''❞ onceler x reader ━
you adored the rainy days. the best ones were those spent in your local café, gazing through the window. nothing in the world seemed more inviting.
however, you've always found your life dull and h...
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as something pricks your cheeks, you slowly open your eyes, still feeling groggy. instantly, you snort and sit up, trying to make sense of the situation. "what the..." before you can finish your sentence, something slaps you, and a familiar voice speaks up. "why you still sleepin'? beanpole left, and ya' didn't even say g'bye!" your eyes widen as you recognize the voice.
"what? he's gone? where?" you blurt out, bombarding the small, orange buffoon in front of you with questions. he rolls his eyes at your confusion and frustration. "no, you idiot! he went into town to sell his fhneeds or whatever," he clarifies. you nod, absorbing the information, and without much enthusiasm, you lay back down. the lorax gives you a funny look before speaking up again.
"ay, no! get up! who said you're goin' back to sleep?" he scolds. you let out a groan, feeling the weight of your emotions and the looming dread, but you comply with his demand. "alright! i'm up!" you mumble, and the lorax smiles, satisfied with your response.
"good. i'll see ya outside," he says before leaving. you wait for him to go before standing up and stretching, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. however, as you do so, a wave of dread washes over you once more. you groan and cup your hands around your face, feeling the weight of your negative emotions. this was expected, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. you despise this feeling, this battle within yourself.
with a sluggish pace, you drag yourself toward the bathroom, hoping that the routine will bring some warmth. as you stand in front of the mirror, you can't help but notice the scars on your arms. they serve as painful reminders of your past struggles. you try to ignore them, but they keep drawing your attention, taunting you. taking a deep breath, you start to wash your face, hoping the simple act will help clear your mind. but despite your efforts, your thoughts keep drifting toward the memories that haunt you.
the overwhelming urge to hurt yourself again creeps into your mind, intensifying the struggle within. you desperately try to push the thought away, fighting against the darkness that threatens to consume you. it's hard to resist, and you just give in.
as you hold the blade in your hand, a surge of emotions floods through you. the familiar sting of pain becomes a twisted comfort, a temporary release from the turmoil within. you watch as crimson lines appear on your skin, tracing a physical manifestation of your inner struggles. the weight of shame and self-doubt bears down on you, intensifying with every cut.
"i should stop before-"
"before i come home?"
in that vulnerable moment, a voice interrupts your self-destructive trance. startled, you turn to find once-ler standing behind you, his expression a mixture of concern and sorrow. his presence brings a sudden rush of embarrassment, as if your private battle has been exposed to the world.
"why... why are you home already?" you stammer, your voice trembling with a blend of guilt and desperation.
he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "things didn't go well, but don't mind that," he says softly, his words filled with genuine care. "we're talking about you."
