up, “hmmm your warm”, he puts his arms around her, “your cold... why”, “bad circulation get cold easily”, “don't worry I'll keep you warm”, she sits and continues writing on her phone and he's so happy to be her chair and keep her warm. “What does moy shchenok mean”, “my puppy”, his hearts pounding and cheeks flushing he's so happy. He doesn't even notice her movements till she puts down her phone and lays against him fully and grabs onto his hands closing her eyes, “tired?”, “like a really deep tired and….. Peter I wanna cut see the pretty red feel the sting of steel”, :how badly do you want to”,”I can still hold out”, he holds her tighter,”let me know when you can't”,she nods.

It's dinner time and they eat. It's nice ,his parents are nice even ask about her day and tell Peter to watch over her. After dinner they change into pj's and she braids her hair. “Did you read over my shoulder when I was writing earlier”, “no if you wanted me to read it you'll give it to me”,I only share my writing on tumblr I'm so nervous about facing some irl who knows the freaky and weird stuff I'm into”, “what about me ... maybe I'm a freak too”, “gimme some time I'll warm up and share more”, “I'll be waiting”. They get in bed and she puts on a movie on her computer, “where'd you get there your not on Netflix”, “I pirate movies”, “there's so much your hiding under the innocent look”, “oh yeah”. Movie is over they lay down to sleep not cuddling like last time but he feels her hand grab onto his arm and he likes the contact too.

Next day is going okay, their at break sharing a smoke but when she walks back from the water fountain one of her bully's gets in her path and starts getting in her face and starts saying shit saying how she's whoring herself out for protection and other stuff. Peter sees and grabs the guys collar lifts him up and tosses him aside and stomps on the hand he put on her. He goes to her “you okay”, “yeah I'm fine he didn't hurt me”, “come on let's go”,he leads her off the yard and into an empty hall and hugs her he feels her shaking,”shhh shh it's okay whatd he say to you”, “called me a whore saying I'm fucking you for protection saying I'm a sorry accuse for a fuck pathetic ugly thing who should just die”, he wants to go kill the guy but she needs him more she's what's important, “oh moy malyutka don't believe a word he said... your no whore and anyone would be lucky to have you”,”Ty moya spasitel'naya blagodat', Piter Bozhe, ya byla by tvoyey shlyukhoy, yesli by mogla ostat'sya ryadom s toboy”. He doesn't ask what it means he know she needed to say something but wasn't ready for him to know and that's okay. “We can leave, skip the rest of the day if you want”, “I'm not a quitter”, “okay then”, the rest of the day goes okay. She's kinda depressed and nervous but at least he didn't get called in for stomping the guy.

They get home and she does her homework lazily just enough for completion, they jam to some music he put on he thought I'd help and looks like it did. After dinner and pj's, he sees her scratching at her arm scratching to hard, “do you need to cut malyutka”,she looks at him big sad teary eyes and nods yes,he goes and hugs her, “do you have the stuff”, “in my bag”,she gets up and digs around and pulls out a pencil cases she stands there nervously, “i've never done this with someone else in the room”, “I can leave”, “no .. don't leave me”,he goes and picks her up and carries her to the bed setting her down and gets in himself, “I won't leave you ever okay I'm right here whatever you need”, she takes off her jacket and sets it down then opens the case and gets out a blade she looks at him,he gives her his best comforting look. He watches as she cuts and he does find the blood pretty. He sees her go for bandages and stuff, “you're done?”, “yes”, “here let me clean you up I'm pretty skilled at bandaging”, “okay”,he bandages her up, cleans up the stuff and hugs her and kisses the top of her head. “Anything you do after?”, “cry usually”, “well how about a movie and some cuddles and crying if you feel like it”, “that sounds good... I like your cuddles”, “I like yours too your so soft.”

 They put on a movie and cuddle. He's careful of her arm as he holds her to him. “I got a confession.” ,”Yeah”, “you looked really hot today when you threw that guy around and stomped on him”, “you liked that .. I was worried I scared you”, “you don't scare me ... like I said I'm a kinda a freak”, “was it me hurting him or showing off my strength tossing him around that you liked”, “I liked how you hurt him protecting me and your strength seeing how easily you could toss someone around”, “good to know I like learning things about you learning, what you like”. She pushes against him trying to get closer so he pulls her tighter against him, liking the feeling too. They fall asleep like that tightly cuddled together.

[succubusmelt]

Welcome, honey~ ♥

Heyaa! Welcome to my yandere simp page, where all your fantasies and dreams will become true~

❥ What is this blog about?

This is a multifandom blog where you can read about headcannons, one-shots and writings of your favorite yandere character. Also, is allowed to request and send ideas for more content!

This blog is merely created for fun and entertainment. Any character belongs to the respective author. ➭ Minors are not allowed!

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❥ Fandoms I write for

John Doe Game

Your Boyfriend

Something is wrong with Sunnyday Jack

My Dear Hatchet Man

14 Days with you

Lurking for Love

Maybe in the future I will join more (?)

——————————————

❥ About me (?)

Well... my name is Loren (but you can also call me Melt <3).

I go by She/He pronouns.

I like to write and eat all the content that there is about my hyperfixation (that's why I made this blog, haha).

My english is not very good, sorry for that.

Maybe one day I will upload my fanarts or something else.

