#twselfharm

Characters: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Warnings: Addiction, overdose, anxiety, plus-size reader, panic-attacks, abusive parents, suicidal ideation, self-harm, no smut (yet haha)

Word Count: 15K

Note: Hi! I’ve honestly never written a fanfiction before, but I have read a LOT (D1 yearner over here) & after being laid off from my job a few months ago and falling into a bit of a depression pit, a few people suggested I get a hobby… so here I am. This honestly might suck, I don’t really even know– but I thought I might give it a try. This is super self-indulgent and representative of a few different relationships in my life. It’s not really been proofread or edited, so I’m sure there are some errors haha. I work in the creative industry as a writer/designer, but none of my work is ever fictional, so this is kind of a huge jump for me. Huge kudos to @fandomxo, the way she writes with such raw honesty and care really inspired me to try and create something myself. Hope ya enjoy! :)

Age Twenty-Seven:

The first time you felt the wind get knocked out of your lungs, you were seven. You were rushing down the stairs of the house your family had just moved into to show your mother the drawing you’d made of how you wanted your new bedroom to look. In your excitement, you failed to notice a second piece of paper slide out of your hand and onto the step below you. Before you could even register the fact that you were slipping, the edge of one of the stairs collided with your back, shoving the air out of your lungs so harshly that you couldn’t even cry.

You felt that feeling again, but this time you hadn’t slipped, not really. You were in your Midtown office, sitting at your ‘spunky and funky’ desk (as you fondly referred to it), decorated with practically the entire office supply section from Staples, along with a framed photo of your pride and joy: Tulip (your allegedly overweight and “opinionated” cat). 

Sitting across from you was one of the Graphic Designers, Tommy, and next to you was the new Freelance Photographer, Emily. Your desktop was dimly lit with a blank Word Document staring back at you, along with the notes from your latest interview with a somewhat snobby but sort of funny in a really dry and possibly offensive way “up-and-coming” millennial sculpture artist. You fucking hated her “Gallery of Bold Abstraction” or whatever the hell she called it, but it could’ve been worse, you supposed. 

But then all of a sudden, none of it mattered. The wind was sucker-punched out of your lungs, and somehow you were back there.

Stupid ass Sarasota Springs– the place you’d spent most of your life trying to escape. This was one of the last times you were there, the summer after you graduated from college.

This night had haunted you for the past four years. You hated that you knew exactly what was coming as you watched your 22 year-old-self storm after him in the dimly lit 7/11 parking lot.

“You don’t get to just fucking do this, Robby,” your younger self screamed, not caring who heard, “You can’t just leave.”

His head whipped around as he stopped in his place, his big blue eyes bloodshot and cold. “Why not? You fucking did,” he roared back, throwing his hands into the air.

“That isn’t the same, and you know that,” she muttered, shaking her head in frustration. “Seriously, you can’t just fucking fly across the world to a foreign country with no plan all by yourself.”

“I have a plan. I’m going to finally find a god damn purpose– be like fucking Sidhartha or some shit,” he spits out, running his hands through the shaggy curls atop his head. “Either that or I can take a few too many crazy once-in-a-lifetime drugs, and then maybe I can finally be done with this whole big stupid ass thing.”

She glared at him, because she knew exactly what he meant– and he knew exactly how bad it hurt her to hear him say it. “That isn’t fucking funny,” she spat, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not joking (Y/N),” he looked her dead in the eyes for the first time since he told her he had sold all his “earthly possessions” and bought a one-way ticket to Malaysia that leaves in the morning. “You never fucking got it– you still don’t. I have nothing, I have nowhere.”

Her eyes softened as she took a step closer, seeing a glimpse of the scared boy she’d spent her whole life loving in one way or another. “That isn’t true Robby, you know it isn’t. You can come stay with me I know it’s not perfect but–”

He cut her off with a scoff and the softness of the boy she once knew was gone again. “That’s the other fucking thing you never got, you always think you can help me or some shit– but you can’t,” he spits, taking a step away from her. “You’ve followed me around like a lost puppy since we were kids, always trying to fix me like some little pet project.”

You knew what was happening. You’d seen him twist like this a million times before. You knew he didn’t mean it– but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“What? Come on, stop it, you know that isn’t–,” she started before he cut her off once again. 

“News flash (Y/N), you can’t fix me because you’re no fucking better. You’ve always had everything– money, big brains, a loving family, a silver fucking spoon, and you’ll throw it all away over and over again for your addict ex-best friend because I’m the only person who can stand to put up with you,” he sneers. 

She crossed your arms over your chest and took a deep breath, trying to use the ounce of dignity she had left to talk him down. “I know you don’t mean that, you’re not thinking clearly right now.”

“Oh really? Because I think I mean exactly what I’m saying,” he says as he lets out a cruel laugh. “You’ve latched onto me for as long as I can remember, because I was the only one too nice to tell the ugly, fat girl to get lost.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered weakly as she dug her fingernails into her palms to try and distract herself from the venom being hurled at her. 

“It’s about time somebody told you the truth,” Bob said as he took a step back from her. He didn’t mean anything he said, and he hated himself for saying it. Deep down, some part of you knew that too; despite everything, you knew each other better than you knew yourselves. But he just needed you to let him go, and the only thing he could think to do was take all that ugly shit he knew was inside your head– all the shit he’d spent years trying to reassure you about, and then throw it right back in your face.

“You’re pathetic, seriously. I pushed you away for years, and you never took the damn hint,” he taunted. “I never needed you (Y/N). You needed me. How pathetic is that?” 

The tears welling up in her eyes spilled over, slowly spilling down her cheeks. 

“You don’t even have real problems; you just leech off of people who do to try and make up for the fact that, despite having everything handed to you, you’ll never amount to anything,” he spat out.

You knew that he didn’t mean it, you knew that then, and you know that now. He was hurting so badly that all he could do was tear everything around him into shreds. You knew because you felt the exact same way. Sometimes spewing hateful shit you don’t mean just to push someone away feels better in the moment than facing a gut-wrenching rejection 15 years in the making. 

“You know what, go to hell, you junkie piece of shit,” She hissed back. “I wasted so much of my life trying to fix you, but you’re exactly like your fucking dad– you know that?” You watched on as his eyes softened in both hurt and surprise, before they resumed an aching glare. 

“Yeah, well, at least I’m honest with myself,” he spat back. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned around– resuming his walk towards the neon glow of a nearby bus stop.

She wiped angrily at the tears running down her face, scraping your cheeks so hard it left bright red marks in the wake of her fingers. “Fuck you, Bob,” she screamed across the parking lot. “I fucking hate you.”

He looked back for just a second. “Join the club,” he muttered, before jogging up to the bus with a neon sign that read “SARASOTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT”.

You watched this other version of yourself try to cover the sobs and wails escaping her body, as you saw Bob hold back tears from his seat on the bus. 

You screamed out at your younger self, “HEY, GET UP,” as you ran toward your own crumpled form. “Don’t let him go, he won’t come back from this!” But it didn’t seem to do any good. You couldn’t hear yourself.

Then it was dark again. You felt the cold laminate floor of your office beneath you and the itchy material of your work tights against your legs as you began to slowly open your eyes.

It was complete and utter chaos. Tommy was sobbing. Your boss ran in looking disheveled, asking if everyone was okay. One of the guys from finance was yelling to turn on the news. But you, you couldn’t breathe. 

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut by a WWE wrestler. What the actual fuck just happened? Why were you just reliving your biggest mistake? Why did you let Bob get on that stupid bus– you knew he was only saying that shit to hurt your feelings, so you’d leave. You knew that, so why did you fall for it anyway? Why would you compare him to his father? He wasn’t his cruel and abusive dad– he was still the shy and sweet boy who scraped the cream off his Oreos to give to you at lunchtime because he knew how much you liked it. 

You felt someone shake your shoulder. “Hey, (Y/N), can you hear me?”

You looked up to see your co-worker Emily leaning over you with mascara stains down her cheek. 

You rubbed your face before pushing up off the ground, looking over to your frazzled desk-mate. “What… What just happened?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, there was some this… thing, up in the sky, and it was all black, like he didn’t have a face… and then, then I swear I was just somehow at my dad’s funeral again,” Emily replied, wiping at her glassy eyes.

You both turned your attention over to the large television stationed in the middle of the office, as one of your other co-workers had finally gotten it back on. On the screen, you saw what appeared to be a press conference in the middle of the street, just a few blocks over. Most of the office rushed over to the giant high-rise windows to look out and try to spot the commotion happening on the street, but you were frozen still. 

For the second time in the past hour, the wind was completely knocked out of your lungs.

On the TV screen behind a polished dark-haired woman speaking was Robby. YOUR Robby. Standing there, clapping with that same exact dumb smile he had when you walked across the stage at your 8th-grade graduation. But it doesn’t make any sense at all– you hadn’t heard from him since that night at the shitty Florida gas station. Nobody had. You thought he was fucking dead.

“Robby?” you muttered in serious confusion.

You didn’t even notice you were falling until your head hit the ground, and it was dark once more.

Age Seven:

“(Y/N), come grab this box and take it up to your new room,” your mom called to you as she grabbed another box from the U-Haul.

You dropped the hibiscus flower you’d plucked from your new yard. It was so exciting to have real flowers growing in your yard. There was never anything like that in your old house back in Virginia. Not to say that you weren’t upset that your dad’s new job relocated you 12 hours down south, because you definitely were… but you’d always been one to stop and smell the flowers. 

“Coming, Momma,” you replied, trotting over to the gigantic truck parked in the yard. She handed you the small cardboard box you had packed yourself back in your old room. It had your slightly oversized but very well-loved Flying Ace Snoopy stuffie all wrapped up in the blanket your mom knitted for you, plus some other little trinkets you’d shoved in. 

Holding the box up over your little head, you marched towards the steps of the big empty house. You barely made it 5 feet before you heard some yelling and a door slam that caught your attention. Turning towards the smaller house next to your new one, you saw a boy about your age with shaggy light brown hair and a tattered Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tee storm out the front door.

