Camilo Oneshots: Encanto (x Reader)

Perfect the Way You Are

Prompt: "Don't do this to yourself."

Requested by: Soapy_Romance (on Ao3)

Warnings: TW- Self Harm, Low Esteem, Angst, Swearing, Hurt/Comfort

NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU. MOST OF THIS ONESHOT CONTAINS TRIGGERING THEMES AND CONTENT. I HAVE MORE CHAPTERS IN THE WORKS. PLEASE, FOR YOUR HEALTH, DO NOT READ IF THIS IS A SENSITIVE TOPIC. SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER.

The room is silent. You sit at the edge of Camilo's bed— considering you spend so much time with him, it's no surprise— and stare at the floor. With tense hands, you grip at your arms, digging your mostly bitten off nails into your skin. The day had been a lot to handle, and honestly, you never were the type to handle stress.

Hot tears prick your eyes, threatening to spill over. In a futile attempt to stop them, you keep your eyes open as wide as possible, biting your lip to create some form of distraction. Unfortunately, it doesn't work, and you feel a tear glide down your cheek. Immediately, you take a deep breath, blinking at last. As more fall, you let go, tightening your hold on your arms, sliding them up to your shoulders, and slowly curling more and more into yourself.

Loud sobs rack your body, leaving you nearly breathless as you gasp for air. The air feels stuffy in a way that it almost seems as if it's slowly suffocating you. Why? The thought fleetingly crosses your mind, but falls away just as quick. Even as you shake, jolting each time you sniffle and cry, you aren't sure why you're so upset. Thoughts vaguely dance in your mind, and the moment it's gone, you can't remember what it was.

For what feels like hours, your chest heaves with each breath. Through bleary eyes you can see the wooden floor of his room, finally noticing yourself balled up on it. When had you slid off the bed?

Your head pounds from the sheer amount of tension built up from crying, and you drop the thought at its presence. Hiccups echo throughout the room every now and then as you lean your head back against his bed. With closed eyes, you frown at the ceiling, fighting the urge to allow more tears to fall.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING STARTS HERE⚠️

Endless thoughts flood your mind: memories, questions, and yourself. Why yourself? That's a simple question if you want just a single answer: you aren't worth it. The long answer? Fuck, there's too many to even explain. You're a terrible person, you're pretty sure no one cares, you aren't pretty, you're just not important, you don't have anything special about you, you only bother people, you trick them into thinking you're nice— after all, you are the worst person you know— and you're... well... worthless. What other way is there to put it?

Throwing your head back down, you bite at your lip, beginning to draw blood. Suddenly, an idea comes to mind— no. No. You swore you wouldn't do it. You won't do it. However tempting it may be, you won't.

A sinking feeling rises in your gut, making you shiver anxiously. You try to purge the thought from mind, but the more you try, the more it seems to draw you in.

Your breathing deepens as you wrap your arms tighter around yourself, squeezing your eyes shut on instinct. No. No...

Again, the very air feels like it's constricting your oxygen. Your lip quivers involuntarily before you let out a choked sob. Tensing up once more, you writhe in discomfort.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING! SELF-HARM BEGINS HERE⚠️

Ultimately, you jolt to your feet, stumbling over towards the bathroom in his room. Mindlessly, you sling open the drawer, digging through it until you find it. A razor blade. Taking it, you walk out of the bathroom and back into his room to stand in front of one of the body-length mirrors against the wall.