I like philosophy, movies, video games, drawing and writing.

My MBTI is INTP 4w5 Choleric Melancholic.

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❥ RULES

❥ MASTERLIST

[yandere-to-express]

The wrong cranium

Gender neutral

Part 3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Just put them wherever you want. I don’t have a system in place; so long as I can find them, it doesn’t concern me.”

 

“Got it.” Pasta, whole-grains, spices, and sealed condiments go into the pantry. Eggs, milk, vegetables, and other perishables belong to the fridge. You enjoy this kind of work: making categories, sorting items, organizing them. It demands control. You work with single-minded focus long enough to forget what had discomfited you in the first place, but once the last package is out of your hands, it comes back with full vengeance.

 

“I’m finished,” you say to Peter, who’s been hovering around the stove for a while now.

 

He flinches and looks up at you. “Already? Alright, let’s start making dinner. Anything you want, sunshine?”

 

The nickname really doesn’t reflect how you feel right now, but seeing his nervous, bashful face makes you think it suits him very well. Your mood lightens a little and you reply, “Anything is fine.”

 

“Really? Anything? You’re really pushing my creativity to its limits— come on, give me something to work with! Sweet? Salty? Savory? Don’t worry about the effort, I already said we can make it together. And if we don’t have the ingredients, well, there’s always improvisation.”

 

You have no idea. You eat a wide variety of foods, and the dishes themselves aren’t difficult, but having a stranger cook for you is… oddly embarrassing.

 

“Pasta?” you suggest, scratching your neck. “Just, without onions if possible? Or olives?”

 

Peter grins radiantly, jumping into motion. “There we go! Now, could you please get the ingredients while I take the pots out?”

 

The two of you start making dinner. It’s spaghetti, but the kind that has eggs in its dough. You put the herbs and aromatics you want beside the cutting board and watch Peter chop his way through an army of tomatoes, your gaze riveted on his swift fingers. They’re long and thin, but strong, their flesh flexing along the elegant phalanges, carpals intertwined with blue veins. You watch the joints snake beneath the skin as the knife rises and falls.

 

“So,” Peter breaks the silence.

 

Your head snaps up, eyes wide.

 

“You like Italian?” He’s got a smug smirk on his face, which means he definitely saw. “Can’t say I love it, but I’ve got a special place in my heart for pesto sauce. It saved me from starvation time and time again.”

 

“I don’t know. I guess I like some of it? Maybe Fettuccine Alfredo, I’ve had that before. But other than fast food pizza, I can't say I’m an expert.”

 

“A shame. Maybe we can grab a bite sometime? It might be fun!”

 

Your mind stutters in its tracks. Is this a date offer? Who am I kidding, you think. It’s Peter. Of course it’s a date.

 

You didn’t know whether you wanted to go or not. On one hand, it was Peter, and you were supposed to be wary of his intentions. On the other hand, it was a date. You wanted to go. He was patient, kind (for now), and there was a zero percent chance of you getting an opportunity like this— this being someone, anyone, asking you out. So what if it's your devoted stalker? You’d just died. You deserved to have the things you wanted, didn’t you?

 

One item in that category just happened to be this guy. Let’s hope this didn’t go south.

 

“Or not?” he said. He’d turned toward you, his smile slightly flat. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be Italian? We could get something else instead! There are lots of cuisines, and so many restaurants in the city, I’m sure we could stumble on a good one by chance—”

 

“No, no, I’m down, we can go,” you interrupt, tentatively putting your hand on his upper arm. “We can do Italian if you want, but maybe we should check the pasta first.”

 

He blinks like a cat, looking at the contact point. “Pasta? Why—” His eyes widen, and he spins around to see the pasta pot almost boiling over. “Oh shit! Fuck, fuck—”

 

It takes two minutes to calm down his apology ramble, with you repeating again and again that no, forgetting pasta on the stove does not make him a failure of a cook, but it does make him a clumsy one. You hope he won’t fall apart at the slightest mistake next time, but since this is technically your “first date”, you suppose that he deserves some leniency. He’s never met you face to face after all, and he’s been admiring you for a long time. Anyone would be anxious.

 

And besides, seeing him so flustered is giving you flutters in the belly. You’ve always liked bubbly, nervous people better, feeling calmer and more confident around them as if to balance out their shyness.

 

“I was wondering though,” you started while putting the plates. “I never learnt your name. What’s it?”

 

And of course, it agitates him. “Ah… You know what, I don’t like my name all that much. You can call me whatever.”

 

“Okay, Whatever,” you shoot back, giggling at his world-weary expression.

 

“You know what I meant! Ugh, I guess it’s better to just get this over with: it’s… Peter.”

 

“Peter?” You relish finally being able to say it. “That sounds pretty normal. I thought it would be something like Dick or Jormungandr.”

 

“Jormungandr?” he repeats, flummoxed. “Why would— no, well, it might not be as bad as Dick, but there were still lots of people that made fun of Peter the same way they made fun of that. Which made high school even worse.”

 

You don’t have a suitable response for that, so instead of ‘That’s rough buddy,’ you say, “Oof. Come on, let’s have pasta.”

 

He sits right beside you at the table, no hesitation. You’re taken aback, but not enough to deliberately move the seat around and disappoint him. You take your seat at his side, realizing late that the pot of pasta is on his side of the table.