You probably should’ve been paying less attention to your new neighbor and more attention to the ground in front of you– because before you knew it, you had tripped over a root growing up from the ground, landing you face-first in the dirt. 

The boy from next door heard a thud and looked over to see you hit the ground pretty hard, before speeding down the steps to check on you. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked as he bent down to your level. 

You looked up at him, trying to keep the tears welling up from spilling over. Then you looked over to see the precious box you packed all by yourself had spilled all over the ground, and your Snoopy was absolutely covered in dirt. That did you in, and the tears just started pouring out.

“Hey, don’t cry, it’ll be okay,” he said, doing his best to comfort you. “My name's Bob, I live next door– do you think you need a bandaid?”

“No, b-but my Snoopy,” you wailed out while pointing to your most sacred possession, that was lying face down in the soil.

Bob looked over before rushing to grab your toy and shake some of the dirt from his white plushy body. He quickly handed it over to you so you could inspect it for yourself. 

“It’s alright, he’ll be good as new after a bath,” Bob said, offering you a small smile. “My mom has this special soap for when my dad makes a mess, and I bet she would let you borrow some.”

You clutched your toy close to your chest, nuzzling your face into it, before looking back up at the boy.

“Thank you,” you muttered, trying to be brave and keep the tears from flowing.

Bob held out a hand that you took, allowing him to pull you up from the mushy ground.

“My name’s (Y/N), we just moved here for my dad's new job,” you said, wiping away a few stray tears.

“That’s cool, you guys seem way better than Mrs. Shapiro, who used to live here,” he said with a smile. “She always used to give me nasty wet kisses on the cheek, and this one time, her dentures fell out.”

Bob grimaced, and you let out a little giggle.

“I really like your shirt,” you said, pointing to his worn out turtle tee. 

“Oh yeah, thanks,” he said, looking down at his shirt. “I got it from–”

A loud booming voice echoed across the yard, cutting him off. 

“Bobby! You get your ass back in here.”

You looked over to see an angry older man holding a beer bottle in one hand and pointing over at your new friend with the other.

Bob’s cheeks quickly flushed red as he whipped his head back over towards his house. 

“I gotta go,” he rushed out quickly before speeding over to his angry father. He looked back before he went inside and called out, “I’ll see you later (Y/N), and I’ll bring that soap for your Snoopy.”

***

You didn’t see him for two days after that.

Monday rolled around, and you made your way out to the bus stop towards the end of the street. Bob was already there, sitting on the curb wearing a Florida Gators baseball hat, and fidgeting with a Rubik's Cube in his hands. 

“Hi Bob,” you said shyly as you approached him. 

He looked up and smiled once he realized it was you. 

“Oh, hey (Y/N), are you riding the bus too?” he asked. 

You smiled and sat down next to him. “Yeah, I’m really nervous though, I’ve never ridden the bus before.”

He turned to look at you, and you realized he had a yellowing bruise under his left eye that hadn’t been there two days ago.

“Oh no, did you fall?” you questioned, concern heavy in your voice. 

Bob almost looked embarrassed by the question as he pulled his hat down further to try and cover his face, “Uh, yeah, I slipped, it’s no big deal.”

He looked back up at her with a small smile, “The bus really isn’t so bad, I’ve been riding it since Kindergarden. There’s some jerks on there, but if you don’t bother them, they shouldn’t bother you.”

You smiled back at him, happy to know at least one person in this new town. “Who do you have as a teacher? I got Mrs. Willis, she was nice at the orientation.” 

“I’m in her class too! My parents were too busy to go to the orientation thing, but I remember her classroom was near my first grade one last year,” Bob said, fiddling with his Rubik’s Cube, finally turning one side all red. 

Suddenly, the big yellow school bus was pulling up to your stop, and Bob stuck his cube into his backpack before pushing up from the ground. He offers his hand out to you, “Here, we can sit together if you want, I usually sit by myself.”

You take his hand and stand up before following him towards the crowded bus, “Yeah, thank you,” you mutter shyly– intimidated by the prospect of new people and a new school.

You follow behind as the bus pulls to a stop and the doors squeak, then open– revealing three steps leading up to an exhausted bus driver and rows full of rowdy elementary school students.

“Hustle, let’s go, can’t be late for the first day,” the driver calls out. 

Bob walked up the steps and down the aisle with you trailing behind, eventually stopping at an empty bench seat towards the center of the bus. He slid into the seat, spinning his backpack around to sit on his lap, before looking up at you and nodding towards the open seat next to him.

Sliding into the vinyl-lined seat, you clutched your backpack anxiously, playing with the silicone Bath and Bodyworks hand sanitizer cover you got at the mall with your mom right before the big move. 

Looking around the bus, you noticed there were mostly older kids, which made you even more nervous. It was so loud with all the chatter that you felt like your head might explode. You clutched your bag even tighter and squinted your eyes shut, trying to keep tears from escaping. You didn’t even know why you were crying; nothing bad had even happened. Everyone always called you a crybaby– but you truly couldn’t help it, you just felt emotions so strongly that it was really hard to keep it all bundled inside. 

Bob looked over, noticing your tense form. He leaned over and tapped your shoulder, “Hey, (Y/N), are you okay?”

You slowly opened your eyes, finally willing the tears to go away. “Yes, yeah, I’m just nervous, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, I get it, it’s really loud in here–,” Bob gets out before a new nasally voice cuts him off.

“Hey Bobby, got a new girlfriend?” 

An intimidating-looking fourth grader with spikey blonde hair and a tooth gap pops up from the seat behind you, leaning his elbows onto your seat. 

Bob turns around, looking a little intimidated, before anger settles in. “She’s not my girlfriend, leave us alone Dustin,” he says back.

“Woah Bobby, we’re just being friendly,” the boy who you assumed to be Dustin said, smiling smugly in a way that made you feel like there was a joke everyone was laughing about that you just weren’t in on. 

Before you know it, another boy with a shaggy Bieber haircut pops up next to Dustin, matching his smug grin that made your stomach twist into a pretzel. “Yeah, Bobby, honestly, we’re just surprised anyone would want to sit next to a freak like you,” the new boy said.

Bob turned to you and did his best to give a comforting look, “Just ignore them (Y/N),” he said quietly. 

The Bieber-haired boy smirked smugly, “Hey, (Y/N), I’m Darren– are you new?” he asked.

You looked nervously from Bob to Darren and Dustin. You really didn’t want to interact with these two bullies– but you feared ignoring them would just make things worse.

“Yeah, I just moved here,” you muttered shyly.

Dustin gave a Cheshire cat grin, “Wow, that’s soooo cool, isn’t it Bobby?”

Bob looked up at Dustin with rage behind his eyes. “Leave her alone,” he grumbled.

Darren gave Dustin a nudge with his elbow, nodding his head towards where your hands fiddled nervously with your hand-sanitizer before cooly replying, “Jeeze Bobby, it’s the first day back, what’s got your panties in a bunch? Did you not get enough kissies from Mommy this morning?”

Dustin directed his attention towards you next, reaching his hand down towards your hand-sanitizer. “Hey (Y/N), you mind if I borrow that real quick? I gotta get these Bobby germs off of me.”

You were frozen in fear. Before you knew it, Dustin was snatching the bottle out of your hand. Then he squeezed down on the plastic container, shooting hand sanitizer all over the front of your first-day-of-school outfit.

Both bullies burst out laughing, and you held back tears. 

“Haha, whoops, sorry about that,” Dustin giggled. 

As you tried to wipe the liquid off of you, you looked over at Bob through your teary eyes, and saw as his whole body stiffened. Suddenly, he was lunging over the seat and pummeling Dustin with his bare fists. 

“I… told… you,” Bob grunted through punches, “to leave her alone.”

Darren tried to pull Bob off of Dustin, but was swiftly shoved into the bus aisle, knocking into a girl drinking out of a plastic water bottle, which then spilled onto them both. 

Chaos erupted as the girl and many other passengers started screaming for the bus driver to make them stop, but you remained frozen– the violence terrified you, but at the same time, nobody had ever stood up for you like this. 

The bus pulled to a screeching halt as it reached the school, and soon enough, the bus driver was stomping down the aisle, screaming for the boys to stop. 

“Stop it, you two,” she screeched as she yanked them apart. Dustin was in tears, with a bit of blood running down his nose, and Bob was breathing heavily with a red face and anger still in his eyes. 

“It’s a brand new year, and you two are still at it. I can’t believe it,” she shouts. “Come on, you’re both going to see the principal.”

She yanked both boys by the collars and marched them off the bus, and into the custody of a nearby teacher in front of the school.

The bus driver walked back up onto the bus before grumbling, “Alright, show's over– head to class.” 

Everyone on the bus loaded off as if nothing had happened, so you just tried your best to go along and pretend everything was okay– sinking your nails into your tiny palms the whole way.

Thirty minutes into Mrs. Willis’s morning lesson, the classroom door opened. A tall and polished man that you recognized from orientation as the principal, walked into the room with a slightly battered Bob in tow. 

“Principal Smith, what do we owe this pleasure?” Mrs. Willis asked, leading all the students to direct their attention towards the door.

Principal Smith smiled calmly and responded, “Just returning Mr. Reynolds here to your classroom. Robert and I had a little chat about proper bus riding etiquette.”

The rest of the class made “ooooooh”-ing noises, leading Mrs. Willis to shush them as she guided Bob towards an empty desk that just so happened to be next to you (perks of the only person you know in this school getting sent to the principal's office).

“Thank you, Principal Smith,” Mrs. Willis called out as she walked back up towards the front of the room. “Okay, everybody, I’m going to give you ten minutes of free time to organize your desk area with all your new school supplies, but let’s keep the volume to a minimum.”

As everyone began to dig through their new packs of pencils and erasers, you and Bob both turned to each other quickly. 

“Are you okay?” you both questioned at the exact same time. 

You immediately shook your head yes and said, “Yeah, I’m alright, it was just hand sanitizer, it’ll come out. Are you okay? I’m so sorry I got you in trouble.” 

