A/N: May be triggering. I was going somewhere completely different with this imagine, but then my emo soul got the best of me. I wanted to do a Depressed!Peter x Depressed!Reader. So, if you might be triggered, I beg you; Please don't read this! Your safety means more to me than votes and comments.
Oneshot: Peter Modern A/U
"Y/N L/N!" My knees flew up and hit the fold out desk, sending all loose items and my computer flying. I tried to calm my breathing. I looked at my professor who just shook her head. There was a guy standing next to her. His hair was a dirty blonde color, and from across the auditorium I could see bright blue eyes. He looked sturdily built, paired with a chiseled jaw line. He was wearing a red flannel that was unbuttoned to reveal a black twenty one pilots shirt. His skinny jeans and converse were tattered in a very Tumblr-esque style. At first I thought, Oh, maybe he could be my friend! Then I remembered why everyone stays away from me and mentally scolded myself.
Oh, right. You're probably wondering who I am. My name is Y/N L/N and I'm a graphic design major at the University of (school of choice). I'm 22 years old and am obsessed with music, the internet and making different fandom related graphics in my spare time. I'm really awkward to be around, so my best friends are fictional characters and Youtubers that will never know I exist.
"Sorry, Ms.Jackson." I said, lowering my head. I bent down to pick up all of my things, struggling slightly to make no noise.
"Next time, Y/N, don't be doddling on your computer during class. Then I wouldn't have startled you." She was right about my paying attention in class, but I wasn't doddling. "Class, we have a new student. Peter Pevensie here is an exchange student from Finchley. He'll be trying this school out for the semester, then he might transfer here. Make a good impression." She gestured for him to find a seat, but he looked like a deer in headlights. She chuckled.
"How about you sit by Y/N?" She gestured to the seat next to mine, which I didn't even realize was empty. I cringed, scared that I would have to socialize. It, as I've expressed, isn't my best talent.
"Erm, yeah. Sure." His European accent was prominent. He made his way to the chair. I used this time to study him further. He walked timidly, but he seemed unfortable. His hair was side-swept, but it looked as though he had woken up like that. His converse might have, at one point, been black, but have faded to a dark grey. He was carrying a brown messenger bag, which seemed overloaded. What you could see of his arms were adorned with bracelets, anywhere from a danisnotonfire to MCR. I pulled up my sweater looked down at my wrists, only to find the same danisnotonfire bracelet, along with my Irresistible, American Beauty/ American Psycho and The Kids Aren't Alright wristbands. I chuckled under my breath. I might not be so different from everyone else. Then I remembered what's under those wristbands.
The seminar ended about an hour later. I collected my computer and notebook. I my next two hours are free, so I planned on going to get lunch. Alone. By myself. Fun.
I was walking through the courtyard. It was surrounded by outdoor halls, sorta like Hogwarts. There were large trees which many students liked to study around, or just sit during the scarce time in between classes and seminars. However, some guys still hadn't grown up. They like to trip freshmens, or bump into people, causing them to drop their morning coffee. One time they tripped an art major and she dropped her still-drying painting, right into a puddle. They are the type of people that make me want to be more isolated from the world than I already am.
Today, however, their victim was poorly chosen. The new guy, Peter, was just walking to the south exit and some guy tripped him. I think his name was Casper or something like that. He had long, wavy brown that was styled into a quiff. His whole persona screamed rich jerk.
Peter only stumbled a bit, steading his footing with expertease. He turned to say something to-Oh! Caspian! That's his name. He turned to say something to him, but turned around. Caspian sniggered, whispering something to his friends. He caught up with Peter and tapped him on the shoulder. Peter's face contorted, not into anger, but as though he regretted what he was about to do.
I blinked once, and Peter had whisked around and punch Caspian square in the jaw. Caspian stumbled back clutching his jaw. While he was immobilized, his friends weren't. One grabbed Peter's arms and tried to pin them behind his back. His reaction was heartbreaking.
Peter's eyes widened with pain and regret, his mouth letting out a stifled scream. I had seen his expression many times on my own face. I averted my attention to his arms and how they were being held. Because he was struggling so much, another one of Caspian's friends had to help restrain him. Both of the guys had a hand on his wrist and the part of his arms before his elbow that were covered with his sleeves. If I was correct, but boy, did I hope I wasn't, that's exactly where self harm injuries and scars would be.