 

“Let me,” you chime, moving to get the fork and divide the portions, but he catches you by the wrist, his thumb digging under your pulse, into the divot beneath your palm.

 

“No,” he inserts himself smoothly, taking the utensils. “Let me handle it, darling.”

 

Your heart rate picks up. He’s sure to feel it, with his hand covering your entire wrist, and you’re certain that the tick at the corner of his lips is another smug little grin, concealed poorly. You’d love to lie and think, this is so demeaning, but you like it. The physical contact. The pulse of blood under his hold, and how little skin there is between them. And when he gives you your portion— scooping a very generous helping— not many have treated you like this. Indulgently. You like that he’s spoiling you, and that he won’t let go of your arm. It makes the logistics of serving spaghetti a little messy, but he doesn’t seem to care about it so long as he can hold your hand.

 

“Enjoy the meal,” he says, giving you one of the happiest smiles you’ve ever received. Then he gives you a fork, twines his fingers with yours, and starts gobbling up the food.

 

You stare at him, then at your interlocked fingers, your nearly brushing palms, and stare at him again. You’re sure he’s right-handed. The fork is held awkwardly in his left hand, but the pasta is somehow reaching the target without any incident. And still, even when the fork wobbles in his hold, he doesn’t let go of you.

 

You avert your eyes and start to eat. You’re not going to get attached because of fucking spaghetti. (Maybe the way to the heart is really through the stomach. Just, in a very different way than you expected.)

 

 

After washing the dishes (Peter having put up a valiant fight to take over the task, until you put your foot down), he leaves you alone while you get ready in the bathroom. He tells you where the spare toothbrushes are and asks that you choose whichever suits your fancy. Indeed, he has a large selection of toothbrushes of many types: soft and hard bristles, small and big heads, regular and vibrating, and in several colors. You aren't sure whether he's bought all these just for you, but for your own sake, you decide to ignore that thought.

 

In the end, you just choose one at random and go through it as quickly as you can. You don't imagine what's going to happen to the brush after you leave. You don't imagine why Peter was so enthused about it.

 

Well. You try. Unsuccessfully. Your head conjures the images without delay. You remember that his tongue is long and sensitive, and that the brush you've chosen is one with harsh, coarse bristles. You imagine his expression if he ever scrapes it over his tongue. How would he feel? Would he press it to his gums, swipe it across his palate? Would he search for the remnants of your saliva? You think so. It doesn't arouse you, not really, but it makes you feel a spark along your skin. Like an electric shock. (He'd be ecstatic. The thought is hard to get rid of, but you manage.)

 

In any case, you won't be there. This doesn't concern you. You spit the toothpaste out and clean the brush, leaving the bathroom. The moment you do, you're faced with Peter looming over you, manic attention etched into his gaze, like the prick of a needle. He’s been waiting in front of your door.

 

"All done?" he asks. His hands are hidden behind his back. But the tense way he holds his arms makes you think that he's trying to keep them behaved, rather than holding an emergency chloroform bottle.


You nod.

 

"Great! Come on, I'll show you to the guest room."

 

He brings his left hand out, stretching behind your back and over your opposite arm. Steering you manually, he shows you to your bed, then insists on giving you sleepwear too.

 

"Well, it'd be extremely uncomfortable," he says when you show hesitation. "These are my sister's old clothes— since you're smaller, I thought they might fit you. Sorry, I don't have anything else."

 

"It's… fine, really. You've already done so much, I feel like an ingrate here."

 

"Of course not! If anything, I'm glad the clothes are getting some use. My sister doesn't visit anymore, so they're just, you know, rotting. In the closet. Ha ha, that makes me sound like a horrible host, giving you threadbare stuff. Let's forget the last part."

 

You hold up the clothes. They look rather small when compared to what you're wearing.

 

"Oh," Peter intones behind you. "It's smaller than I thought. Weird. I could have sworn…"

 

"It's fine! I'm sure it'll fit." You'd make do. It's not like you've never worn small sizes before. You move to slip it over your arms when you suddenly notice that he's definitely not looking away, and surprisingly, not even hiding his interest.


You turn and look at him. He looks back at you, eyes glassy, saliva wetting his lips. It's a rather exposing feeling.


"Um," you say, then trail off. How do you tell him to tone it down without revealing what you already know, and possibly scaring him off?


The short answer is: you don't. Peter snaps out of his entranced state and bursts into awkward laughter, jumping off the bed and backing away to the door.


"Sorry, my bad, totally spaced out there," he says. Opening the door with one hand, still facing you, he does a side-step behind and gets one last word in before disappearing, "Good night, sweet dreams!"


The door closes. You thought maybe he'd lock you in, but there's no sound indicating that. Oh well. It was only the first day, after all. You shrug it off and get into the comfy pajamas, luxuriating in the sensation of the soft, feather-light fabric, like a cloud caressing your skin. The bed is equally comfortable as you settle in, sinking slightly from your weight. Now, the only thing left to do in the quiet, empty night, is turn off the lights. You reach out to the switch on the wall beside you, but freeze.


Right.


