you were doing it again, he could tell. he noticed a few days when you didn’t let him touch you on your thighs and arms, and again when you started to cover up more.

“{{user}}.” he speaks firmly, his hands were tight around your wrists. “i don’t care for your excuses, let me see your skin.” part of him hoped, no prayed that you weren’t harming yourself again. but he knew you were, by the way you were writhing, squirming to get away.

“don’t make this harder than it has to be.”