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lostandsearching · 3 years

Text

Benny's Bar

Parings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Word count: 8.4K+ Big one...my bad

Summary: Natasha's life was never the same after the battle with Thanos, she lost her best friend Clint on Vormir and this sent her spiraling into misery. So what happens when she meets the bartender Y/N? Will fate be kind to her just this once or take her unawares, wrenching her heart in the process?

Warning: Mentions of alcohol abuse, blackouts, blood, implications of death, implies sex, mentions sterilization (just in case) if there's anything you think I should add please let me know

A/N: So not sure what came over writing this and I honestly did try to make it a short one but I clearly failed. Please heed the warnings if any such content triggers you, please avoid reading. I don't want it upsetting anyone. Also try to squint with the time line and the hospital stuff, I'm obviously not versed in doc speak. Hope you enjoy it and I'll always welcome feedback and reblogs :)

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This was not meant to be Natasha’s life. Tears streamed down her face as she gazed at your exhausted expression, laying on the hospital bed. How did she get here?

Years ago

Natasha had been frequenting this particular bar, having had enough of Wanda constantly hovering around her. Why isn’t she allowed a drink? She’s a fully grown woman and retired now. The Avengers have long since been disbanded. The loss of three original Avengers and Vision, plus two leaving was a hole that could not be filled, similar to the Widow’s heart.

So here she was again, eyes cast down to a glass of vodka and sitting on a ridiculously uncomfortable stool. Everyone in there knew who she was but they didn’t dare interrupt her nightly sessions, not since the first time somebody tried.

“You know, you won’t get the answers you need in a bar right? You tease lightly

Natasha drags her unfocused vision towards the sound of the voice until it somewhat lands on Y/E/C. “I wasn’t aware I asked for your opinion” Natasha retorts back with a huff. Had it been another night, had you said something else, Natasha would have thought you beautiful and taken you home, but not tonight. Tonight the only company she needed was the cold glass in her hands.

“I’d be surprised if you are aware of much at all” you quip back playfully, no hint of menace in your tone. Before Natasha can retort, you turn your back and serve another customer. Once again Natasha is left to the company of the burning clear liquid, pulling her closer and closer to oblivion’s embrace.

She wakes on tear stained pillows, huddled in a ball under her sheets. The ex-spy doesn’t know how she got home or when she got home but then again, she never does anymore. She turns her head to see the tall glass of water and Advil on her bedside table, Wanda’s doing as usual. She makes quick work of taking the pills and swallowing down the liquid, part of her wishing it was something else.

She begins her day much like every other. She tries to remove the remnants of the night before and goes through the intel that Bucky and Sam have sent her. She may no longer be an Avenger but that doesn’t mean she can’t help and those boys need all the help they can get. Sitting in her small office, nursing a hot cup of coffee, she hears the tell-tale footsteps of another argument approaching.

“Please not today Wanda. Bucky has sent me the flimsiest rumour of some vague drug cartel that I need to decipher because he still hasn’t figured out how to add an attachment” Natasha grumbles out, eyes never leaving the screen. She doesn’t need to see the disappointment on her friend’s face.

“Please come with me to the grief group. It’s helping me with Vision, I know it will help you too if you try” Wanda says gently. She knows if she pushes too hard, it will only trigger the older woman to start drinking earlier.

“I don’t need a group of strangers to help me through anything. I’m fine” the frustration growing in Natasha’s tone. With a loaded sigh, Wanda trudges away defeated. Natasha leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, heart already full of lead. Everyday Wanda tries and everyday Nat pushes her away but the Widow can’t let the woman in, she lost Clint and it’s destroying her. She doesn’t deserve Wanda’s care or love. It should have been her.

She opens a drawer on her desk and pulls the bottle and glass out. She has her first drink.

Natasha doesn’t know when she got there or how long she’s been there but the sound of your voice brings her back to momentary clarity.

“So are you going to give me the silent treatment tonight?” you question with mock annoyance.

“Wah?” Natasha slurs out full of confusion as her green eyes look up at you.

“I said...you should really go home now, you were drunk when you came in here so god only knows how bad it is now after all those drinks” you chuckle out.

Even in a drunken stupor, Natasha’s training is ever present and she can hear the concern hidden underneath the layer of joviality. “M fine” is all she can muster out.

“I really need to ban that word” you say plainly, causing the red head to furrow her eyes in confusion. You can’t help but think she looks adorable. “The word fine, you say it every night” you explain.

“S’cuz I am…Fine”

“Ok sweetheart, if you say so” you reply lightly before once again walking away to go about your work.

Natasha’s stomach flips at the endearing pet name. She’s not sure why, but for a moment she lets her eyes try to focus on your frame as you lean over the bar counter to hear a patron’s order. You are certainly beautiful and in that fleeting moment, she wonders what it would be like for you to be draped in her arms.

She turns her thoughts away from you, she doesn’t deserve anybody’s warmth. It should have been her. She takes another swig and lets the burning sensation tear her thoughts away. She falls into oblivion.

She wakes up in bed once more, clueless on the events of the night before. Once again, she sees that Wanda has left her a glass of water and some Advil. She silently thanks the witch for these small graces.

She begins her day like every other, but today, Wanda has had enough.

“When are you going to stop drinking yourself to death” her Sokovian accent is heavy in her words.

“You couldn’t wait for me to at least have a cup of coffee first?” Nat retorts angrily. She doesn’t like being cornered first thing in the morning.

“I can’t watch you keep doing this Nat, I lost them too” Wanda says with a shaky voice

“THEN DON’T! LEAVE! YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE HERE! I’M FINE ON MY OWN” Natasha screams out, she can’t hold back her anger and she watches the younger woman flinch at her outburst. That causes a painful knot in her heart. She takes calming breaths and pinches the bridge of her nose to stave of the growing headache.