It's right there, beneath your hovering finger. You urge yourself on: Go on. Click the switch. Bury us in shadow. Your finger does not obey you, however, and it droops back to its place upon your abdomen, resting. The light bulb is annoyingly radiant above you. Your eyes, as they continue watching it, cultivate patches of darkness in your vision, as though your body was artificially creating that which you were so afraid of. With your sight so overwhelmed, your mind turns to other stimuli to smother it— a deep, ringing echo in your ears, passing back and forth inside your skull, and the previously heavenly sheets now feeling like slime along your skin. You rub your legs against each other, twisting them around bone and overheated flesh. It's a hot night, but you're not sweating, though sweating might have actually been helpful. At least then, you could have a clear solution. (You do not look at the switch. It's not important.) The night deepens outside the window, but neither your eyelids nor your paranoia drop.

 

It's not working, and you're awake. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells you that it's two minutes until 1 AM, but with the way you're suffocating, you'd have thought it was already morning.

 

Restlessness drives you to sit up, look around. After a while, fear takes a backseat in favor of boredom, and you imagine Peter using this room. It's neater than you'd imagined. The furniture is pretty tasteful, if a little utilitarian, and there isn't even a mote of dust. Maybe Peter would sit in that chair and do paperwork, or maybe he'd lie on the bed and play games on his phone. You don't know. You never learnt what he liked besides the player character, and it's not making you feel better right now.

 

Your hand rises again (muscle memory and nostalgia pairs together, and you forget that you're not home, that you're not—) and touches the light switch, but terror kicks the brakes before you can do it. No. This is not home, this is not your world, and this is not you. You take your hand back and trap it under your thighs, tears welling up in your eyes.

 

Okay, you think, maybe I can't handle it.

 

The need for sleep is getting to you, so you stand up, leave the room, and make your way around the apartment, all the while turning on the lights. Sometimes a walk helps. You track your slipper-covered feet all over the hallway, the bathroom, the kitchen, and finally, you reach Peter's bedroom. When you finally stop to think, your hand is already on the doorknob.

 

He could be sleeping. But there's a just as likely possibility that he's doing weird stalker shit, and you don't want to break the illusion of normalcy yet. You're tired. You just need sleep, and you've realized you can't do it alone. (You hope he won't say no.) So instead of barging in— though your stalker might have enjoyed that— you knock three times.

 

There's a moment of quieter silence, like a disturbance in the air disappearing, and then you hear the sound of tangled sheets and falling footsteps, and there goes the door, revealing Peter with mussed hair and a hastily thrown-on shirt.

 

"Hi?" he says sweetly, breathless. "Um, ha ha, this is— a surprise. Did you need something? I heard you moving around—"

 

Was he watching?

 

You wonder if he has cameras around. Why would he though, in his own house? Something about that fact is niggling you, but you can't see why. You decide to ignore it.

 

"Sorry to bother you, I just… couldn't sleep." It feels trivial when you say it out loud, but you can’t back out now. "I’m probably disturbing but—"

 

"No! No, you’re not. I mean, you can definitely bother me. I could make tea? Or maybe a snack? Or…"

 

He pauses here, gaze flickering around, then settling back on you. "Or," he continues, "I could introduce you to Rat? If you need a distraction."

 

You stare at him, not understanding, then remember: Rat's his snake. His pet snake. It lightens your mood a bit because you've never seen a live snake before. Your feelings are pretty mixed; some part of you is afraid of getting bit, some part of you is insanely excited, but most of all, it gives you an excuse to talk to Peter.

 

You answer, "I'd love to. May I come in?"

 

"Of course! Feel free to, it's really no problem. You can go anywhere in the house, there's no room off-limits."

 

He turns on the light, hurries you in and closes the door. But this time, as the small yet distinct sound of a lock registers in your senses, the hairs behind your neck stiffen. 

 

He's locked you in. You search for a window, but to your unease, there's none. You've walked right into an exit-less room, of your own free will if not your own stupid desperation.

 

"Sorry for the mess," Peter says. His desk is riddled with papers and random gadgets, and there's a spot at the corner that houses a heap of unwashed laundry. The smell isn't that bad though— just musky, like warm skin. And obviously, the bed is looking like a storm wrecked it up.

 

You think about him tossing and turning, chasing a slumber that won't come. Warmth dances along your rib cage.

 

While you're there, distracted, Peter nears the desk and gets the snake out of its tank. "Hey, sweetie," he's whispering, and you turn to watch him handle the animal. He's looking at it like he's holding a baby, like it's both precious and frustratingly weak, but the way he's carrying it makes you think he could be doing this for hours and still not get pissed.

 

He gestures you closer. "Come here, let her smell you. Gimme your hand—"

 

You extend your hand and he takes it, bringing it closer to the snake's head. You're entirely fascinated as Rat nuzzles your fingers, sluggishly nudging your knuckle, but the rest of your attention is on Peter's grip around the base of your palm. His fist has enveloped your whole wrist, and his fingers are twining up, touching the sensitive crevices of your inner hand. You feel his breath fan over your cheekbone, and the click of his swallow.

 

Rat goes back to rest soon after, and then there's no more need to hold your hand, but Peter keeps it aloft, palm to palm. Is holy palmers' kiss, you recall. Shakespeare, or something. You're way too occupied by the touching to ponder on it. As if that wasn't enough, Peter's thumb makes its descent down your ulna, tracing the outside of your arm until it comes to a stop, enveloping your elbow.

 

"Something on your mind?"

 

Can you tell him?