"Let him go!" I screamed. I was taken aback with myself. I never, ever would have stood up for anyone else, if they weren't like me. Plus, I was going on a hunch. I ran across the courtyard to where Peter was being held.
"Why should I do that?" One of the guys holding him asked as he tightened his hold on Peter's arms. Another muffled scream. This guy was undoubtedly causing him so much pain and he didn't even know it. I had to come up with something quick.
"Because if you don't, I'll tell your girlfriend you're cheating on her." It seemed like a vague, but probable enough threat, so I used it. His eyes went wide. He dropped Peter and the other guy holding him, knowing he couldn't restrain him on his own, let go of Peter's arm. They ran off, and Caspian followed them, nursing a most likely broken jaw.
"Thanks Y/N." Peter's calm demeanor was back, but I wasn't going to let him slide that easily. I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Your arms." I said. Peter visibly tensed.
"What?" He asked. He knew I was on to him.
"Peter. Please tell me I'm wrong." I looked at him with pleading eyes. Mine bore into his for seconds, but it felt like hours. Slowly, he shook his head.
"I can't lie to you or myself, Y/N." I squeezed my eyes shut, pacing in a circle for a moment. I turned back to him.
"Come with me." I turned on my heel, heading for the girls bathroom. I had supplies in my bag that would tide him over for the day. I could hear him walking behind me. I sighed quietly. I didn't think he would follow me. When we made it there, I had to make sure no one was in there.
"Wait a sec," I said. No one was in the bathroom. I moved my hand into his view and motioned him in before shutting the door and locking it.
"What are you doing?" He asked. I gave him one of those don't-pretend-you-don't-know looks. His face hardened.
"I don't need help." He stated firmly, crossing his arms. I scowled. In one swift motion I pulled his sleeve up and his bracelets down. He made a soft noise. It was apparent he was trying to not break down.
"Peter, I know, better than a lot of people, that you do." I kept my voice from wavering, miraculously. " Sit on the counter. I have bandages. You'll need to rewrap them later this evening, or maybe even tomorrow." He sat on the counter and let me tend to his injuries. I tried not to focus on how muscular his arms were, but on the cuts on them. There were hundreds. I never had trouble seeing them on my own body, but on someone else it was all I could do not to break down. His perfect skin was now littered with scars that represent each battle lost in a war with himself. And they would always be there.
"Why are you being so nice to me? Why don't you think I'm a freak?" He asked. The sad part was, you could see sincere confusion in his eyes, as though he thought no one could care about him.
"Because I know that you aren't." I answered truthfully. He's just a guy who has issues, not much different from my own.
"Wait, you don't..." He made a gesture to his bandaged arm," Do you?" I averted my eyes from his. People say the eyes are the gateway to the soul, and I would like to keep mine under lock and key.
"Y/N." He grabbed my chin and made me look into his eyes. There was a certain level of caring in them. It made me sad that they had seen so much pain.
"I can't lie to you or myself, Peter." I repeated his words. His face fell. I looked way.
"Show me." His voice echoed through the tiled bathroom and caused a panicked expression on my face.
"What?" I hoped the fear in my tone would make him break, but he seemed adamant.
"Y/N. I showed you mine. Show me yours."
"Well, technically, I found yours. So I don't have to show you mine." I loopholed.
"Then I guess I'll have to find yours too." He said. Peter jumped of the counter, advancing towards me. I kept backing up until my back hit the cold walls. He pinned me against the wall with his body and grabbed my sleeves. The moments before he pulled them up were agonizing.
"Oh my gods.." He let go of my sleeves, but they had already ridden up my arms. I looked down, but immediately wished I hadn't. The cuts had gotten worse than they were last night when I made them. They were red and numerous. It sickened me.
"Those aren't the only ones," I said. I raised my shirt so that he could see my hips, were three vertical lines rested on each. There were more cuts than that though, some spelling words. He raised a hand to his mouth. I saw tears brimming in his eyes. He bent down on his knees, running his fingers along each of the scars, old and new.
Suddenly he wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face into my side. At first I tensed up. What was I supposed to do? I slowly brought my hands down to his hair, playing with it. It was bright and full of life, unlike mine and this situation.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N." He said. It was muffled in my hoodie.
"So am I."
(A/N: I wrote this a long time ago and these are not healthy ways to deal with self harm, please seek professional help if you feel the need to do so.)