“I’m fine Wanda. I get myself home safely every night so you don’t have to worry about me” she tries to say calmly. She looks at friend to see Wanda’s face knotted with confusion. “What?” Natasha asks

“What do you mean you get yourself home?” Wanda asks carefully, still trying to piece together what Natasha remembers.

This has Natasha rolling her eyes and huffing with impatience. “I wake up in bed every morning so clearly I get myself home just fine” Natasha grits out.

“Nat…Y/N brings you home every night and tucks you in. You’re too drunk to do anything”

“Who the hell is Y/N?”

Now it’s Nat’s turn to be lost in confusion. She doesn’t know a Y/N much less how this Y/N knows where she lives.

Wanda’s face softens at this with a hidden pang of pity in her heart for you. All this time, Natasha never knew how much you did for her and clearly you never told her. She was going to set it right.

Wanda told Natasha of all the early mornings that you would have Natasha draped against you as you tried to manoeuvre the assassin into bed. You would always take her home after your shift at Benny’s, Natasha being in no state to do so. You would keep a watchful eye on her as you worked the bar to make sure no-one took advantage of the red head’s vulnerable state. Occasionally, you would hold her in bed as sobs wracked her body, you would hold her until sleep took hold of her instead. You would always leave a glass of water and Advil on her bedside table before you departed.

Wanda held back the moments she shared with the Y/H/C woman. Those moments were for her. In all the months of caring for Natasha, you had also cared for the witch, fast becoming friends. Natasha may not have known to appreciate you then but Wanda made sure she did, always sending you away with a portion of her cooking and a new recipe to try.

When Wanda finishes her explanation, Natasha is nothing but still, face devoid of any emotion at the revelation. Even if Wanda wasn’t a mind reader, she knew Natasha well enough to know that she was in inner turmoil. Gently she reaches out to her friend, her sister, and places a calming hand on Natasha’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you start by saying thank you. Y/N works the evening shift” Wanda says warmly, a gentle smile on her face.

“Yeah…”

Natasha is nervous, she doesn’t know how to approach you much less thank you, maybe she should have had that drink first. She steps out of her car and looks up at the flashing neon light claiming the place to be Benny’s Bar. She takes a deep breath and pushes against the bar door to enter the confines of the place, sober for the first time.

Her senses are instantly assaulted with the smells of sticky sweat, variations of body sprays and perfumes, and stale alcohol that has seeped into the wood floors, spilled by its drunken patrons. Her ears vibrate uncomfortably with the obnoxious music booming from the jukebox in the corner, some inebriated man leaning against it trying to pick out a song. Natasha takes the bar in, it’s not a dive but it’s definitely not for the refined either. It’s small enough to not attract too many customers but large enough to be easily lost in the crowd.

She keeps scanning the room until her green eyes finally land on your form exiting the kitchen doors to make your way behind the bar, rag in hand. Natasha takes measured strides towards you, hiding her unease with the situation. You aren’t aware of Natasha’s silent approach as you wipe down the bar, cleaning it down only for it to be covered in alcohol again later.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Natasha asks you pointedly

Her steadfast voice garners your attention and you look away from your work towards the fiery redhead. For a moment, you say nothing, only taking in the beautiful woman before you. You note the steadiness in her forest green eyes as they regard you and the straightness of her spine as she stands there, waiting for a reply. She’s sober.

“I didn’t see the point, you never seemed to remember me the next night anyway” you say with a smile hoping to convey that you didn’t take it bitterly.

“If I didn’t remember, why did you keep doing it then?” Natasha can’t help but ask. She was just supposed to thank you but she couldn’t hold back the questioning thoughts.

“Do I need you to remember to do the right thing?” you quip back plainly.

“They are thankless actions. What’s the point in helping some drunk woman that can’t remember to appreciate it?” Natasha responds, eyes furrowed in confusion. Why would anyone go through that for nothing, much less for her?

“So was being an Avenger, but you did it anyway because it was the right thing to do” you say, hand on your hip challenging the assassin to come up with an argument.

“That’s different, I did a lot of terrible things in my past, I was just…wiping the red away” Natasha replies, her jaw clenching at the growing discomfort with the turn of the conversation.

“We’ve all done terrible things sweetheart but I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.” You say gently. Natasha’s stomach flips at the endearing name, she’s felt this in the past but before she is too lost in thought, you continue talking.

“I think you believe you don’t deserve to be taken care of. I don’t think you would question what I did, if I did it for someone else but…for you…it’s inconceivable. But you’re wrong, no matter what bad things you’ve done or think you have done, you still deserve to be taken care of” giving Natasha a small smile when you finish speaking.

The assassin is trained to expose and extract every lie from a person just by looking at them. She searches your face, your stance, she keeps searching but finds nothing but truth in your words. She cannot explain why but your words touch a part of Natasha’s soul that has long been devoid and unreachable. She feels warm and her heart beats a little faster.

“Thank you, for everything” Natasha finally says, with some vulnerability in her voice.

“You’re very welcome. Seeing as you’ll remember this time, my name is Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N” you say smiling brightly at the red head, hand extended out in greeting.

“Natasha, Natasha Romanoff” she replies, taking your hand in her strong ones, squeezing gently. Your heart flutters at the contact and you can’t fight the rising blush on your cheeks. It only worsens when you note how her cheeks are tinted with the faintest hue of pink. Eventually you both pull away, already missing the feeling of her cold hands in your warm ones.

“So what can I get you Natasha?” you say playfully and you are rewarded with a small smile from her.

Natasha takes a moment and taps her slender finger against her chin in mock thought. She already knows what she wants to drink. She knew the moment she felt electricity coursing through her veins when your hand was wrapped in hers.

“You have any fruit smoothies?” she asks, eyebrow quirked and lip upturned in challenge. You can’t help biting your bottom lip at her cocky demeanour.

“For you…I’m sure I can make something work” you say teasingly before throwing her a wink and begin making her drink.

Natasha watches you with an odd fondness and familiarity. Her mind might have forgotten you but she’s sure her body and her heart never did, holding onto those moments as you gripped her tightly, never letting her truly fall into the abyss. Natasha doesn’t drink again.