 

You avoid his gaze, but you can feel that it softens.

 

"Let's sit," he suggests, "Your legs will get tired." He guides you to the bed, sitting down beside you at the edge. Rat tightens her coil around his forearm but doesn't awake.

 

Interested despite the situation, you take the opportunity to brush your fingertip down her back. It's a smooth and pebbled sensation, the scales warm and alive under your hands. Seeing your enthusiasm, Peter demonstrates how to pet her without bothering, and soon enough, your hands end up tangled upon the snake, giving warmth to the same patch of scales.

 

You like the thought of him having her. There were so many opinions on him on the Internet, canon and fanon, but somehow they all seemed... shallow, egocentric or unnecessarily dark to you. You enjoyed consuming fan-works that depicted him as a person, someone with wants and emotions of their own un-enforced by a script. Someone you could love back.

 

And as you sit here, cradling the sleeping snake between you two, you start to think that it might come true some day. You watch his hands, unable to look away, just like you did all day. They're gorgeous. The long, lithe shape of them, the strange dichotomy of their fragility and strength, and the way their skin glows with life. To hell with holy palmers' kiss— You want to take them between your palms and rain kisses all over them. You'd press your lips on the back, look up at Peter's flushed face, and continue along the trail until…

 

You sneak a glance, finding him already watching. He's holding a calm, content smile on his face, as though he was— as though he could—

 

"What kind is she?" you ask, your pulse thundering.

 

"Eastern hognose. You can tell by the color— Southern hognose snakes aren't ever black. Additionally, since Rat's female, she's bigger than a male— it was a pain to find a big enough tank for her, but I was lucky it worked out—"

 

You're buried under a whole slew of snake facts, eating habits, and a photo album of Rat booping the camera. However, just as you're getting really into a video of Rat digging into sand, Peter tenses up beside you.

 

Immediately after you notice, he forcibly relaxes, laughing it off. "I'm talking a lot, aren't I? Sorry about that, just tell me to shut up whenever. You've gotta have a lot on your mind, right? I'll be quiet now."

 

"No, it's okay! I like it. You really love Rat, it's nice to see."

 

"Ha ha, you think so?" He avoids your gaze. "Let's— um— you sure I can't help with whatever's bothering you?"

 

Your mouth opens to say no, but he continues, "And not just that, but what happened in the park too. I know that kind of feeling, and I've struggled with it before, so maybe… I thought, we could work on it?" You hear his swallow. "Together?"

 

Together. It's a foreign thought. You're never 'together'. You have friends, you have family, but it never seems to matter when you're in the clutches of fear. You trace the line of your life, fast forward it in time, and when that black, unresponsive screen faces you, it's never about who you surround yourself with.

 

Then again, you've never tried this before. Sharing this feeling with someone.

 

You rest your hand on Rat's tail, and let your body tip to Peter's side, your temple bumping into his shoulder. He flinches at the contact.

 

"Imagine this," you say. "You're out of time. Out of time— the world slides past you in the blink of an eye, and everything that made you, you, dissolves into nothing. And now, there isn't anything— nothing but you and emptiness exists. Endless, infinite space, and it's bigger, older, and darker than you could ever imagine. And you're... nothing. Try, for a moment."

 

Peter doesn't seem to understand where you're going with this, but his arm rises to embrace you one-sidedly, laying his head on yours with a deep sigh.

 

"I'm imagining it," he says. His voice is tremulous, and it makes your heart melt.

 

"It's not cold, not hot. No light, no texture, no sound. There's nothing there aside from you."

 

His hand squeezes your shoulder. "It's lonely."

 

Your throat closes up. Not yet. You exhale the difficulty out, and continue, "Try to hold onto that for more than a moment. A few seconds."

 

He presses his face into your hair, his fingers biting bruises into your skin. You know he's doing it, and his earnest effort is visible. Audible. You can hear his swallow, the blood rushing in his veins.

 

"I can't," he admits. "Sorry."

 

"It's fine. I can't either." You continue to pet Rat, but she twitches awake and looks at you. "Oops. Sorry, baby."

 

"Let me put her back," Peter says, rising. He smoothly retrieves and deposits her back into the heated tank, waiting a little to watch her burrow into sand. 

 

His side on the bed is already cold. You resist the urge to lie down on the remnant heat, reminding yourself again and again that it's rude, that it's not what people do when they're guests.

 

You're startled out of your thoughts by Peter's footsteps. He stops in front of you and kneels on one knee, his face angled upwards.

 

For a moment, your brain is full of static,  and then a completely unhinged thought slaps you flat: Is it already sex time?

 

You mentally slap yourself back to sanity. Peter's not getting between your legs, he's getting on his legs. You're having an emotionally charged conversation, and for God's sake, you are not going to have sex with someone you just met. Perverted stalker behavior? That's fine. You can shut your eyes and pretend you can't see. But this requires active participation and you're not ready for that.

 

Abrupt interlude aside, you watch as he puts his hand— singular hand— on your knee, gently pressing his thumb into the grooves on the joint. His face is somber as he speaks.

 

“I’ve never…” He pushes the words out. “Had hope. I couldn’t afford to. I mean, why go to all that effort when it won’t even help?”

