peter ballard x fem!reader (oneshots)

scars

WARNING: mentions of self harm

as i laid in my bed, my head resting neatly on my pillow i sighed. lessons were over for today and i was beyond exhausted, but for some reason i couldn't sleep.

my stomach was in a knot and there was a lump in my throat. i felt sad. i rarely had any time to ever process my emotions, so when i did; it was hard.

i had terrible ways of coping with my emotions. i lashed out on people, i pushed them away, and worst of all, i would take all of the pent up pain inside of my near broken heart and take it out on myself. these actions left me with scars to tell the story.

scars that scattered my upper thighs and arms. scars that nobody has ever seen, and that i never intend for them to see. these scars somehow made me feel worse than the ones that papa had gifted me during punishments.

it was because i knew i was the reason for my own downfall. before i knew it, hot tears were cascading down my face. i carefully placed my hands over my face, wiping the fresh tears off my face.

i felt the urge coming strong, and i felt like i couldn't stop myself. i carefully peeled off the grey sweatshirt the lab made us wear and looked down at my wrist.

scars littered my arm, making new tears fall down my face. i reached over to the nightstand beside my bed, grabbing the box of crayons off of it. i dumped the crayons onto my bed, they weren't the thing i was currently looking for.

as my eyes met the soft metal material of the razor blade, my door swung open. i quickly covered my body with my sheets and scattered the crayons across my bed.

peter stepped into my room, a warm smile on his face. as soon as he realized i was crying, his face dropped. he immediately rushed over to me, sitting next to me on my bed.

"y/n," he said carefully, "what's wrong?" i sniffled, rubbing my hands over my face, careful not to let peter see my left arm. "i'm just exhausted." i lied, laying back down onto my bed.

peter eyed my suspiciously, "why is your shirt off?" he asked, not understanding the situation fully. i smiled, trying to conceal the pain in my heart. "i was just changing." i said casually.

he nodded and looked down at the scattered crayons across my bed. "and the crayons?" he asked again. i shrugged, "must of spilled." i replied before grabbing my sweatshirt and roughly pulling it on.

he began to gather the crayons on my bed, grabbing the box and neatly putting them back inside. when he was done, i knew he hadn't seen the blade, or else he would've said something.

he laid down next to me, "y/n." he said, a stern tone in my voice. i looked over at him, and as soon as i saw what was held between his nimble fingers, i felt a terrible guilt in my stomach.

"why do you have this?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly. i swallowed hard, attemping to make the lump in my throat go away. "i dont know, it must've fallen in there somehow." i lied again, hoping he would buy it.

he sighed, sitting up. i sat up with him, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands in a way to comfort myself. "take off your sweatshirt." he said, sympathy lacing his voice.

my voice got caught in my throat, i had been found out. peter knew. the one person who i hoped would never find out, just did.

i didn't feel like arguing or trying to deny it, knowing peter was too smart to buy any more of my lies. i carefully took the sweatshirt off and looked down.

i could feel peter looking at me. his eyes burned into my arms, checking them for any marks that would make his theory plausible. when his eyes met my left wrist, i heard him gasp. "did, did you do that to yourself?" he asked, his voice now shaking.

tears had fallen down my face by now and i looked up at him. his eyes were glossy and he looked so unbelievably sad. i hated that i had made him feel like way. "im sorry." i said. that was all i could say at the moment.

peter sighed, a tear falling down his face. he pulled me into his chest, my tears wetting his shirt. that's when i broke, i had never intended for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt peter, ever.

"im sorry." i said again, sobbing into his chest. he stroked my hair, whispering sweet nothings into my ear and letting me cry. all i could say was the two words, im sorry. the only emotion i felt was guilt.

as my breathing calmed down, and my tears slowed, i looked up at peter. my face was red and puffy, and so was his. peter once again looked down at my left arm.

he gently grabbed my wrist and lifted it up to his lips. as his lips made contact with the scars, i whimpered softly. he kissed every single scar on my wrist. more tears fell down my face from this. i had never felt worse.

when he was done, he looked up at me and kissed me. when he pulled away he said, "the next time you feel like you need to do this to yourself, come and find me, okay?" he tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, "okay." i whispered, my head laying back onto his chest.

he leaned down onto my bed, leaving us in a comfortable position. i felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. i now felt like i could sleep. "i love you." i said softly. peter kissed the top of my head, "i love you too." he said.

a/n: sorry this was sad. i just needed some way to cope with how i feel so i felt like writing. if you ever feel like this, please text HOME to 741741. this is the national self harm hotline. you're not alone. 🤍🤍🤍