Bob looked confused as he started fidgeting with his fingers, “It wasn’t your fault, it was that stupid jerk Dustin’s. He’s messed with me for as long as I can remember, but it was just different seeing him mess with you like that.”

You nodded as your anxiety eased up a little, knowing your only friend here wasn’t angry with you. “Did you get in any trouble with the principal?” you questioned.

“Yeah, detention for a half hour after school all week,” Bob groans. “When my dad finds out, he’s gonna be so mad, especially since I’m gonna miss the bus.”

You notice how his tone immediately shifts once he mentions his dad, “Is that who yelled at you the other day outside?” you ask.

Bob nods, looking down defeated, “Yeah, he uh, he gets mad a lot.”

He looked so upset that it made your little heart ache. You nudge his shoulder with your own and smile softly at him, “My dad gets mad too sometimes,” you offer.

He offers you a small half smile before looking down again. “One of the reasons I got so angry on the bus is because they kept calling me Bobby,” he said quietly. “It’s what my dad always calls me when I mess something up.”

Despite only being seven, you were pretty emotionally intuitive. A lot of people in your life had just settled for calling you “over-dramatic”, but you’d developed a knack for taking on others' emotions from a very young age– and so when people you cared about were upset, it really upset you too.

You wanted to make your friend feel better, and so you racked your little brain for anything you could think of.

“Hey, maybe I could um, maybe I could call you Robby?” you said. “It’s like Bobby, but different, and I can call you that when you do good things! Like, save me from bus bullies!” 

Bob looked up from his lap, and albeit small, he gave you the first genuine smile you’d seen since he returned from the principal’s office. “Hm, Robby… Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he said, “Nobody has ever given me a nice nickname before.”

You perk up a little, as another way to help pops into your head. “My mom works across the street at the Library and I’m supposed to walk there after school so she can give me a ride home!”

Bob looked confused, “Oh uh, that’s cool,” he said– not realizing where you were going with this idea.

“She doesn’t leave until four,” you exclaimed. “We can give you a ride home, and you can tell your dad you were studying at the Library, and he doesn’t have to know you got in trouble!”

Bob thought about what you said for a second, “Do you really think she’ll be okay giving me a ride?”

You nodded your head excitedly, “Yeah, she won’t care at all, she’ll probably be really excited that I have a real friend already!”

You watched as some of the anxiety melted away from his face, and he began to nod. “Yeah, uh okay, that will work! Thank you (Y/N), you really saved me.”

You nudged his shoulder again, “Well, you saved me first, Robby.”

After that day, you two were thick as thieves. Bob caught a ride home with you and your mom nearly every day after school. He ended up being over at your house more than he was at his own– your parents joked that they always wanted a son. But then the night came, and Bob went back home. Some nights, your family could hear the shouting from their house next door, inside your own.

Your parents always made an effort to be nice to the Reynolds family, going out of their way to chat with them whenever they could. His father would give a gruff mumble and walk off– not having time to be neighborly. Your mother tried really hard to befriend Bob’s mom, Annie, sensing that something was off between her and her husband. She invited her to book club meetings and over for coffee, but she rarely came. The one time she did, your parents' landline received a very angry call from Mr. Reynolds demanding that she return home, and that the house was a complete mess. That was another night you could hear the screaming from inside your own bedroom. 

On the day after Christmas, when you were both in the fourth grade, Bob came over to hang out and play with the new Nintendo DS you’d gotten that year from Santa (he didn’t have the heart to tell you Santa wasn’t real, after his father had drunkenly let it slip to him a few years prior). Very quickly, both you and your mother noticed the large bruises on his arms and the way he was cradling his left one close to his chest. After your mom questioned what happened, he said he fell off the couch in a weird way, but you knew from the look in his eyes that that wasn’t the case. 

Your uncle, an emergency medicine doctor, was still in town from Christmas, and your mother quickly went to grab him from the living room. After a quick look, he concluded that Bob’s arm was most likely broken in two different places. Your mom called Bob’s house and told his mother that he needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible. You held his uninjured hand tightly while he rested his head on your shoulder as the two of you waited for his parents to arrive.

Later that night, you heard hushed whispers coming from the kitchen, as your uncle told your mother there was no way that a small tumble would cause a break like that, and that with the finger-shaped bruises on his other arm, it was much more consistent with a harsh shove or push. You continued to eavesdrop from around the corner as your parents placed a call to CPS. 

Nothing ever came of it, though, aside from Bob’s new blue cast and his mentioning that some lady from the government came by his house, and it made his dad be really nice to him for the day. He told you that it didn’t last twenty minutes after she left. 

Age Thirteen:

“Robby!” You called out over the sound of the final bell, signaling that the school day was over. You quickly slammed your locker shut and jogged to catch up to your best friend, who was a few feet ahead of you. 

Bob stopped walking and turned around to face you with a single strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. Ever since he broke his left arm, he favored the right one. “Hey, there you are,” he said, raising a hand and ruffling your hair.

“You’re still coming tonight, right?” you asked as the two of you walked in synch towards the front door of the school building. Tonight was your school's performance of The Little Mermaid, and you were playing Flounder. 

Bob nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be there, I told you there’s no way I’m gonna miss you singing while dressed as a fish,” he said, giggling.

You jokingly elbowed him, rolling your eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need a ride?” you asked, “My parents can pick you up.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Bob replied, “I have some chores to do first, my mom promised she’d give me a ride though.”

You both stopped as you reached the school exit, with you having to stay behind for dress rehearsal, and Bob needing to catch the bus back home.

“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” you said, “I’ll see you later tonight!”

Bob began making his way out the door towards the bus loop, “See you tonight,” he called out. 

You both waved goodbye, and you walked towards the auditorium, still giddy about the big performance. 

The dress rehearsal for the play went as smoothly as possible. There were a few hiccups, but you knew your lines by heart and were so excited for both Bob and your parents to see all the hard work you’d put in over the past few months. 

As the opening number started, you peeked out the teeniest bit from behind the curtain and tried to spot Bob and your parents in the seats that you had reserved. Immediately, you spotted your parents in their seats– but the seat next to your mom, the one reserved for Bob, was empty. You rationalized to yourself, he’s probably just running late. He’ll be here, he said he wouldn’t miss it.

Soon enough, it was time for you to go onstage. You did your part as best as you could, trying to keep your anxious thoughts about Bob’s whereabouts to a minimum. 

By the second act, the seat next to your mom was still empty, and you were trying your very best not to crack on stage. You knew Bob, you KNEW that he didn’t just skip this. Something bad must have happened; he’s never broken a promise to you before.

While performing the wedding scene, you heard the auditorium door open and immediately whipped your head around, hoping it was Bob. Unfortunately for you, it was just a parent coming back from the bathroom. It shook you up so much that you missed your cue, prompting the actor next to you to nudge your arm.

Before you knew it, it was time for the curtain call. The lights came on in the audience as you gave your bows, as the rest of the cast celebrated, you were fully concentrated on scanning the entire audience to see if maybe Bob had sat somewhere else. You still couldn’t spot him. 

As everyone exited the stage full of excitement about the production, you rushed off as quickly as you could to find your parents. 

You tore through the sea of friends and family, spotting your mom and dad and running up to them. 

“You did great, Sweetie!” your dad said, as he handed you a bouquet of flowers.

Your mom pulled you into a hug, sensing your anxiety about your absent best friend. 

You pulled back and looked at them both. You could tell by their faces that something was wrong. “Where is he?” you asked, fear present in your voice.

Your parents looked at one another nervously. 

“Let’s go talk in the car,” your dad said, gently rubbing your back.

You immediately shook your head, “No, no, tell me what happened, where’s Robby?” you asked.

Your mom turned to your dad and said, “Honey, could you go grab her stuff from backstage and meet us at the car?”

He nodded and kissed your forehead, and your mom guided you out of the auditorium with her hand on your back. You reached the exit pretty quickly as you anxiously looked at your mother for an explanation. 

Your mom sighed and put her hand on your shoulder, “Mrs. Reynolds sent me a text message during the play.”

“What did she say?” you asked immediately.

“On the way to the school tonight, Bob and his mom and dad got into a pretty serious car accident,” your mom said, trying to remain calm, so as not to upset you further. 

You gasped, covering your hands with your mouth, “Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay,” you begged.

“His mom said that Bob was knocked unconscious, and that he has a concussion and a few broken ribs, but that the doctors say that he should wake up soon, and should make a full recovery,” your mom said as she pulled you into another hug.

You couldn’t hold the tears back anymore, as you cried into your mother's arms, smearing the Flounder makeup all over your face. “I knew something was wrong,” you cried out.

Soon, your dad came out the doors holding your backpack and spare clothes, and began to pat your back as you cried. 

Pulling yourself away, you tried to get yourself together and wiped your tears. “Can we go see him?” you sniffled.

Your parents began guiding you towards the car, as your mom looked at you sadly, “I’m not sure tonight's a good night for that, honey,” she said.

The three of you reached the car as you began to beg, “Please, please, just ask– Bob hates hospitals, and they only have one car, so how will they get home anyway?”

Your parents exchanged a look, realizing that you sort of had a point, and they honestly loved Bob about as much as you did.

“You both hop in the car, I’ll give Annie a call,” your Mom said, pulling out her phone and walking a few feet away.

In the backseat, you sunk your nails into your palms and dug at your nailbeds. You couldn’t help but feel like this was all your fault. If he hadn’t been coming to see your play, this never would’ve happened.

The driver's side door opened as your Mom got into the vehicle. She turned around to meet your teary gaze and gave a small smile. “Bob’s mom said he’s awake now and that he wanted you to know how sorry he is for missing your play, and that it’d be really nice if we could come by and give them a ride home since they can’t get a rental car for a few days.”

You nodded your head quickly and thanked your parents, as your mom began the drive to the nearest hospital. 

Practically as soon as the car pulled into a parking space, you were racing out the door with your parents calling for you to slow down. 

You reached the front desk together, and your mom explained to the woman at the front desk that you were there to pick up some friends who had been in a car accident. The receptionist said that only two guests were permitted at a time, and your dad said that he would stay in the waiting room.