 

He tries to give you a smile, but you can tell he’s not feeling it. “So for a long time, I just sort of drifted. It was like I was waiting to die, you know? And it… was fine. I didn’t really care. I didn’t have anything I wanted out of life, so why bother, right?”

 

This is making your heart hurt, because you can’t say anything in return. No comfort, no advice, no consolation. You don’t think he’s looking for it either, but—

 

You don't dare touch him back, but you lean forward, supporting your torso with your elbows on your thighs. You avoid looking at him in the eye though, even with his face so close. Instead, your gaze falls on the floorboards.

 

“It doesn’t sound like you have given up,” he says. His hand descends and takes yours, as though they were the poles of a magnet, coming together. “When you described it, you weren’t thinking like— like someone dead. You sounded like someone looking for a way out.”

 

Are you? Is there a way out of this? How do you come back from being—

 

—deleted?

 

A total system reboot cannot make exceptions for singular items in its universe. The code is wiped clean and the existing structure is returned to factory settings. But even after erasure, isn’t the emptiness of the system a constant and an anchor by itself? The beginning equals the en̸d̶i̵n̸g̷, the̶ ̸d̶a̷r̴k̴n̷ess follows light, and the̷ ̴d̷a̸r̵k̵n̴e̴s̴s̸ ̵i̵s̵ ̵t̴h̸e̷ ̸w̸o̸m̷b̶ ̵a̶n̷d̴ ̷t̶h̶e̵ ̵c̸h̸r̶y̸s̴a̸l̶i̴s̷ ̴i̷n̸ ̸w̸h̴ic̴̖͕̓h̶̤̥̅ ̴̬͒t̶̠̦͆̑h̸̭̣͝ȩ̵̝̿m̴̖͌̚a̴̘͖̾ẗ̸̬́t̴̙͒t̸̨̆ę̵̑̒ř̴̳b̵̖̗̽̿ẹ̵͎̈́c̴͖̏͝o̷̤͍͗m̸̭̈̀e̸̯͇͒̂s̶̺͙͑a̸̭͛̀n̴͎̈́̌d̴̲̀̽ͅt̷̞̂h̷͚̊̅ḙ̷͝ ̴̛̦m̷̞̒̌ ̴̨̍ẩ̸̦ ̴̱́t̸̟̩́͝ ̵̺̥͛t̷̡̏ ̴̭̲̋e̵̫̹͌ ̴̭͖̿r̴͖͇̔ ̴̠͆t̷͕̾͝h̸͖̔a̵̝̲͐͋͌͗́t̴̛̙̫̹͆͛̓̏ ̶̥̠̳̺̒͌d̷̰̬͖̘͆̄͋̏͠ͅ ̸̤̌̄̅̀ô̸͓̕̚ ̴̨̮̫̣͉͂͒̒̽̀e̶̞͙̝̰̽̌͠ͅ ̵̨̦͇̎͛́̕̕s̸͉̪͉̹̎̐̃͘̕ ̵̢̡̆n̶̡̈́’̷̳̦̟̂̌̊̍̈͜ ̶̛̣͙̀͂͝ṫ̸̩̣͇̹͚ ̴̞̬͙̺̻̄̈̂́l̷̨̠̝͕̊̅̕̕į̸̋v̷̟͉̱̀̊̏͝e̶̝̿̿̚͝ơ̸̩̝͓͚̱̋n̴̠̺͚̽͒̋͐̌i̸͎͔͌n̵̮͋͑̏͠t̵̢̟̯̲̀͊ḣ̷͚̞͚̪̊ē̶̺̒̍̌l̴̢̳͑̇͋́i̵̟̦͍̍̓̈́͗̕ģ̷̗̯͉̯̂͘h̴̻̑͑ť̶͕̉b̴̢̘͍̜͚̍̎̃̾͘ẹ̸̩̝͙̮̿͆c̴͚͔̜̣͔̀̐͒͆͝o̵̘̮͑̑͋̎͗́́̏͒̆͛̀͛̃̈́̄̋̽̚͜m̴͈̦̟̺̟̄͝ę̵̘͖͈̣́̈͒̋̃͘͝s̶̡͉̟͇̬̬̖̝̙̥͕͇̤̉́͂̒̌̈́̕͜t̵̢̪͙̣͚͎̩̦̲̳̹̜͉̲̥͌̅̍̈́͊̿̀͌̓̄͘̚͝h̵̘̖͎̞̲̘̮̝̼̲̻̟͓̪̩̏̔͜ͅấ̴̩̝̲̮̇̑͋̆͌̕͠͠t̸̡͍̼͙̅̐͛͆̌̒́w̴̠̗̰̒̈h̶̯͍̯̣̓̋̈́̾̍̋͛͆͂̑͌͂̇͗̓̿̈́̚i̸̼͎͆͐̈́͊̓̈̆̑̓͠c̶̡̙̘͈͚͙̬̝͇̔̇̑̈́͗͆͌̌̏͌̐̊͒́̾͆̅͜͝h̵͙͈̀̍͠s̴̢̛̞̻͈͉̪̤̈́̈̇́́͛̓̈̋͐̍͊̚͘̕ù̸̢͓͕͙̣͖̩̫͖̠͒͂͋̎͗̈̿̿r̸̨͎̲͚̖̤̞̋̋̎̅̈́̔̓͋̅̏͆͘͝v̶̨̪̱̜͎̉͗͒͊̊̉̊̀͒͠į̵͎͕̠̬̰̯̋̊͌͊̍̅̀̏͂̂̇́̄͆̕̚ͅv̵̤̮͆̈̀̉͝e̸̡̨̡̧̪̠͇̱̳̙̗̬̬̯͎̼͒͒͗̀̌̂͗̃̌̔̉̀̍̓̕͜͠s̸̛̰̟̥̪͎̞̩͑̽—̶̨̡̢̹̹̰̜̞͙̻͌̇̏̔̆̊̽̏͂͝͠