Present

Natasha doesn’t understand what she could have done to deserve this. She can hear Wanda’s attempt at silently crying in the corner but she can’t tear her gaze away from your drooping eyes. She reaches out gently caressing your cheek and even in your drained state, you lean into her touch.

“It’s ok moya lyubov (my love), you can rest now” she chokes out. You smile gently at this and finally let your eyes close.

A few years ago

After the battle with Thanos, Natasha’s life had been turned upside down and she believed it would never be righted again. How wrong she was. All it took was a kind bartender and a shake of warm hands against cold ones.

Natasha never touched a drop of alcohol again after your first sober interaction. She went as far as having Wanda help her purge their little apartment together of any and all alcoholic beverages. Natasha took steps to heal the pain that she was going through. She joined Wanda in the grief group, much to the younger witch’s joy. Natasha didn’t speak much but she was always attentive, mulling over not only her friend’s words but the other group members shared experiences. It helped her understand her own feelings a little more.

Yes the grief group was helpful, just like Wanda said it would be, but nothing was more helpful to Natasha’s healing than you. She had taken to picking you up from Benny’s after your shift as a form of thanks for everything you had done for her, it was an excuse to spend time with you.

Short conversations in car rides home turned into longer conversations over morning coffee. You actively listened to Natasha, not only about her Avenger days but about her in general. She would note how your eyes would light up like the sun whenever she shared a piece of information about herself. She remembers a time where you practically leapt from your chair with excitement, begging Natasha to show you a dance when she shared that she loved to do ballet.

Whenever Natasha was having a bad day, you would notice with one look. The first time it had happened you gave her directions to a dance studio, one belonging to a friend’s mother, and told her to collect her gear from her apartment, the journey was spent wordlessly. You understood that Natasha needed to dance away her pain and worries. When exhaustion would finally force her to stop, she would fall apart and you would wrap your arms around the broken woman, accepting her pain and sharing in her burdens. When she was calmer, she’d pull away from the embrace whispering her thanks. Your heart would ache but you let go anyway.

It eventually became routine for Natasha to pick you up from work and take you for friendly coffee, sometimes to the studio where she would crumble and eventually pull away from your calming hold. The pattern never deviated until that one day. Natasha picked you up as usual but her hard demeanour and the darkness in her eyes told you she was struggling today.

“Studio?” you ask. She simply responded with a nod of her head before driving away. It went as it always did, you unlocked the studio, preparing the lights and the music as Natasha got changed and ready. You would sit patiently on the floor off to the side as she danced with all the emotion she was being ladened with.

You could see the strength and grace radiating from her with each pirouette and contortion of her athletic body. You also saw the pain and the loss she suffered etched on her face become more visible as her dance progressed. She would dance and dance until the flood gates holding back her sorrow would burst. You would rush to her side once again and hold her surely in your arms, letting her express her pain, accepting it all until she inevitably pulled away.

Once her heart-breaking sobs dwindle down to whimpers, you steel your heart in preparation for her disentanglement from you. You’re caught by surprise when she lifts her head from your tear soaked chest and places her cold hand on your cheek. You can’t stop yourself from melting into her touch. Y/E/C stare into her forest green ones, red and puffy from crying yet her eyes are still a vision of endless beauty to you, her pain just a part of her humanity. You are so lost in Natasha’s eyes that you don’t register her leaning in and tilting her head giving you time to pull away. When you make no move, she connects her soft red lips against yours in a chaste kiss.

Your mind explodes with realisation at what is happening before you place your hands on her hips to pull her closer into you. At that moment, the world falls away and there is only Natasha. The feel of her full lips moving against yours in perfect harmony was as if you had done this in every lifetime and your souls already knew how to dance to the tune of your love. The taste of lingering salty tears melded beautifully with sweetness that was purely her. Every nerve in your body vibrated with the love you felt for the red head and you wordlessly conveyed this through your connected lips. You were first to pull away, leaning your forehead against Natasha’s, trying to catch your breath. For a while, you both sit there silently, eyes shut, her hands on your cheeks, yours on her hips, basking in each other’s silent profession of love. Natasha never pulls away from your embrace.

A couple of years rolled by like the perfect imperfect romance, Natasha was still after all the Black Widow. You had to learn when to wade in and charge at her built up walls or when you merely needed to fall back, patiently waiting for her to bring them down herself. The first year was a tentative dance as you learnt the intricacies of each other but even when the fear of love would take hold of the Widow, causing her to pull away from you, the red string of fate refused to snap and she would be in your arms once more.

It wasn’t long before the ebb and flow of your relationship steadied itself into a comforting life of domesticity. Wanda eventually moved out of the apartment shared with Natasha, quoting the annoyingly thin walls as a reason, and you had moved in. Your life with Natasha was turbulent at times but she never drank a drop and you never left her side. The joy and love you had for each other would always outshine the darkness that threatened to creep into Natasha’s heart.

A few years would pass before the time arrived that things needed to change. The way life was in that moment, was no longer enough for Natasha. She needed more, she wanted more, she was unsatisfied. You noticed the strange behaviour almost immediately, Natasha might have been a world class spy but you were her girlfriend and you knew her like the back of your hand.

Fear started to niggle at you when Natasha would disappear early in the mornings, leaving you alone in bed with her side cold from her departure. Asking her where she went would only provide you one of two responses, a lie or outright annoyance at your inquisition. You wouldn’t ask again.

The sinking feeling in your heart only grew worse when Natasha would quickly disengage from your hold at the sound of her phone ringing, rushing away to answer it in another room. At times her face would look overjoyed after the call and other times, she looked like the Black Widow, ready to murder the next person that crossed her. You wanted to ask, but you thought otherwise, you trusted Natasha, right?

The final nail in the coffin was when Natasha would leave and not return. You would try to stay awake on the couch, waiting for her return, only to wake the next morning in the same spot, bed sheets still made. Your heart was being torn apart by the woman you love and you couldn’t take it anymore. You were going to confront her.