Soon enough, a nurse was guiding you and your mother down a bright white sterile hallway to a room that read “REYNOLDS” in dry-erase marker on a small board bolted to the door. The nurse knocked on the door, and Bob’s mom opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

She came out with one arm in a sling and a line of two stitches on her cheek below her eye. “Hi, thanks so much for coming. I’m sorry about this. I didn’t know who else to call,” she said, looking embarrassed.

Your mom gently touched her arm with a warm smile and said, “It’s no trouble at all, we’re so happy you guys are okay.”

The nurse quickly peeked into the room and then turned back to Annie, “Mrs. Reynolds, where is your husband?”

Bob’s mom looked down, almost in shame, before turning to you and saying, “Bob is in there, he’s a little drowsy from the medication, but would love to see you (Y/N).”

You nodded quickly and walked into Bob’s room– missing his mother explaining to the nurse that since the driver's side of the car wasn’t hit, he was medically cleared and had a buddy pick him up from the scene of the crash. 

As you walked into the room, you took in Bob’s state. He was laid up in the hospital with an IV in his arm, with stitches and a big bruise on his forehead, followed by countless smaller cuts covered in bandages from the shattered glass all over the rest of his body. 

He had a dazed expression on his face as he watched The Simpsons on the hospital TV. But his attention was diverted as you gasped out, “Oh, Robby, I’m so sorry.”

As he turned his head to look at you, an amused smile graced his face. “Looking good, Flounder,” he giggled.

Looking down, you realized you never even changed out of the costume from the play. You dramatically sank down into the chair next to Bob. “I’m so glad you’re not dead,” you said.

Bob gave you a toothy grin, “Gee, thanks,” he said as he began to try and sit up, but then winced after a sharp pain came from his ribs.

As he tried to sit up further, you instinctively leaned forward and put your arms out, wanting to keep him from hurting himself any worse, “Don’t move!” you whisper yelled, “They said you broke a few ribs.”

He leaned back at your insistence, as you moved your hands down to grip the bed handle. “Don’t worry Flounder, I’m alright, they gave me the good pain medicine after the shitty stuff made me puke,” he said, sticking his tongue out and making a silly face. 

You shook your head and let out a little laugh, feeling relieved that it didn’t seem like there was any real permanent damage. 

Bob slid his index finger back and forth across your knuckles as they gripped the white hospital handle. “I’m sorry I missed your play,” he said with sad, big blue eyes.

You immediately took his hand and held it as gently as you could before giving him your best serious face, “Robby, that doesn’t matter to me at ALL, I’m just glad you’re alright,” you said– trying not to tear up. 

“Hey, don’t be so serious, cheer up… I honestly feel pretty fucking good,” he said with a smirk, taking his hand from yours and booping your nose. 

You gave him an incredulous look, “How could you possibly feel good right now?” you asked.

“Dude, this medicine they gave me– I feel so good right now. For the first time in my life, my head is just totally empty. I don’t feel worried, or angry, or guilty. I just feel… good,” he said, leaning back against the hospital pillow, looking more relaxed than you think you’ve ever seen him.

You raised an eyebrow at that, “Well, as long as you’re not in pain, I guess.”

The door opened up again, and both your moms, along with a nurse, came in, letting you both know that Bob and his mother were ready to be discharged now. The nurse helped him change into some spare clothes from the hospital lost and found and sent you all on your way with some extra bandages, antibiotics, and a bottle of Kadian. 

(almost) Age Fourteen:

After the car accident, things just didn’t feel quite the same as they did before. Bob started missing more and more school, and when you spent time together, it felt like even though he was there, he wasn’t really. 

You spent countless nights crying alone in your room or on the sofa with your mom, sharing a pint of Weight-Watchers brand ice cream– wondering what you did to make your best friend pull away from you. Your mom told you that sometimes people just grow apart, and that friendships between boys and girls could get complicated. But that never felt like the case with you and Bob.

Obviously, you knew deep down you harbored a little bit of a crush for your best friend, but you knew it was never going to happen. Bob wasn’t interested in someone like you. He was fit and cute and interesting– you were just the “fat funny friend”, and that was something you had come to terms with. What was happening between you two now wasn’t complicated relationship bullshit; there was something more and you could feel it. 

The school year had quickly come to a close, and despite Bob’s spotty attendance, he somehow managed to pass 8th grade with you. The school had a little graduation ceremony for all the 8th graders, and while Bob’s parents didn’t make it, you and your family cheered loud enough for him that it didn’t matter who wasn’t there.

Now the summer had rolled around, and it was finally your fourteenth birthday. When Bob stopped coming to school, you were forced to finally find some other friends outside of him. While your new friend group was small and mainly other kids from your theatre group, you were pretty excited that, for the first time in your life, you had enough people to invite to a real birthday party. 

You’d begged your parents to let you have your party at the bowling alley without any adult supervision (stating that you were practically an adult now, and didn’t need to be babysat), and they begrudgingly agreed as long as you promised to behave and everyone else’s parents were aware.

The party started at 6 PM, and it was now 6:45, with no sight of Bob. You knew he’d been going through something, and it was making him a bit flaky lately– but you honestly didn’t think he would miss your birthday, and you were getting worried something bad might have happened. 

You were sitting with your friends, waiting for your turn to bowl while picking at the skin on your thumb until it bled, trying to quell your anxiety. Eventually, you decided to once again pull the new blue iPhone 5c you’d just gotten for your birthday out and text Bob for the fourth time to ask where he was. 

Your theatre friend, Chloe, tapped your shoulder all of a sudden and said, “Hey (Y/N), isn’t that your friend Bob?”

You looked up quickly to see Bob, who looked a little disheveled with glassy eyes, messy hair, and a wrinkled band tee, walking in through the front door. 

“Hey guys, I’ll be right back,” you announced to the group. “Julie, could you play my next turn?” you asked as you headed out of the bowling area up the steps to meet Bob.

You ran up to him and shocked him a little, barreling into him with a hug. He looked down at you, a little confused, before lowering his arms and hugging you back. You then pulled away and punched him in his right arm (careful not to hit the one he’d broken all those years ago).

“Hey, what was that for?” he said, rubbing his arm where you’d hit him.

“I was SO worried about you, Robby,” you exclaimed. “I’ve barely heard from you this week, and I was so scared something bad happened.”

He noticed you trying to hold tears back, and his heart sank. “I’m sorry (Y/N), it’s been a busy few days, and my phone fell in a pool, so I’ve not gotten any messages. Here, look,” he pulled his crappy Android Tracfone that was held together with duct tape and a prayer from his pocket and handed it to you. 

You inspected the piece of junk, and sure enough, it was toast. You felt a little bad for hitting him now. “I’m sorry I punched you,” you sighed, handing the phone back to him and looking down at your feet.

Bob smiled at you and slung his arm around your shoulder and gave you a little shake, “It’s alright, Flounder, happy birthday,” he said. “I gotcha something.”

You gave him a curious look as he pulled his arm off your shoulder and dug into his other pocket, pulling out a small silver necklace and then holding it up to show you.

After inspecting it closer, you noticed it had a little charm in the shape of a fish. 

“For my Flounder girl,” he said with a smile. “I know it isn’t much, but–”

“No, stop, it’s perfect, I love it. Thank you, Robby,” You said, taking the necklace from him and unclasping it to put around your neck. 

“Latch it for me?” you asked as you turned around.

Bob nodded and took the two silver ends and clasped them. “Have you had a good day so far?” he asked.

“Aside from worrying about your dumbass, it’s been pretty good,” you said, grabbing his arm to pull him along towards the rest of your friends. 

He just shook his head and laughed.

After introducing him to your friends, he joined you guys and sat down, watching everyone bowl. You knew Bob was usually pretty shy around people he didn’t know, so you didn’t push him too hard to socialize. Everything seemed to be going pretty well; he even joined in on a round of bowling and was trying to talk with a few of your friends.

After about an hour, while you were talking to a few of your other friends about potential fall musical options at school, Bob tapped your knee and leaned over to whisper in your ear, “I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t think much of it and waved him off, continuing to chatter with your friends. After about another 15 minutes, you realized he still hadn’t come back, and it was almost time for cake. 

You told your friends you’d be back in a few minutes and began your search for Bob. 

After checking the snack bar, arcade, and bathroom, you decided to take your search outside. 

Stepping out of the side door into the alleyway, you watched as Bob pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket and handed them over to some random older guy that you’d never seen before. The guy then pulled out a little orange pill bottle, and handed it to Bob. 

The bowling alley door slammed behind you, making both their heads snap up to look at you. Before you could ask who he was, the older guy sped off– leaving you and Bob alone in the alleyway.

You were really, really confused. Who was that guy, and what did your friend just buy from him. 

Bob looked at you sheepishly, and quickly stuffed the bottle into his pants pocket– trying to hide what you were suspecting was something pretty fucking bad.

Taking a few steps closer towards him, you asked with confusion evident in your voice, “Robby, who was that guy?”

He brushed you off, “Oh that was nobody, just someone I know from that new lawn mowing job I started.”

You looked him up and down, realizing there was definitely more to this story. “Okay… what did you just buy from him,” you questioned.

Defensively shaking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets, he said “Nothing, don’t worry about it, c’mon lets get back inside.” 

He began walking past you back towards the entrance door, but you caught his arm and stopped him in his place.

“No, I know something is wrong and I don’t understand why you won’t just talk to me about it,” you said, trying to conceal your hurt.

He turned back to face you with a wild look in his eyes that you’d not ever seen before. “Nothing’s wrong (Y/N), just drop it,” he said harshly.

You shook your head no. “What did he just give you in that bottle?” you asked again.

Bob shook your hand of his arm and just murmumed, “Stop, go back to your party.”

You reached your hand down towards his pocket, and tried to pull the bottle away to look at it– but he quickly backed up and shoved you off.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed.

You held your hand out angrily, “Give it to me Bob.”

His face crumpled as he saw tears well in your eyes for the second time, on what was supposed to be one of your happiest days.

Sighing, he reluctantly pulled the orange bottle from his pocket and placed it into your hand. He looked down at his shoes, feeling unable to meet your gaze.