Y̸̟̱̜̭̼̝͛͂͒O̸͓͓͑̈́͜͝U̴͍͇̠̦̜̦̐̎͛͑̂̊̃̾͝͝—

 ̸̫͗͂͐̂̏͗

 

c̸a̵n̵ ̸y̷o̶u̵ ̸h̴e̶a̴r̵ ̷t̸h̷e̴ ̴s̵o̷u̶n̷d̶?̷








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You realize you’re awake, still. Peter is kneeling in front of you, staring with wide eyes and parted lips. You don’t know what just happened, but there’s a strange relief in your heart. The fear has been lifted, and in its place is affection. A sense of sincere gratitude.

 

“I,” you rasp, voicebox worn, “need sleep.”

 

That moment, you both become aware of your position, the way you’re face to face with lips mere inches apart. Peter springs backwards, limbs animated as he stammers his apologies, but you’re unable to listen. Sleep is beckoning you like a siren to the seabed. You feel yourself swaying in time to a melody you can’t hear and can’t articulate, but you have enough willpower to keep your eyes open, watching your stalker get a futon and a spare pillow out of a wardrobe.

 

“You can take the bed, darling,” he’s saying, “I’ll sleep right here, right beside you. You don’t need to worry about anything. If— If you get scared, you can peer over and see me, right? So you know you’re— that you’re not alone. I’ll be there.”

 

He finishes with the floor bed and comes back, manually lowering your unresponsive body onto the mattress. It’s not as soft as the one in the guest room, but it smells like Peter and your spine stretches with soft micro-clicks, relieving an ache in your back that you hadn’t even noticed. You look at him dopily as he pulls up a light blanket over you, rubbing it flat around your shoulders.

 

“Thanks,” you tell him.

 

His eyes snap up to yours, wide and perfect blue, and avoid again. He doesn’t reply, but you’re tired, so you don’t care. Peter leaves your side and you hear his voice again, quiet.

 

“Good night.”

 

The light switches off.

 

Your breathing speeds up, but there’s no foreign presence inside you. Instead, it’s familiarity that crawls down your rib cage, filling out your empty spaces, cocooned inside your warm flesh. Your body temperature cools down, and slowly, sleep claims you as its own.

 

 

Morning welcomes you late. You slept in and ended up waking around ten, burr around your eyes. After washing your face, you go to the kitchen and find Peter in the middle of a battle with the ready pancake mix.

 

“You’re awake!” he exclaims. Gesturing to the mess on the counter, “Sorry, looks like I’m only good for chopping and boiling. It tastes okay though! It’s edible. I think.”

 

You start laughing and can’t stop, devolving into giggles and snorts. You end up taking over batter duty and Peter flips the pancakes instead. He’s good at determining exactly when they’re browned, something you still aren’t very proficient in, so you make a good team and soon enough, you have a batch of pancakes ready. Just as he said, they taste perfectly sweet and have the consistency of fluffy bread.

 

“I think I should take cooking lessons,” Peter says, wilted in defeat.

 

“You’re fine. Pancakes and crepes are difficult. The pasta went much better.”

 

He whines about it some more, but you’re enjoying it. You shove a few more bites in your mouth in spite of your full stomach, exaggerating your chewing, and it seems to make him happier.

 

While you’re finishing up, you find your phone and check your messages, only to remember that Y/N works at a diner and that you weren’t there today. There are seven messages from TK asking about your whereabouts, and three from Lucy asking where you were, dated midnight.

 

“Everything alright?” Peter asks.

 

“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s just…” You read the ones from TK first. They start off with simple reminders, then they become harried ‘are you OK?’s and move on to ‘I’ll cover for you THIS TIME’. And then—

 

‘Boss says you’re fired if you aren’t here by noon COME ON’

 

You push the phone in your back pocket and start zipping your bag up, lightning fast. Peter is hovering behind you— you can feel it— but there’s really, really no time to waste. You don’t wanna risk being unemployed when you don’t know what the job market is like, and there’s a bit of a fear inside you that not being a waiter might fuck up the narrative, if there’s any.

 

“I could drive you if you’re in a hurry,” Peter offers.

 

You spin around to face him. “Really?”

 

“Yeah! I mean, you’re gonna take the bus, right? We’ll be there faster with me.”

 

“Thank you! So much!” You’re tempted to kiss his cheek, but you hold it in and do a very brief hug instead. He’s at least ten inches taller than you, so you end up hugging his chest, but it checks out.

 

You hurry him up while he gets his keys. Just like in the game, his vehicle is a big white van that looks handmade for kidnapping, but you push that thought to the very back of your mind and shimmy into the seat with nervous energy. As Peter starts the engine, you begin wondering if you are even capable of working at Dad’s Damn Diner. Y/N was used to it because they’d been doing it for a while, but you aren’t, and what if you get fired anyway? And then you’ll end up looking for a job anyway.