“What is going on with you?” you ask her as soon as Natasha enters the room, throwing her keys in the bowl.

“Nothing, I don’t know what you’re talking about” She replies nonchalantly. Her quick dismissal has your blood boiling.

“Do you think I’m stupid Romanoff?” you spit out.

This has Natasha’s attention now, you never call her by her name much less her last name. She loved that quirk about you. You would always opt to call her baby, or hun but her favourite would always be when you called her sweetheart.

“I…of course not moya lyubov. Why would you think that?” Natasha's eyes look into your pained ones and she instinctively reaches out to you but you move out of her reach. This twists her heart in two as she lets her hands fall back to her sides.

“First you disappear in the mornings and when I ask, you snap at me, then you suddenly become very secretive with your phone calls and now…NOW YOU DON’T EVEN COME HOME!” you shout out, letting out all the building pain and frustration out of its confines.

Natasha’s eyes grow wide with shock, in all the time you've spent together, even when you were frustrated with her, you had never once raised your voice to her. You were the picture of patience and temperance.

“Are you tired of being with me? Do I not make you happy anymore?” you meekly question, fighting back the tears building in your eyes at the thought that Natasha might confirm your worst fears.

The sight of you hugging yourself, so broken and vulnerable, forces Natasha out of her daze and rushing to sweep you into a crushing embrace. You don’t pull away this time, believing that you should etch the feeling of her arms wrapped around you in case this is the last time you felt them. She gently holds your chin in her hand and pulls it up so you lock gazes.

Natasha wants you to look straight into her eyes so you know the depth of her sincerity when she speaks.

“Y/N, I love you more than anything in this world, more than anyone in this world. You saw the broken pieces of me and glued me back together with your love. I would NEVER tire of being with you, because I could never be without you” She says vehemently, hoping you believe her.

You look into her forest green orbs and all you see is honesty and her all-encompassing love for you. You trust she means what she says.

“Then what is it sweetheart? I need you to talk to me” you whisper out to her, gripping onto her shirt, your entrenched fear still not abating.

“You’re right, there is more and it’s been frustrating me. I’m sorry I’ve been taking it out on the one person I shouldn’t have” Natasha apologizes before pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I want more Y/N, I want more than this” She whispers out to you unsteadily.

You feel your heart break at her words but the look in Natasha’s eyes roots you in place, you don’t pull away from her grasp.

“I don’t want you to just be my girlfriend, I want you to be my wife. I don’t just want this apartment, I want a house. I’ve been trying to find the perfect ring and the perfect home so we can start our perfect life because Y/N…I already found the perfect woman to spend the rest of it with”. Her admission was steady and pouring with all the emotion she normally caged in.

Tears fall freely down your face and your heart explodes with overwhelming joy. You are so engrossed in your happiness, it doesn’t register that Natasha is pulling away from you only to get on one knee. You can’t comprehend when the small velvet box appeared in her hands and it isn’t until the glint from the simple diamond ring shines in your eyes that you come back to yourself.

“Y/N, will…” Natasha begins but before she can finish the question you launch yourself at the assassin.

“YES!” you shout through your tears.

This is not how Natasha wanted to propose but the pure exhilaration on your face has her heart melting. She couldn’t hold back the few tears that escaped her eyes as she gently slid the silver banded ring on your finger. You shared a passionate kiss, full of hopes and of promises for your future together.

You were married the following summer, a simple reception with close family only. The remaining Avengers made an appearance with Natasha’s mother, Melina, walking her down the aisle and Yelena by her side as maid of honour. Benny walked you down the aisle towards Natasha, you considered the bar owner as your own father, the one you wished you had. Wanda was overjoyed to be your maid of honour and to help you plan for this auspicious day.

The day was a blur of teary vows, full of love, expressed to one another and endless dancing and joy. You weren’t too impressed with Bruce’s linger stares at your wife but her green orbs never left you, not for a second. She held you close until the music died down and the guests trickled away. She held you closer when you were a mass of tangled limbs underneath cool sheets, spending your first night together as wives in your new home. She held you impossibly close, her breasts pressed against your back, arms wrapped around your waist as you welcomed slumber together.

Present

Natasha’s feet clack through the hospital halls as they make steady progress towards their destination. Wanda, ever the supportive friend, gripped Natasha’s hand tightly as they weaved the maze of halls, the silent tears now dry on her face.

Natasha isn’t sure she is ready to see, it’s all too much. The ex-spy knows that once her green gaze lands on the scene she so sorely yearns for, she won’t be able to let go. It’s too soon, she won’t be able to leave.

One Year Ago

All those couples that would complain that marriage was the first step towards misery were clearly never married to Natasha, lucky you. Your marriage was excruciatingly blissful. Natasha had opened up to you in ways she never did until she was called Natasha L/N-Romanoff. She became fully open with her affections and those long standing walls were non-existent to you. Your wife gifted you the key to her soul and you cherished it.

The years full of romantic anniversaries, countless spontaneous adventures and endless nights huddled together lovingly still could not fill the one hole left in your wife’s heart. You knew Natasha wanted a child and you wanted it too, you just wanted it to be hers.

After many long excited conversations in the day and fear induced tears in the night, you and Natasha finally decided to make an appointment with the best fertility clinic in New York. Natasha’s connections with Pepper Stark allowed you both to waive the year long waiting list and were seen the next day.

Natasha wracked with nerves could just about hold her false display of confidence, face masked with casual indifference, much less speak. You had taken to speaking for the both of you, telling the clinic doctor about Natasha’s sterilization and your own wishes to have her child. The doctor would go on to explain that there is a possibility that the sterilization did not destroy Natasha’s eggs therefore your wish could be possible, however, considering the unknown methods of sterilization it cannot be guaranteed.

“But there is a chance?” This was the first time Natasha spoke and to anyone but you, the tremble in her voice was expertly hidden.