You held the it up closer the read the label. “Who is Gavin Smith?” you asked as you read the name off the bottle.

Bob just shrugged his shoulders still refusing to look you in the eye. 

Your heart sank to your toes when you read the name of the medication, “Robby, why do you have a bottle Hydrocodone?” you questioned.

He finally looked up to meet your devastated face. “Remember that night when I missed your play and my family got in that wreck?” he asked.

Nodding along, you looked at him to continue.

“Well…” he started, “The doctor sent me home with these pills that were supposed to help with the pain I had from my ribs, and they did– they helped a lot.”

He let out a deep sigh and continued, “They made me feel like for the first time in my life, everything didn’t fucking suck.”

You tried really really hard to not let that hurt your feelings.

“They made me feel okay even when assholes gave me shit at school, or when my dad yelled or,” he gulped anxiously,  “when he would hurt my mom.”

Your heart shattered more than you ever thought possible, when he admitted to something you’d always suspected– but had never really been confirmed.

“For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was just making everything worse,” he muttered, “And then they ran out.”

“Robby… I’m so sorry,” you whispered, as you pulled him into a tight embrace.

Burrowing his head into the spot between your neck and shoulder, he finally let a few tears spill over as you squeezed him as tightly as you could without causing any actual harm.

After a few seconds you pull back and look him in his big glassy blue eyes. “But, you can’t just take medication that doesn’t belong to you.”

The caring and sweet moment was over as he yanked himself out of your grip, shaking his head in confusion, “What?,” he snapped, “But I just told you..”

“That shit could kill you Robby,” you started, “We can get you help, I’m sure my parents would–”

He cut you off with a sharp laugh, the kind of mean and painful laugh that indicates there is nothing funny about the situation. “You don’t get it (Y/N), just give me back the bottle and go back to your party,” he sneered.

You took a step back and clutched the bottle tighter into between your two fists, “No I can’t just let you just take this shit,” you exclaimed.

 For the first time in your near 10 years of friendship, you felt a little bit afraid of Bob. 

He lunged for the bottle in your hands, and gripped onto both of your fists, engaging you in a demented game of tug-of-war. 

“Stop!” he grunted as he yanked the bottle from your hands. With the force he used to pry the bottle from you, it shot you backwards sending you tumbling onto the concrete ground of the alleyway. The bottle of pills shot the opposite way, and you looked up at Bob through teary eyes, silently praying he would tell you this was all a really bad joke and apologize and sweep you up off your feet. 

Bob gave you the saddest most heartbreaking look you’ve ever seen– conflict clear in his eyes, before going after the bottle of pills and leaving you in tears on the ground.

You sat there trying your absolute hardest to hold in your tears for nearly 10 minutes before one of your friends from the party found you. When they asked what happened, you told them Bob had a stomach ache and had to go home, and you just tripped on the way back inside, falling and hurting your knee.

The appetite you’d had for birthday cake was long gone, as you called your Mom and told her the party ended early, and asked if she could come pick you up.

In the backseat of the car on the way home while tearing your fingernail beds to shreds, you gave your most convincing lie– saying the party was great, you were just so tired from all the fun you had.

It wasn’t until you were locked inside your shower with the water and bathroom fan running to block out the sounds of your cries that you finally gave in and broke down. You felt like a terrible friend for not noticing sooner but you also felt so stupid and worthless for thinking Bob ever really cared about you. 

Using your fingernails, you clawed at your entire body– trying to find a place to put all this sadness, self-hatred, and guilt. When the small tears from your nails didn’t feel like enough anymore, you grabbed the shaving razor off the ledge and snapped it in half. 

You’d never actually used a real object to harm yourself. It always felt like your problems and the emotions you felt weren’t “real” enough to warrant such action. But in this moment, as you slashed the small piece of metal against your thigh, you truly felt you deserved the physical hurt and pain that would match your shattered insides.

Age Sixteen:

After your birthday, you didn’t see Bob for a long time. He never seemed to be at home anymore. He didn’t answer your texts or calls, and when school rolled around, the rumor mill was flying with news that he had officially dropped out. 

A few months after your Freshman year started, you saw his Mom outside in her yard, and you asked how Bob was doing. She told you he had gotten into a massive fight with his father after he dropped out and packed his shit, and left for good. She’d not heard from him in weeks.

You tried REALLY hard not to care. You got involved in the yearbook, continued being in plays, and focused on your schoolwork. But deep down inside you, there was a gigantic pit that he left. You tried to fill it by eating, not eating, blasting loud music, talking to the friends you did have, and slashing up your skin when you deemed it necessary. Nothing really helped.

Everything felt so fucking miserable that you started to wonder if maybe Bob had the right idea with getting high and forgetting all the bullshit. You’d tried skunk weed once at a theatre party, but it was such shitty quality that nothing even happened. There was also a New Year's party where a friend had stolen some wine coolers from her parents' garage, but you hated how sweaty it made you feel. Overall, you were still pretty damn innocent.

You’d recently made friends with a senior named Taylor in your AP English class, after you let her copy your notes. She let it slip more than a few times that her older brother was a dealer, and that they had some pretty crazy parties on the weekends. After she noticed your subtle interest, she struck you a deal that you could come by sometime, and she would give you something to help mellow you out– if you shared your notes for the rest of the semester. 

Having secured pretty good grades, being involved in clubs and extracurriculars, and overall just being pretty responsible, your parents weren’t too strict with you about a curfew or anything like that. In fact, they were pretty happy when you told them you’d been invited to a party, as you hadn’t been the most social person since things transpired with Bob.

Your parents decided to let you borrow the car to go to the party as long as you promised no drunk or drugged driving, and you kept them updated via text about what you were up to. Which is how you found yourself parking your parents' car in front of Taylor’s house around 9 PM on Saturday evening.

There was a group of people a little bit older than you playing cup pong in the front yard on a pull-out table, with blaring music coming from a Bluetooth speaker. On the other side of the yard was another group of people seated around a firepit– drinking from red Solo cups and chatting. 

You spotted Taylor near the firepit, so you took the keys out of the ignition, locked the car, and started walking up towards the house. She noticed you coming up and immediately abandoned her conversation and started trotting towards you. 

Taylor caught you off guard, squealing and pulling you into a hug. She smelled quite strongly of both booze and cigarettes. She drunkenly pulled you over towards her group of friends and announced, “Guys!” dragging out the s, “This is my new friend (Y/N), she TOTALLY saved my ass in English.”

You waved as Taylor began introducing you to her crowd. You looked over and literally couldn’t believe your eyes. There was Bob, sitting in a beaten-up beach chair, looking down as he secured a blunt with just his spit. He looked different. Taller, stringier, his hair was longer, and he’d begun to grow a little bit of scruff on his face.

“And this is my brother's friend Bob, he doesn’t talk much, don’t take it personally,” Taylor said as she kept making introductions to the rest of the circle.

Bob finally looked up, and his eyes went wide when he realized it was actually you. You both stared at each other in a mix of shock and surprise for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only 5 seconds. He then gave you a simple nod and went back to rolling his blunt. 

Taylor pulled you over, giving you the chair next to her, which happened to be directly across from Bob. You tried your best not to stare, but you couldn’t believe it. You had no idea where he’d been for nearly two years, but it turns out he’s been right here the whole time, partying at your classmate’s house.

“Here (Y/N), want a drink?” Taylor’s brother, Colton, offered, holding out a Four-Loko can.

You were about to decline when Taylor spoke for you, “Nah, she said she doesn’t really like to drink or smoke, I owe her a bar for her stellar English notes.” Colton nodded and took the drink for himself, as you gave him a small half smile. 

What Taylor said caught Bob’s attention, though. He looked up and stared at you, raising an eyebrow. “What?” he asked sharply. 

A few people gave him a weird look, but you just looked away– not understanding what his problem was. “What’s your deal, Reynolds?” Taylor asked.

“You can’t give her Xannie,” he snapped, “That’ll fuck her up so bad.”

Taylor and Colton exchanged confused looks, and Colton asked, “What do you care, dude?”

Taylor nodded and threw her arm around your shoulders, “She’s a big girl, Bobby, she can make her own choices,” she turned to you and said, “Right, (Y/N)?”

Nodding, you finally spoke up for yourself, “It’s not really your business anyway,” you muttered. 

Everyone around you started snickering as Colton stood up and shook Bob’s shoulders, “She told you!!” he laughed.

Bob looked at you with a pang of hurt in his eyes before he shrugged Colton off and stood up, murmuring, “Whatever, don’t come crying to me,” as he walked off, placing the joint between his teeth and lighting it. 

“Who knew? Bobby the buzzkill,” Taylor laughed. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. But after thinking about it some more, really, what did YOU have to be guilty for? He was the one who’d treated you like shit and completely abandoned you. 

While you stewed in your thoughts and picked at your cuticles, Taylor elbowed you gently. “Here, you still want it?” she asked as she held out a small, white, rectangularly shaped pill in her palm. 

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” you muttered as you plucked the pill from her hand.

“I’d take half first if I were–” Taylor started, but it was too late, you’d already dry swallowed the whole pill.

She turned over and looked at you, a little bit impressed, and you met her with wide, nervous eyes. “Oh god, am I gonna die?” you asked.  

 Both she and Colton started laughing, “Nah, you’ll be chill,” he said, “You’ll just be realllll relaxed.”

You nodded as the group started talking about a new topic– something about a kickback in Orlando next weekend.

Lying back in the beach chair, staring at the stars, you just tried to remain calm and listen to the boring conversation your new friends had. That worked for about 15 minutes before it hit you that you needed to piss.

You sat up and asked Taylor where her bathroom was, and she stood up, looping your arm with hers, and led you inside the house and to the downstairs guest bathroom.

You honestly didn’t feel too bad; you thought that maybe, like the weed, the Xanax wouldn’t really affect you.

“Come find me when you're done, I’ll be back outside,” Taylor said before giving you a kiss on the cheek and skipping off. 

You turned on the light and entered the bathroom before shutting and locking the door. It was pretty small with just a sink, toilet, and a 2-in-1 shower tub all cramped together. 

