Deep Like Water (Yandere!BEN Drowned X GN!Reader)

The Rizz Worked? Maybe?

more talk of s/h ! if you're uncomfortable, please skip the conversation after globals. ( also, y/n's experience with s/h and mental issues is not universal and is purely based on my own experiences. i know how varied these things are, but i can only write what i know regarding these things. )

Sadly for you, you did not reach S-Rank. After two, hard-fought wins, the game decided you were obviously skilled enough to go against three pro teams in a row (with terrible teammates to match) and you were sent right back down A-.

You watched your rank fall from between your fingers. With a heartbroken groan, you slouched down and said, 'I'm gonna delete this goddamn game.'

'No you're not,' BEN chided, poking you in the shoulder. 'Because you just levelled up.'

'Oh shit, did I?'

'Yep. Ninety-one, so you know what that means?'

You shot up, all sense of despair evaporating without a trace. 'I get the twirl.'

'You do indeed get the twirl, you show off.'

When the item collection tune played and your character did an adorable little twirl, it nearly cancelled out the pain of not progressing in rank. Nearly. You were still a bit miffed.

A shivering convulsion ran down your hands as your fingers curled around the controller even more, and you loaded up the single-player part of the game as quickly as possible. You jumped into the first level you saw, not even checking to see what you had to do. (Your hastiness immediately caused an issue, because it was a level that you absolutely despised doing due to the limitations the developers had added as a 'challenge'. But at least you weren't scratching.)

You were so focused on not focusing on your feelings that you didn't notice BEN leave, and you wouldn't have noticed him return if it wasn't for him turning on the main light.

'Ow,' you said dryly, glancing up at him. 'What was that for?'

'So I can show you something that might be useful.' He sat back down next to you and held out his open hand. Two pens were balancing carefully on his palm, and when you silently quirked an eyebrow, he added, 'I thought you might like to try drawing.'

'Why?'

'It'll make you feel better.' With a gentleness you had never expected, he prised the controller from your hands and replaced it with a pen. 'Please just try it at least. For me?'

Your fingers closed around the pen gingerly, like it was radioactive, and you said, 'I'm fine, though. Playing games has helped.'

'Your hands are shaking, and you've been holding the controller like you're trying to strangle it. I know you well enough by now, (Y/N). You aren't weak for trying other coping mechanisms, if that's what you're worried about.'

Staring at the pen like it was a piece of alien technology, your eyes flicked between the lid and the skin of your hand. You vaguely remembered the feeling of drawing on your hand from your final year of prep school and how your parents had scolded you for allowing such a thing to happen. (Something about ink poisoning? Whatever it was, it was completely ridiculous and factually incorrect, but you never drew on your skin again.)

Sliding down onto the floor, you spread your hand out on the coffee table and removed the pen's lid. 'What do I draw?' you asked, keeping your gaze firmly fixed on your middle fingernail.

'Whatever you want,' BEN said. 'Cats, smiley faces, me...whatever you want to draw.'

'I'm not drawing you on my hand.' Your art skills were around average, but with the help of a quick scan around the room gave you an idea to start with: a boat. A semi-circle for the vessel, a single line for the mast, and a triangle for the sail. The blue ink outline stood out against your flesh. In minutes, the back of your hand was covered in little drawings—some ambiguous, some clear in what they were supposed to be.