“Yes” the doctor replied kindly. Natasha turns to you and you can see the fear in her eyes that the latter might be true but within the fear a hope shines brightly through.

“We have a chance” she whispers to you as if there was no-one but you in that moment.

“Yes sweetheart, we have a chance” your tone mirroring your wife’s. For a second you simply look into each other’s eyes, having a silent conversation on whether this was a door you wanted to open together. With a soft stroke of Natasha’s cheek and a quick kiss planted on her lips, Natasha hears your wordless confirmation.

“Do whatever tests you need to do” Natasha directs at the doctor and with that, he sets to work on booking in future appointments.

It doesn’t take long for the tests to be held and for you and Natasha to be once again sitting in the same office, waiting for the doctor to return. Natasha is still as a statue and to untrained eyes, she was the calmer of the two of you. What those untrained eyes would fail to see was the iron grip the assassin held your thigh with, you knew it would bruise but you didn’t stop her. They would also fail to notice the tightness in her jaw as her unfocused gaze looked out the window. You would give her vice-like grip on you a gentle squeeze to bring her back from whatever dark thoughts were ruminating in her mind.

The tense atmosphere only heightened when the doctor finally entered and sat at his desk, pouring over the file in his hands wordlessly. You can feel Natasha’s hackles begin to rise at the lack of an answer so you opt to intervene, afraid your wife might literally rip his head off.

“What news do you have for us doctor” you ask while gently squeezing Natasha’s thigh to soothe her growing annoyance. You feel her slowly relax under your touch.

Finally the doctor looks up from the file to address you, annoyingly slow even for you. “Good news, ladies. Natasha has plenty of perfectly healthy and viable eggs that can be implanted in you Mrs. L/N-Romanoff and from the tests you undertook, your womb is perfectly healthy as well. You need only pick a donor and we can begin” he explains. He goes on to provide you with the necessary access to their database of donors with their in-depth profiling. You know Natasha will dig further.

You thank the doctor calmly but you can already feel the storm of emotions brewing within your wife, so you make quick work in getting the red head home. It isn’t until you are within the safety of your home and she hears the front door shut followed by a clink of your keys being thrown in a bowl that she falls apart. You rush to her side much like you had all those years ago in the studio and wrap your steady arms around the beautiful woman.

Natasha believed that there was never any hope for her. The red-room made her believe she had no-one, no family, then she got the Avengers, she got her mama and Yelena back. The red-room taught her that love was for children, for the weak and then she met you, loved you and it made her stronger. The red-room convinced her that she was never going to have children of her own, she may not be able to carry, but they were wrong there too. She was going to have a child with the woman she loves. She was slowly becoming whole.

When the red head finally calmed down she gripped your face in her hands and crashed her full lips against yours in a breath-taking kiss but as fast as it began, it quickly ended, leaving your head spinning. Natasha is quickly on her feet pulling you up with her and leading you to the bedroom. You spent countless hours that night, at Natasha’s mercy as she poured all her pain, her joy and her love into you. You accepted everything the red head gave you with silent screams of her name slipping from your lips.

Natasha newly reinvigorated, with you a little sorer for it, poured her new found energy into finding the perfect donor. She would spend days with you as you would mull over the profiles together, choosing donors you both agreed on, and evenings, while you cooked, accessing the re-established S.H.I.E.L.D. database to find every single detail about the short listed donors. Was it legal, probably not but this was Natasha you were talking about. The Black Widow took no half measures in anything.

It wasn’t long before the perfect donor was found and it seemed time only propelled forward. It was a haze of appointments, doctors and cold hands wrapped around warm ones that lead you to this moment, sitting on your bed, eyes trained on the pregnancy test waiting for the second line as Natasha nervously paced up and down the room.

“Sweetheart, I love you but if you don’t stop walking a hole in my floor, I will kill you” you say with endearment. You take your eyes away from the test for a moment to look at your wife, her face stricken with worry. You can see all the endless questions of what if’s swimming around in her green eyes. Before you can say anything to reassure her, you watch as her eyes widen comically, staring at the test beside.

“The line…there’s two” she whispers out, never taking her attention off the test.

Finally you pull your gaze away and turn your attention to the test, picking it up and examining it clearly. There were indeed two clear lines. It worked, you were pregnant with Natasha’s baby. You weren’t sure when it started but it wasn’t until Natasha was crouched in front of you, wiping away at your cheeks, that you realised you were crying.

“We’re going to have a baby” you mutter out, tears still streaming down your face slowly.

“Yes moya lyubov, we’re going to have a baby” Natasha says softly. Her tone breaks the damn and your gentle stream of tears becomes wracked sobs. Natasha wraps her strong arms around you as cry into the crook of her neck. She rubs soothing shapes on any part of your exposed skin that her cold fingers made contact with.

She held you unquestioningly until your sobs withered away into whimpers, only then did she step away and run you a bath. Natasha knew you weren’t one for crying but when emotions became too much for you, the aching sobs would leave you emotionally and physically exhausted. She would help you out of your clothes and ease you into the warm bath, playing soothing music in the background before giving you space. She accepted that you needed time to collect yourself once more. That night Natasha worshipped you in every way possible. Each stroke of her fingers, kiss of lips or exploration of her tongue was slow and sensual. She took her time in loving every inch of you as she whispered your name, full of devotion

To say that your wife was a worrier was an understatement. Natasha had taken to spending endless days researching everything there is to know about new parenthood. You thought it was adorable if not somewhat frustrating. Frustrating because now you couldn’t get into the top snack cupboard, not quite having worked out the baby-proofing gadget Natasha has attached to everything. You also can’t get into the cupboard that contained the toilet rolls.

“Why is the toilet roll cupboard baby-proofed?” you asked with slight indignation, hormones already playing with your normally calm moods.

“What if our baby gets in there and suffocates in all those rolls?” she replies with a serious tone, concern evident on her face.