As you pulled your skirt down and sat on the toilet, your brain seemed to wander. Your mind started racing with thoughts so fast you could barely catch them. 

You started thinking about the time you once laughed so hard while drinking chocolate milk that it started to pour out your nose, and you wondered still how that was even possible. You thought about your mom and how she cleaned your face afterwards, and how much you love her, even though she constantly makes you feel bad about your weight and “poor eating habits”.

Your mind wandered elsewhere as you began to stare at the pattern on the shower curtain, and started to follow it like a maze with your eyes. That made you think about the time your dad took you and Bob to a pumpkin patch when you guys were in the third grade, and you two got stuck in a corn maze. Eventually, Bob found the exit, but you cried and clung to him the entire time. Great, now you were thinking about Bob again. 

You had absolutely no idea how long you’d been in the bathroom, but it felt like a really long time. You wiped, then stood and pulled up your skirt. You didn’t realize how much your limbs felt like lead until you were standing again. 

Making your way to the sink, you turn it on and wash your hands. You stare at the water coming down for what feels like an eternity, liking the way it felt when it flowed down your hands. 

Realizing your hands were probably clean, you stood back from the sink, but your brain wasn’t exactly in tune with your body, making your abrupt move too sharp, landing you on your butt on the ground. 

You barely even felt it as you tumbled down, and you realized how many tiles were on the bathroom floor and began to count. Once you hit 14, it brought back memories of your 14th birthday and how you wished you had done something differently to help Bob. 

He didn’t deserve the cards he was dealt. He was such a kind and sweet person. You missed him so much.

You didn’t even realize tears were rolling down your face as you lay there on the bathroom floor. The Xanax had kicked in at full effect, and despite its alleged calming effects, you’d never felt more anxious and out of control.

Maybe if you had been prettier, or skinnier, or smarter, or just anything other than what you are, you could’ve helped Bob, you thought to yourself.

It felt like you were literally falling down a deep, dark hole into an abyss of emptiness. Suddenly, it was getting harder to breathe. Your chest felt tight. Were you dying right now?

Were you seriously going to die in some girl you barely know’s bathroom before you were even a legal adult?

Suddenly hearing a weird noise, you tried to pinpoint what it was before realizing it was your own hyperventilating. In a haphazard attempt to self-soothe, you slid your hand over a tiny bit to reach your thigh and began to dig your nails into a scabbed-over cut you had from a week prior. 

You tried so hard to just focus on the pain that was there and real, but you still felt like you were falling to your death, despite the fact that you were simply lying on your back on the floor.

Then, a muffled voice snapped you out of it for a moment, causing you to gasp for air. “Hey, is everything okay in there?” followed by a knock on the door.

You knew that voice immediately; it was Bob. 

“Robby?” you cried out.

“(Y/N), what’s going on in there, are you alright?” he asked, sounding panicked as he jigged the door handle.

You couldn’t bring yourself to form any words as a broken wail left your lips. You were so confused and so scared, it’s all you could feel.

“Hang on a sec, I’m coming,” Bob called out to you.

Using his good arm as a battering ram, he knocked the cheap old door open, nearly busting it off its hinges.

Bob’s eyes raked over your hysterical form as he quickly shut the door and got down on the ground with you, sitting next to your chest and head.

“Hey, it’s okay, just breathe,” he said as he soothingly ran his hand down your arm. He grabbed your shoulders, turning you onto your side, then guided you so you laid your head down in his lap. 

Petting your head with one hand and rubbing your back with the other, he leaned down and soothingly whispered, “You’re okay, Flounder, just breathe, it’s just a panic attack, you’re gonna be fine.”

He took a deep inhale, “C’mon, like this,” he coached, holding it in for five seconds, then letting out a deep exhale, “You can do it, I know you can,” he said.

After finally getting you to take a few good deep breaths, his eyes trailed down to see your fingernails digging relentlessly at your thigh as a small bead of blood rolled down your leg and dripped onto the floor.

His heart broke as he took the hand that was rubbing your back and grasped your hand tightly in his own, keeping you from doing any further damage. He brought your hand up towards your chest and kept your hands intertwined, as you practically curled into a ball between his legs, using his thigh as a pillow.

You two stayed like that on the bathroom floor with him holding you and whispering calming words for nearly an entire hour before you found the strength to even sit up. 

Eventually, you tapped his thigh, signaling that you wanted to sit up. Bob helped you slowly maneuver off the ground so that you could lean your back against the side of the bathtub. 

You slowly began to wipe your swollen and red eyes with the back of your hands, trying to feel some sense of normalcy. The drug seemed to wear off to a point where you were at least aware of what was happening and in control of your body again.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out, and you finally made contact with Bob’s concerned eyes. 

He gave you a small, warm smile and said, “You’re okay.”

The exhaustion was starting to take over your body as you leaned your head against the wall and shut your eyes.

“Hey,” he started, “C’mon, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

You grimaced as you slowly shook your head no. Every single bone in your body was exhausted from the panic attack

He stood up slowly and said, “It’s okay, I usually crash in their poolhouse out back, you can sleep it off there.”

He pulled you up off the floor by your arms and tucked you under his shoulder as he guided you out of the bathroom, and out the back door towards the small pool house situated at the edge of the property. 

He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He guided you towards the center of the room, where a large pull-out sofa bed that was a mess of pillows and blankets.

You immediately collapsed down onto it, having been through so many emotions in the last hour that you just felt completely empty.

Bob let out a small chuckle and walked over towards the mini fridge to grab a small plastic bottle of water and set it down on the small side table next to you. 

He then sat down next to you on the other side of the pullout, pulled off his shoes, and laid down right beside you.

You opened your tired eyes to find his glassy ones staring at you. You gave him a small smile, which he returned.

“I missed you, Robby,” you said as you reached out and held his hand.

He took your hand immediately and said, “I missed you too, Flounder girl,” before you both drifted off to sleep.

Age Eighteen:

Following your night with Bob in the pool guest house, you both started growing close again. It wasn’t like before– that young innocence you had as childhood best-friends was long gone, but something new grew in its place.

After learning that he hadn’t really had a real home in the last few years and was shuffling from couch to couch and odd job to job, you were determined to help him find a place where he could feel safe and start getting direction for his life.

Bob didn’t seem very optimistic about any of it, really, but he knew that there was no use in trying to stop you once your mind was set on something. After countless hours of research online, you found a homeless youth program in Florida that you applied Bob to (without telling him) and miraculously, he was accepted. 

You helped him move his few duffel bags of belongings that he’d been keeping at random friends' homes into his brand new (pretty dingy but who cared) apartment. It was part of a government-sanctioned program where he had to check in and out with the 24/7 supervisors, and was required to do weekly group therapy, mandated apartment searches, and random drug testing. None of which he was too happy about, but hey– a free apartment is a free apartment.

They even helped Bob find a job he actually liked as a welding apprentice, where he spent his time while you were at school. When he was done with work, and you were done with school, you would get together and hang out most days and watch TV, listen to music, or just talk until your parents called and told you to get your butt home.

Everything was so close to perfect, but nothing lasts forever, and nothing stays the same. It was nearing the end of your senior year, and despite the fact that the two of you never talked about it, there was no way you were staying in Sarasota forever. 

You’d spent all of the fall semester applying to different colleges, and none of them were anywhere close to Florida. You’d been trying to convince Bob that you guys could get an apartment wherever you ended up moving, and while he smiled at you and nodded along, he knew deep down it wouldn’t work. He couldn’t follow you and fuck up your whole life even more than he already had. 

It was around early February when you came skipping into his apartment one day after school. “Robby!!! Guess what,” you practically squealed as you busted through the door. 

He was sitting on the couch, rereading an old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle comic he’d found. When he looked up at you, you pulled out an acceptance letter from behind your back, “We’re going to Savannah!” you cheered, passing him your acceptance letter. 

He smiled as big as he possibly could. He truly was so proud and excited for you– you’d worked so hard for this. He pulled you into a bear hug and congratulated you, suggesting you order a pizza to celebrate.

Later that night, after you two killed a pizza and caught up on some X-Files reruns, your mom called, saying you needed to come home since it was a school night. You packed up your bags and gave Bob’s hair a ruffle before heading out the door. 

After you left, Bob headed into his bedroom, where he opened his nightstand to pull out a little stashbox he’d been hiding for emergencies.

Despite having convinced you otherwise, he never really stopped using the entire time he’d been living in this apartment. He’d made it maybe a month before he learned that the drug tests they used at the facility only scanned for pot– not the hard shit. How stupid was that?

He kept it under pretty good wraps, at least he thought he did, and why would you suspect anything when you knew he was having random drug tests?

It had been nearly six months since that night. There was officially one week before you were set to move to your new 2-bedroom college apartment with Bob in Savannah. The past few months, he’d managed to tide himself over with random pills he’d bought off friends. Making it to his apprenticeship on time every day, albeit cranky, and spending time with you in the evenings. But it was getting hard to keep it all inside; he needed something stronger than pills.

He had lain awake the whole night staring up at the ceiling, trying to convince himself he had something to live for. That maybe he really could move to Savannah with you, find a real job, and be happy. But he knew deep down that he couldn’t do that to you. You needed to go off and grow and become your own person, and not be dragged down by your meth addicted childhood best friend.

Finally giving up on his attempts to sleep, Bob snuck out of the apartment– knowing exactly how to evade the security cameras that only worked on one side of the building. 

After a 30-minute walk, he found himself outside his old dealer's house, and soon enough was returning home with a small baggie of crystal in his pocket. 

As he sat on the ledge of his open window, he felt the sting of the cold air as he held the lighter to one end of his pipe, inhaling from the other. 

After a few hits, he began to feel pretty lightheaded– he thought that maybe his tolerance had lowered. Once he stood up, he realized something was far more wrong than he imagined.

He began to fall and lost consciousness right as his body hit the floor. 

Thanks to the paper-thin walls and floors in the apartment, the noise woke up his downstairs neighbor, Olivia, who had had enough of Bob’s shenanigans for one night, having had to listen to him sneak in and out already tonight. She decided that tonight was the night they told Bob to fuck off with the loud noises and stormed upstairs. 