 

Peter must have seen your somber face because he says, “Don’t be too intimidated. You’ve been working for a long time, they’ll forgive one late day. They’d be stupid to let go of you.”

 

You’re about to thank him when you remember that no, you haven’t told him your destination actually, and additionally, you haven’t told him about your work either. You refrain from sighing and slapping your forehead. But what if I was perceptive and didn’t like you, Peter? What then? You can’t afford to be careless with the information you’re NOT supposed to know!

 

“Thanks,” you say instead, dryly. “I don’t know, I think there are a lot of people who would work harder for less pay. I can’t slack off if I wanna keep my job.”

 

“At a decent place? Sure, workers for cheap wages are dime a dozen. At this shithole? Not really. Like I said, they’d have to be stupid.”

 

Fine. You lean your head onto the headrest. Surprisingly, it’s the perfect height to support your neck. You siphon some good feelings from that and spend the rest of the ride with your eyes closed, resting your mind.

 

Soon though, you’ve arrived. You unbuckle your seat and move to open the door when a hand stops yours in its grip. You glance back. Peter’s face is awfully close to yours, flustering you a little.

 

“Um.” You look at the car window instead. “Yeah?”

 

“You know, when I saw you at the park, I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.”

 

You look back at him in shock. What? His cheeks are a little flushed, and his smile is lopsided. Your brain is chanting, What are you doing? What are you doing?!

 

“So,” he continues, his other hand traveling up your arm coyly. “I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner?”

 

Oh you just HAVE to say it like that, don’t you? “Technically… you already have.”

 

“I’m insatiable,” he admits unabashedly. “Both for food and for you.”

 

You bark a laugh. Alright, you gotta give it to him, that was smooth. Since you were already planning on it…

 

“Okay. I’ll bite.”

 

He perks up. “Really? I mean, good. I’m happy that you agreed! How about I come and pick you up at the end of your shift?”

 

“Do you even know when that is?”

 

“...I’m guessing it’s around four or so. And I’d come even if it was late. I don’t think you realize how much I want to go on this date.”

 

You’ve never felt so embarrassed before. It’s like every word he’s saying is dousing you in gasoline, and the heat you’re generating just from your face is crazy.

 

“Okay, fine, I accept. I surrender, whatever.” You push his face away with your open hand, making him grunt in surprise. “See you later?”

 

He smiles. “Yeah. See you later, darling.”

[carbuncle-paws]

I made a real/more serious sketch for you guys too, Peter product testing that emulator!

[darkgodcomplex]

Masterlist of Fics!

Feel Free to Send Requests!

Your Boyfriend Fics:

Rusted Smiles

Welcome Home Yandere/Horror Fics:

Home Sweet Home

The Lord’s Child

You

Reverend Wally

Red Christmas

Sleepover

Home

Welcome Home Fluff Fics:

Yours

Mello X Reader:

Pawns and Prostitutes

Death Note Stolen Series:

Chapter 1

Princess Peach X Reader:

My Princess

Original Yandere Fics:

Landlord Yandere

Other Links:

AO3 Link

Wattpad Link

[mordayks]

I remembered that I'm actually writing a fanfic...

Fuck, I've already forgotten the whole plot and idea...

[dms-saggicorn]

very very interesting and kinda sweet

The First Death (TW Psychological Horror)

---

Audio Log - xx/xx/2023

No.. no no no no NO NO!! This can't be happening! Darling, please get up!!

I'm so sorry I never meant for things to happen this way, darling, open your eyes, please!!

Darling?? Oh my god-

---

Supervisor Log - xx/xx/2023

You know, nobody ever thanks me for this job.

Oh, Mr. Smith, thank you so much for standing by while the subject wails like a dying dog for hours on end!

He's a pretty predictable guy, you know.

Frantically try to save their life, cry and yell for hours, days even. Stuff their body in the freezer, lock himself in the house, curl up, end up catatonic. Same ol routine. Every goddamn time.

The subject only starts responding again once we cut the amnestics and expose the bastard to the Screen. You know, show him that his darling dearest is still alive. That gets him up and running again.

We usually give him another round of amnestics within the next few days.

The show's gotta go on, you know. We have cash to make.

---

15/xx/202x

Darling, I'm so so happy to see you! Oh, my love, you look so beautiful, so.. well.. alive!

I.. I saw you die today. It was.. hard. There's nothing I can think of to describe what this did to me. My whole world shattered when I saw you on the floor, when I found out you.. weren't breathing.

Please darling.. please never leave me. I wish I could get away from all this, I wish I could just squeeze through this goddamn screen.

I wish I could be with you. Every day. All day. All the time.. I.. I don't know what I'd do without you.

---

Your boss, your relatives, those.. people.. who call themselves your "friends".. they're disgusting.

Nobody else appreciates you the way you deserve, nobody sees you the way I do. This world, it's so sick, everyone's so vile, so shallow, so twisted to not see how wonderful you really are.

I wish you could see this letter. Whenever things get hard, always remember that I love you, and never give up because.. I need you. I need you here.. with me.

You are my sun, my stars, my heart, my soul, my everything. Life is nothing if you're not in it. I need you.

♥️ Your Boyfriend ❤️‍🩹