You can’t help but soften at her expression and the weight of worry on her shoulders. You move towards her and wrap your arms around her neck as her hands instinctively rests around your waist pulling you closer.

“How about we move the tissue rolls in the top cupboard way out of reach, without a baby lock? Would that be better hun?” you ask sweetly, no hint of criticism in your words.

Natasha relaxes with your words and into your arms as she snuggles her face into the crook of your neck before replying.

“Yeah…”

The first trimester was a breeze and you foolishly thought the next two would be just as easy. How wrong you were. Natasha was the picture perfect wife to your ever hormonal and temperamental moods. You would quickly go from extremely loving, bordering on needy, to snappy at the tiniest inconvenience and worst of all, you would cry at the drop of a hat.

Natasha knew you were having a hard day today, you’re very active bundle of joy hadn’t relented in kicking every single one of your organs and your bladder on far too many occasions. You were tired, in pain, and your feet were uncomfortably swollen. She thought your favourite Pixar movie, Wall-E, would cheer you up. It’s all very cute and nobody dies. Bad move.

She’s rubbing your feet absentmindedly, eyes trained on the screen showing the fat space residents hovering around from place to place before your quiet sobs draws the red head’s attention. Worry courses through her.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Is something hurting love?” She rumbles out quickly

“The….they’re…so fat. It made me think…if I was that fat…you wouldn’t love me anymore…but look at me…I am FAT.” You choke out past your sobs. This was ridiculous and you knew it, damn these hormones.

“You aren’t fat detka, you’re beautiful and you’re carrying our baby. I couldn’t love you more now even if I tried” Natasha tries, squeezing your foot gently in reassurance. She can feel you relax beside her slowly. “Do you want to go to bed?”

“Yes please” you squeak out, already having had enough of the day, all you want to do is sleep in your wife’s arms.

Natasha doesn’t hesitate and simply begins turning off the TV and helping you onto your feet, hand resting supportively on your back as you make your way to the bedroom together. You go about your nightly routine before finally settling under thin sheets, sleeping in just your underwear. Natasha’s front is pressed against your back as her arm is draped against your every growing bump, drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin.

“Thank you for being so patient with me, I love you” you whisper in the dark

“Always moya lyubov. I love you too” she whispers back, nuzzling into the back of your neck as you both gently welcome slumber.

Present

Natasha finally reaches the room, her cold hands pull away from Wanda’s and press against the clear glass in front of her. She pushes hard against the smooth surface, her palms going white, in efforts to get as close as she can. Tears pour down her face unhindered.

‘She’s beautiful’ Natasha thinks to herself. Our daughter is beautiful.

Hours Ago

Things were progressing well with your pregnancy and everything was ready in your home for your new arrival, Natasha wanted to be fully prepared. You still didn’t know the sex of your child, both of you wanting to wait until the big day only two and half months away.

You were casually lounging on the sofa, heavily engrossed in reading Catching Fire while Natasha attempts to cook you pancakes when a fleeting stab of pain in your abdomen catches you off guard. You press your hand instinctively against your belly even as the pain disappears. Your heart quickens with worry but you try not to panic. This is normal right? You ignore the twittering voices in your head telling you it’s not.

It happened again, more painful and more prolonged this time while you and Natasha were laughing about something on the TV, causing you to audibly groan in discomfort, eyes shutting and hands resting protectively on your belly.

“Y/N what’s wrong baby?” Natasha was quick to rush to your side, one hand on your cheek and one on your bump. Fear courses through the assassin’s veins that something was wrong. The pained look on your face was different to all the other times.

You lean into her cold hand, letting it soothe the pain faintly lingering behind. When you open your eyes, they meet her fearful green orbs. You reach out to her and smooth the wrinkles creased in between her furrowed brows before pulling her face towards you gently to kiss away any last remnants left behind.

“I’m ok sweetheart, it was nothing. I’m sure it’s just Braxton Hicks. The doctor said it might happen at this stage” you whisper, trying to ease your wife’s worrying. In the back of your mind, the niggling thoughts buzz annoyingly, you ignore them again.

Natasha is an expert spy, she can spot a lie a mile away. A part of her sees the lie but she wants to so badly believe everything is fine that she believes your lie as truth. She doesn’t push and her body relaxes while the back of her mind screams. The one time you needed the no nonsense Black Widow, she was nowhere to be found, it was a mistake.

The next time it happened the pain exploded within you and refused to abate. The empty plate you were carrying towards the sink falls unceremoniously from your grasp, shattering loudly on the wooden floors with you crumbling beside it next.

Natasha was working in the nursery, creating the last touches when her ears perked at the smashing sound, you were a bit clumsy lately so she didn’t immediately react but her heart hammered loudly against her chest, something was wrong.

“NATASHA!” you screamed fearfully

The assassin flew into action and rushed towards your call, faster than her limbs have ever moved her. Her head was screaming and her heart more closely resembled a pounding drum against her rib cage. Nothing she felt compared to the white noise that greeted her at the sight of your crumpled form on the floor, sitting in a pool of blood.

“Something is very wrong Nat” you choke out with a sob. Your voice yanks Natasha out of her fearful stupor and she moves purposefully towards you. It has been long since Natasha has been in the field but her ingrained training forced her to continue her rigorous exercise diligently. She effortlessly sweeps you into her arms and carries you bridal style, grabbing the keys from the bowl, and making a quick exit towards your car. Not bothering to lock the door.

She gently places you onto the passenger side with a quick kiss on your sweat soaked forehead. Natasha’s fear is renewed by the taste of your salty perspiration on her lips. She runs to the driver seat, throwing the car into gear before flying towards the clinic at record breaking speeds. All the while she listens to your grunts and tears of pain as you cradle your bump, trying to protect your unborn child.

You aren’t sure when you got there, or how long you had been there for but Natasha’s fearful and angry shouts brings you back to momentary clarity. Your shaky hand reaches out and rests on your wife’s cheek in effort to garner her attention. Her green orbs quickly snap to you, her attention undivided.