After banging on the door and yelling for him to come up, but receiving no answer– Olivia got a little bit nosy and tried the front door; it was unlocked. 

Olivia gasped as she looked inside to see Bob passed out on the floor, completely unconscious. She yelled for someone to call 911, and within a few minutes, EMTs were busting through the door and administering Narcan.

They took Bob out on a stretcher and brought him to the hospital, where he was checked out by a team of doctors. While they were examining him, a big meathead Sarasota cop walked in and cuffed his hand to the hospital bed, then read him his rights. 

That fucking place had reported him for having drugs on the property.

You were completely clueless until you stopped by his apartment after school and realized he wasn’t there, and instead found a massive mess. You realized the reason he’d not answered your texts or calls was because his phone was still in the apartment.

Immediately, you knew something awful had to have happened. You ran out of his apartment, down to the manager's office, pounding on the door until a woman answered. 

When you asked if she’d seen Bob, she brought you into her office and sat you down, explaining that he had overdosed in his apartment last night and was brought to the hospital and then taken to the county jail for booking. 

You didn’t believe it. How could that even be possible? He hadn’t used in nearly a year. You stormed out of the office and into your car, where you sped to the jail.

You spent three hours in the lobby before you were finally allowed to visit Bob. You were guided to a room like in those old movies and TV shows that was separated by glass and had two old phones you could talk through. An employee gestured to a stool for you to sit on and said Bob would be there shortly. 

Within a few minutes, he appeared dressed in beige scrubs and sat across from you. He couldn’t look you in the eyes.

“Robby, what the fuck happened?” you asked immediately. 

He still wouldn’t meet your eyes. He picked up the black phone and said, “(Y/N), I can’t go with you.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, “What are you talking about? Yes, you can, you ARE. We’re moving in a week,” you exclaimed, “I already called my parents, and they promised to help us figure out the legal stuff.”

He shook his head dejectedly, “I will just make things worse,” he murmured, “I’ve already ruined your life enough.”

You adamantly shook your head no, “That isn’t true, Robby, what are you talking about?”

He finally looked up and made you with teary eyes and said, “I’m so sorry, Flounder. Thank you for being there for me for so long,” as he placed the phone back on the hook and stood up, signaling to the guard he was ready to go.

“No, stop, STOP,” you wailed, not caring about the strange looks you got from other people in the visiting room.

“Robby, PLEASE,” you begged. 

A security guard came up and informed you that you would need to leave and escorted you back to the waiting room.

Age Twenty-Two

After Bob was arrested, you had no choice but to move on and leave for college. The first year was really hard. You had spent your entire first semester trying to get in contact with Bob, but he never picked up your calls.

You even called Taylor a few times, asking if she had seen him– and she told you that she had. He’d gotten out of jail after three months on a plea deal and was now working as a mascot for a bail bonds company.

Eventually, you finally came to terms with the fact that if Bob didn’t want to talk to you, you couldn’t make him. You worked really hard to move on. You excelled in your major and made lots of new friends. You even had a few boyfriends here and there.

Then, finally, you graduated with honors and secured a highly sought-after internship for a huge magazine company in New York City.

But for right now, you were back in Sarasota Springs. It was the first time in the past few years that you’d been there for more than a weekend. You’d honestly only made the 6-hour drive to relax a little with your parents and drop off a few boxes from your college dorm that wouldn’t fit into the new 250 square foot apartment you were moving into for your big internship. But things could never just be that simple. You’d gone on a late-night Slurpee run, growing tired of all the weird, healthy snacks your Mom stocked the fridge with. 

You popped the dome-shaped plastic lid onto the brightly colored cup before filling it to the brim with the Sugar-Free Dragon Fruit flavor. Even at your grown age, you couldn’t shake the guilt you harbored over the extra sugar in your favorite Piña Colada flavor. This still tasted pretty good, though.

You stuck your straw into your cup before taking a sip and heading to the cash register. You felt all the color drain from your face as you looked up to see the one person you simultaneously wanted more than anything to see again, but also hoped to literally NEVER run into. And yet, there he was– arguing with the cashier at the register over a declined Visa gift card. He looked so different, and yet so the same.

“Robby?” You muttered in shock, nearly dropping the Big Gulp cup in your hand.

He turned around in what felt like slow motion, and you came face to face with the boy you’d loved in one way or another for your entire life. “Holy shit, Flounder, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed excitedly.

Given the way things had transpired, you were definitely not expecting him to be happy to see you, but then he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and squeezed you the way he used to when you were kids. 

“Add her slurpee to the tab,” he told the cashier flippantly.

“I already told you, man, there is no money on this thing,” the cashier grumbled, tossing the card back at him. 

Bob looked as if he was ready to size up the guy and tackle him, just like that time on the bus in the 2nd grade, but you quickly intervened and pulled out a $20 from your purse and handed it over. 

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that,” Bob said, pulling you in for a hug with a dramatic kiss to the forehead. 

“It’s okay, I’m happy to– it’s been a long time, Robby,” you said as you took the change from the cashier. 

“It really has, hasn’t it?” Bob said animatedly, “Hey! We should go to the beach!”

Bob snatched up the pack of ZYNs and the KRATOM pill you purchased for him off the counter, giving the cashier a little glare, and linking his arm through yours. 

“Oh, um, sure, but isn’t it a little late for that?” you questioned as he led you out of the store. 

“Pshhhh, no way,” he chuckled, “It’s just right over there!”

He took off running across the street to the nearby beach access, as you trailed behind. 

“Hurry up, slow-poke!” he called out, already nearing the boardwalk access, while you had just barely made it across the road.

You laughed and shook your head at him, following his lead down to the water. He kicked off his neon orange crocs (which you’d yet to comment on but had a strong urge to poke fun at) before wading to a knee-deep spot in the water.

You left your shoes and Slurpee in the sand and made your way towards him. Bob looked so fascinated, just staring up at the stars in the sky.

He broke his attention away from the sky and turned back to you, “So what are you doing back here?” he asked. 

“Oh, um, I just finished up school and am visiting my mom and dad before I move for an internship,” you mumbled shyly, hoping it wouldn’t feel like rubbing salt in a wound for him.

Beaming up at you, he pulled you into another tight hug, but somehow this one felt different than the one inside the gas station. It felt like a hug from YOUR Robby, not the manic person he had been the past few years. 

He pulled back and held your cheeks that had yet to shed their chubbiness between his two big hands and said, “I’m so proud of you (Y/N).”

Once a crybaby, always a crybaby, you thought to yourself as tears welled up in your eyes. 

He caught them quickly with his thumb, knowing you well enough to know it wasn’t necessarily a huge deal if you shed a few tears.

“Thank you, Robby, that means a lot,” you murmured sweetly. 

“C’mon, let’s go look at the stars,” he said, pulling you by the hand and leading you towards a nice flat spot in the sand that had a perfect view.

You lost track of time, sitting together with your head leaning on his shoulder, talking about the stars, old nostalgic memories, and movies you’d watched since you last saw each other. It felt the way it used to between you two. 

Then Bob asked you for the time, and when you told him it was nearly 5 AM, he jumped up. “Oh shit, I forgot!” he exclaimed. 

You looked up, startled, immediately getting up off the ground to follow him, “What is it, what’s wrong?”

He slid his shoes back on as he said, “I have a flight to catch.”

You were very confused at that– he’d not mentioned a single thing about a vacation the whole night. “Oh, um, where are you going?” you asked.

He reached out for your hand as he pulled you back up towards the boardwalk. “Malaysia, it’s gonna be great,” he said. 

You had absolutely no idea where he got the money for that, but hey, who were you to judge? 

“That’s really cool,” you commented, “When do you come back?”

“I don’t,” he said, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with that statement.

You stopped in your tracks, holding his hand tightly so he couldn’t keep going. “What do you mean?” you quickly asked.

He tugged on your arm to keep going, but you didn’t budge. “It’s a one-way trip,” he said, “There’s nothing here for me anymore.”

You stared at him in shock, “You can’t do that,” you said like a petulant child.

He yanked his hand from your grip and kept walking, “I’m an adult, I can do what I want,” he said simply. 

You grabbed his arm again, trying to slow him down before he reached the road. “Robby, you can’t just go to another country without any kind of plan,” you lectured, “Do you even have any money?”

“Thanks for the concern (Y/N), but I’ve got this figured out,” he said sharply, as he crossed the street back towards the 7/11.

You could tell he was getting agitated, but so were you. How many times could he throw you through the wringer and put himself in danger before he just stopped and realized all you wanted was to help him?

Age Twenty-Seven:

When you finally woke up from passing out for the SECOND time today, you realized you were propped up against the desk in your office. Your co-worker Emily was holding a paper towel to your forehead, as you felt blood drip down the side of your head, while your boss checked your pulse.

You slowly opened your eyes, asking what happened. Leaving Emily to explain to you that you passed out, saying something about someone named Robby.

It all came rushing back to you.

Bob was alive, and right outside your building.