“Anya” you hoarsely whisper through the pain. You watch as her face contorts in utter confusion.

“Her name is Anya, she’ll be strong like her mama, like you” you weakly clarify. Natasha doesn’t understand, neither of you know the sex but the look of surety on your pain ridden face has her not questioning it, simply nodding in confirmation.

“Her before me” your words are becoming more laboured and it takes a few seconds for the ex-spy to comprehend the meaning of your words.

“No…Don’t…” she mutters out through trembling lips, eyes blurring with pooling tears.

You run your thumb gently against her cheek trying to convey every ounce of love you feel with the small action.

“It’s ok. Let me go sweetheart. Her before me” you say with as much strength as you can muster. You are suddenly ripped away from Natasha’s arms and placed on a gurney to be rushed to the E.R.

The red head is left standing there, arms limp by her side, covered in your blood as she watches the nurses wheel you away from her. When you are out of sight, she finally lets the tears free fall before whispering to you, hoping her feelings will carry what her words cannot express.

“Yeah…”

Present

“Thank you for being here Wanda” Natasha says never taking her eyes off her daughter.

“You know I always will be” the other woman replies gently. At some point in the evening, Natasha had mindlessly called the younger woman as she relayed confused explanations of what the doctors had told her. All Wanda understood was chord, distress and haemorrhage as she gathered her belongings with extra sets of clothes for Natasha, heading straight to the hospital.

Natasha pulls her loving gaze away from her new-born daughter in the incubator. The doctors had reassured her that for a preterm birth, Anya was strong and would safely pull through. She turned her gaze to the woman by her side, two different shades of green meeting with silent understanding of where Natasha needs to go now, alone. With a reassuring squeeze of Natasha’s hand, Wanda turns her attention back to her niece.

Once again, the clacks of her feet echo in the quiet halls of the hospital. This was the good thing about such a private and expensive clinic, she didn’t need to deal with the hustle and bustle of general hospitals that were over capacity with dozens of doctors and nurses rushing about.

The walk to her destination seemed like a floating haze, as if she was in one moment with Wanda only to be in this moment, standing beside you. Her green eyes scan over your emotionless, grey features with your eyes shut, shielding Y/E/C from her view. She looks at the scratchy white sheet draped over you and she wonders if they couldn’t have got something better.

“She’s beautiful moya lyubov. Anya is beautiful. She already has red fuzz on the top of her head and she’s so little but the doctors said she’s strong, you were right” Natasha whispers as a few tears escape their confines. She gently caresses your cool cheek, ever so lovingly.

For once, since your first touch at Benny’s Bar, cold hands meet cool skin and this breaks the red head’s heart. But eventually you stir from your slumber, the pressure of her hand on your skin, drawing you from your dreamless sleep.

Finally her forest green eyes can land on Y/E/C as you try to blink the sleep away.

“I’m always right” you sigh out, having caught the last of your wife’s words.

“Not always” Natasha remarks plainly, happiness slowly returning to her face as she hears your melodic voice regaining its strength slowly. She thanked modern science and blood transfusion for these large graces.

“When was I ever wrong?” You squint at her with mild indignation

“You once said I wouldn’t get the answers I need in a bar. You were wrong. I got you and you were the answer to everything” Natasha replies softly as she grabs your slowly warming hand to cup them in her cold ones. You radiate with love at her admission having thought that she had no recollection of any of your conversations on those fateful nights.

No, this was not supposed to be Natasha’s life, it was supposed to be her not him...but this is her life and it was him. She silently thanks her friend, her brother for the beautiful life she gets to live, with you, with Anya.

Taglist: @vancityfire13 @mindofwesley

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retrogalwrites · 3 years

Text

Aizawa Shouta x Yandere!fReader

Title: “Kiss me as if you are punching me” / view on ao3

summary: Aizawa is kidnapped by a villain obsessed with him, who hopes to finally make the hero hers.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, unhealthy relationships, drugging, kidnapping, yandere reader, hate fucking from Aizawa's side, delusions, masochism

Other contents: creampie, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamic, spanking, rough sex, fingering, masturbation, name calling, a twist because i like twists

Words: 2917

When Aizawa opened his eyes, he was not surprised by the tight rope around his body that kept him viciously tied to a bulky chair. He had been held hostage before, more than once even, it just came with the job, you know?

However, typically, he'd expect some decaying dirty room, some dark, gloomy basement that smelled like shit, just the usual imagery you expect from situations like these.

Instead, his surprise—utter shock if you will—came from the smell of roses and cinnamon that filled his nostrils, the vibrant color red of opulent velvet wallpaper around him and fluffy carpet under his feet of matching color. The room was dimly lit by a varied array of candles carefully placed on expensive-looking furniture, even a fancy bed, it was a very girly and sensual atmosphere that completely crushed his usual expectations of being kidnapped by an enemy. It was one of those rare times that Aizawa felt at loss of words.

"Guess who~?"

Suddenly a saccharine voice, suggestive and obscene, called from behind as a pair of hands playfully covered his eyes. Aizawa froze, of course he knew that voice very well, he groaned at the feeling of round, soft breasts pressing against the back of his head, it gave him annoying goosebumps.

Of course he recognized that voice, even the feeling of your body. For months you had roamed the streets committing mostly petty crime with the sole purpose of getting the hero Eraserhead to chase after you, like some obsessed psycho. Like a little pest, you'd pop up to cause trouble while he was on his nightly rounds without fail, always dolled up, flaunting your assets like a harlot and provoking him shamelessly. Always boldly declaring your insane love for him before managing to slip away into the shadows...

It was such a bizarre case that other heroes had started to tease him about it, laughing about the femme fatale villain that had a crush on him. He despised it, your existence did nothing but to bring yet another thing for him to be tired and annoyed about.

At least, you were a low tier threat, basically harmless really, or so he thought. Being kidnapped by you was the last thing he had expected, and that only annoyed him more, the thought that he had underestimated the situation and how unhinged you really had been.