Author's Note:

Hi! If you read this far, thank you so much!! That’s honestly so impressive if you finished. This was a lot of yapping on my part. I’m thinking of writing a part two for this at some point, if anyone out there might be interested, I’d love to know! Thank you, thank you <3

come home.

just for a minute.

or even a second.

come back.

like you always say you will.

or just answer a text,

anything

anything to let me know you’re still out there,

that you still think of me,

that you know i exist and that you care.

i hope you care.

i suppose i wouldn’t know.

when did we turn into this?

we ran into each other outside the supermarket.

i had to stop myself from asking the question i wanted.

because i knew it would make me cry.

because i know you’ll say,

‘yes, i’ll come home tomorrow

sure, i’ll come see you

okay, i’ll text you back’

and you said it anyway.

and i know it’s a lie.

every time i know it’s a lie.

but every time i believe you.

i tell mum,

‘i know he says it all the time,

but this time is different.

this time he means it.

because he is my brother.

and he loves me.

he wouldn’t just leave me here.’

right?

where are you?

do you really not think of me?

when she was upset,

before this had become a big thing,

before months had passed,

i told her,

‘it’s okay. it will be over soon. soon he’ll come home.’

because you are my brother.

and i never thought you would leave me here.

alone in the belly of the beast.

i would never have done this to you.

i would have done anything for you.

i remember in primary school when i got my first ever detention and you found out and threatened to tell mum.

i was so desperate i did anything you wanted until eventually she found out.

i let you choose what shows we watched.

i got you drinks when you were thirsty.

i always let you sit in the front seat.

and i think i’ve always resented you a little for that.

because i remember feeling helpless and confused,

i remember wondering why my brother wouldn’t just help me.

i guess a part of me is always just waiting for my brother to help me.

thinking about it now as i write this all down,

i can’t help but wonder if maybe i should have seen this coming.

on my birthday, you told me ‘happy birthday’ at the same time as everyone else did in the family group chat,

and you didn’t come see me.

i can’t help but wonder if you’ve ever actually been the brother i remember you being.

but then i remember the times you would get me to sit in your loud car, showing me your favourite songs and how the bass rumbles with your new speakers.

and i remember you driving me to school every morning,

that one time a bird flew right into us going 100 and we both looked at each other going,

“eeeeeeeeeeeew!”

i remember you asking me to put one of my face masks on you, clipping your hair back so it won’t stick to your face.

and the memories hurt.

i remember finding out you had been cutting yourself in year 10.

i remember walking in on the aftermath,

pieces of glass on your bedroom floor,

or was it some cut up plastic?

it was something that made me think,

‘my brother isn’t invincible.

he’s just like me.

and i want to be his friend.’

i think ever since then i’ve just wanted to be your friend.

someone you could lean on and vice versa.

when i told mum that this would all be over soon,

it was because i couldn’t image a life without my brother.

without my worst enemy

and my greatest friend.

and then you didn’t come see me the day after the supermarket.

i sent you a message when mum wanted to go out

incase you came when we were gone.

even when i wrote that message i thought,

‘he’s not going to come.

and he will never come.

my brother is never coming home.’

and what is a home without my brother?

it’s nothing.

i love you, brother.

and i hate you.

and these two feelings are pulling me apart.

if you do come home,

i don’t think i’ll be here.

i’ll hide behind curtains.

and i’ll wait until the thrum of your car doesn’t shake the house,

until you’re streets away,

and then i’ll go into what was once your room,

and i’ll do the same thing i’ve been doing every time i have to turn the wi-fi back on;

i’ll slip on your green cap,

left behind just like me,

and remember a time when you would have gotten annoyed,

telling me to give it back,

maybe even told me to leave you alone.

tell me to leave you alone.

tell me to stop messaging you to tell you i love you and i miss you.

tell me anything.

tell me you hate me.

tell me i’m the reason you left.

because i asked for too much.

or tell me you’re just going through something.

tell me it’s no one’s fault.

tell me

tell me you’ll come see me tomorrow.

and i’ll believe you.

Pairing: Yandere Uraraka, Toga, and momo x fem reader. 

Degenerate filth can be draining, here have some Angst / fluff.  Summary : Headcannons / drabbles of how the Bnha Girls would go about dealing with a fem  darling that has a bad relationship with eating/body image. 

Content Warning : Negative Body image, Self Depreciation, Self harm , Angst, Sfw and nsfw aspects minors dni. 

Yandere Ochoco Uraraka 

Uraraka loves you. 

Every part of you. She tries her best to make sure you're happy with her, and for the most part, she thought she had been doing a pretty good job. You had everything you could want with her - except for freedom of course - So when you fall into a depression, refusing to eat, spending hours staring at yourself in the mirror- pinching and prodding at your body, it hurts her.  She assumes she's doing something wrong. 

That had to be the reason you were so miserable right? She becomes overbearing, constantly drowning you in unwanted affection, Whatever she did she was sure she could make up for it. 

" What's the wrong baby ?" 

When you finally break down crying, tell her how you feel about yourself, how you can't stand the sight of your reflection, how sick you make yourself feel she's bewildered. To her, you're the most stunning person in the world. It's why she fell for you after all. She tries to tell you as much but it only results in you crying more, screaming that she's lying, that no one could ever actually think you're anything but an ugly piece of lard. Completely bewildered as to how you could see yourself as anything other than gorgeous, She makes it her mission to fix your perspective of yourself, her seemingly constant bombardment of flattery and praise magnifying tenfold. 

There's not a moment of the day where she's not reminding you of how pretty you are, how sexy you are, how desirable you are. If you still deny her, she resorts to showing you the only other way she thinks she can, shaking thighs held down to the mattress face buried between them, tongue bringing you to your third orgasm of the night. You're still crying, weak legs trying to pull away from her, but at least she can't hear you put yourself down over the whimpers and moans you're letting out. She'll show you just how beautiful you are to her, no matter what it takes. 

 Yandere Momo Yaoyorozu

Momo is relatively insensitive to your predicament. In her defense, it's not on purpose, you should know she doesn't care about how you look and she can't comprehend why you spend so much time in the mirror doting on it. 

You don't expect momo to understand though, She's perfect. Tall, lean, beautiful, tight, and toned despite having a quirk that requires her to eat a lot. Still, her cold response hurts. The way she scoffs at you when you refuse to eat for the fourth night in the row makes you feel like your mental state was an inconvenience to her. She tries her best to ignore the way you flinch away from her touch as if you're some gross blob she isn't allowed to touch or step on the scale for the 400th time in one day. 

She tells herself it's a phase you'll grow out of. Food is a necessity. 

It's When she offers to take you out to dinner and you refuse, locking yourself in the bathroom sobbing about one stupid thing or the other that has her fed up. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She hisses, her patience with you dwindling. She's yelling at you from behind the door, banging on it for you to let her in. 

 It wasn't until you swing the door open, face puffy and mascara running down your face that she falls silent.  

You're shaking, the dress she bought for you for tonight on the floor behind you. Momo's frozen and before she can get a word out you're the one screaming.

" I'm not going, I'm not going, I'm not going ." You wail, words beginning to turn to mush. Momo grabs hold of you, tries to calm you down but you're thrashing, trying to pull away. 

You finally tire yourself out, limp in her arms on your shared bed,  less defensive.  she decides that it's the right time to ask you about what the hell just happened. " Why - she treads with caution" why were you crying like that?" Your voice is quiet and shaky when you answer " the dress  you bought me -I couldn't fit the dress I- I g-got bigger." 

Momo's first thought is why the hell that has you so upset when she can buy you a dress that fits - but when your eyes tear up again she pushes her logical thinking to the side. She's not sure what to say or if there's anything else she can do besides offer comfort. So that's what she does, cancels the dinner reservations and just let you spend the night crying on her chest.

Yandere toga 

Toga's love language is touch.

It doesn't matter where but she has to be touching a part of you at all time to feel truly at peace. Despite that when you tell her she can't touch you because it makes you feel icky, she doesn't take it personally. 

Toga grew up understanding the way society can make you feel rotten about things you can't control. 

Hell her quirk got her labeled as a horrifying monstrosity because of the nature of it, but you accepted her. Made her feel comfy and at home so she makes it her mission to return the favor. Even if her ministrations are a bit odd- you always scold her when she steals your things she considers comfort items, or when she threatens to kill anyone who ever made you feel less than enough as you are, going as far as to bring you the remains of a middle school bully, presenting them to you like a proud cat would a dead mouse. 

You really cut into her for that one But you can't really blame her. 

Everything about her life has been shitty and she'll be damned if she lets the one good thing she has wither away into nothingness. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(tittle is from the song "Didn't Break it Enough" by Griff

This is my entry for @railmereid #renswritingchallenge

Summary: Y/n had a bad accident because of a personal unsub of the bau 5 months ago and has never been the same.Spencer blames himself but she doesn't know. 

Word count: 481

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender neutral reader. No pronouns are used 

Category: Angst

Warning: A few curse words. Mentions of self harm. Bad Breakup #twselfharm

……..

 I set my coffee cup on the table. Thinking about what he said "We can't do this anymore I'll be there in the morning to pick up my things" 

There

There

Not home but there. The place we laughed together. Cried together. Loved together. Is just there.

How could he leave now when I need him the most.

If only I was the same. I have changed but that isn't my fault.

…………….

I hear shuffling.

I roll over to see him getting his things from the side table. I look over and all his clothes are emptied from our closet.

"Sorry I didn't mean to wake you" he doesn't even look me in the eye. Talking to me like a stranger.

" No you just wanted to be gone before I woke up!"

"I don't like being lied to Spencer" I reach over to grab his hand he flinches and moves back.

"Y/n we can't do this you know that. We aren't working right" he raises his voice. I have never in our 3 years of dating ever heard him like this.

" Why are you leaving now when I need you the most!?"  I couldn't control my tears as they are hot running down my face

" Do you think we could pretend? I wanted to go back before it all. Or just act like this is alright. I don't want anything to change not now

 He looks at me for one second he looked like he did back at the museum when we look at the stars and told our secrets. 

Then it's gone like all the memories the look fades away not to be seen anymore 

" This isn't my job to fix you and care for you like a child" We have made it to the living room where he is getting the last of his things. 

"THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY AND NOW YOU ARE LEAVING ME AFTER MY ACCIDENT WHY?" 

He grabs his last bag and speaks "Because I don't love you anymore. We aren't good for one another"

Bullshit! 

I look at him  genuinely disgusted

" You don't break my heart because you have commitment issues ,your dad left you, Maeve's death, JJ loves you but not enough, your mom doesn't even remember you" 

He looks shocked to say the least 

"WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?"

"It's true you were so alone then I came for you and this is how you treat me. I fixed you and you can't even help me." 

He walks closer to the door opening it 

"Get out and hope you have a nice life"

He walks out the door and I shut and lock it. I look over to the key sitting on the kitchen counter.

I slide down 

Sitting on the floor crying

Looking at my arms

Running my hands over my scars

Alone

Am I really broken beyond repair?

Thank You for reading my first fanfic I hope you guys like it and I might post more💗💗