Aizawa uttered your name under his breath like a cursed word, and you giggled delighted against his ear.

"Yes, it's me~! As expected from my darling."

"Don't call me that." He refuted your pet-names as always, mustering his most stern voice to mask the fact he was still trying to process his own shortcomings that had lead him there. "What the hell is this?"

Removing your hands from his eyes, you remained behind him, placing them instead on his broad shoulders, reminding him of the lack of his scarf-his only offensive weapon- on them.

"Well, what does it look like? I abducted you, silly." You hummed amused, tone far too casual for his liking. But with your fingers digging into the muscle, massaging his soreness, he almost gave in and sighed in relief. "You've been playing so hard to get all this time, and trust me I do love the chase but...I just can't bear with it anymore."

"Then leave me alone." He managed to say instead, as he struggled on his seat, testing the tightness of the binding around him.

"No, can't do." You replied, fingers digging into his shoulders with a more vicious grip that made him wince. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? I love you so much, I need you so bad, I may just die."

"Then die." With a deep, angry tone, he growled. " I don't have time for none of this bullshit."

Of course, you only gushed excitedly, throwing your arms around his neck and embracing him from behind so lovingly, he could feel the heat of your body. "Oh baby, I love it when you are mean!"

"You're delusional." He said.

"Well, yes." You replied. "But I'm still going to get what I want."

As you pulled back, Aizawa felt the sharp tip of a blade pressed against the back of his neck, threatening to cut through if he didn't stay put. He broke into cold sweat.

"Open your mouth."

"..."

"Open your mouth or I'll cut your head off, I really don't want to do that, dear."

You had never threatened him like that before, he hesitated for a second before spitting back, expertly to not let his tumultuous feelings show.

"I'll bite your hand off."

"You know, I wouldn't mind if you did that." You giggled again. Aizawa sighed deeply, feeling powerless against what was someone who clearly couldn't be reasoned with.

You took advantage of that to bring your fingers to his mouth, slipping inside two white pills before forcing his jaw shut with your hand so he'd have to swallow them. Aizawa tried to spit them out, but you weren't having none of it, in the end he had to swallow the dissolving drug into his system.

"What the hell...did you give me?!"

He demanded as soon as you let go of him, drool dribbling down his scruffy chin.

"Relax, it will make you feel good. I would never poison you, baby."

But it was a little too hard to believe you, of course. His silence said as much.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you...it's an aphrodisiac."

It was like you had actually stabbed him with that knife, the severity of your words weighing on him, an understanding of what you were planning to do with him filling the hero with dread that was almost as big as his self-hatred for having stupidly refused to take you as a bigger threat sooner.

With a soft, feminine laugh, twirling gracefully, you quickly moved around to stand in front of him.

Finally getting to properly look at you, Aizawa jaw almost dropped.

Dressed in a black nightie babydoll, all lace and ribbons, showing off the perfect curves of your body, supple skin of your breasts and nipples behind see-through fabric. The edges fluttered delicately just above your upper thighs, giving him full view of the crotchless panties you wore, your slit shamelessly displayed for him to see.

His body felt as though it was on fire, eyes glued to the glistening wetness already smeared over the pink skin of your folds, even more stickiness clinging to the skin of your inner thighs showing just how fucking wet you had to be.

It was work of the aphrodisiac, he realized, how his heart began racing madly in his chest with pumping blood, a dryness in his mouth and a heat in his abdomen that was making it hard to breath properly.

Aizawa's entire willpower worked harder it ever had just to try to look uninterested at the lewd sight of you. "Well, it sure is a shame you went through all this trouble for nothing."

You pouted at his comment almost childishly, something that gave him a sense of satisfaction despite his situation still being far from improving. But Aizawa had to remain calm, because knowing his colleagues, they would be out to look for him soon enough, all he had to do was to endure ...to endure...to endure what exactly? He still wasn't completely sure, and yet that only made him shiver with unwanted thrill.

"So you say, but you seem to be a little excited already."

Drawling your words, your eyes fixated on his crotch. He looked down as well and cringed, a bulge straining against the fabric of his pants, his cock swelling up simply by looking at your own depraved arousal. He reminded himself it wasn't his fault, it was the drug, he still could fight off the effects.

"You are pathetic, forcing yourself on someone like this." He said with a groan, because his hardening cock was starting to feel uncomfortably tight inside his pants. You rolled your eyes, and laughed.

"Oh no, I'm not going to do that."

Your answer, simple and honest, took him by surprise that Aizawa couldn't conceal.

"I'll simply stand here and enjoy myself, give you a little show. I won't touch you unless you ask me to, my darling."

Before he could respond, you were soon taking one step back from him. Standing on a pair of impractical high heels and stockings, Aizawa watched as you began to sway your hips side to side with hypnotic rhythm, the fluttering edges of the lacy babydoll bringing attention to the ripe shape of your plump thighs, he could even imagine grabbing them with his large hands...fuck, dealing with you would've been far easier from the very start if you weren't so infuriatingly gorgeous.

Aizawa groaned, lips tightly shut, refusing to give you any sort of satisfaction from this.

But as if you could read his mind, you turned around playfully to give him a full view of your backside. The roundness of your fat ass, perfect to grab and force against his aching cock and rut against until he was shooting his seed all over your asscheeks, fuck...his dirty thoughts kept pulling up.

Aizawa's throbbing erection twitched with need, and he tried to rub his thighs together for just a little bit of friction. You didn't notice it in that exact moment, because you were too busy leaning forward to show off your pussy at his hungry gaze, your fingers moving to the crotchless area of your panties to spread your folds with your fingers, giving him a perfect view of your pussy's tight hole.

Even with his dry eyes, he was having a hard time blinking, unable to part away from that obscene view. Your needy little hole so wet for him right there in full display, only a whore would have such little shame and modesty, a crazy whore like you.

Aizawa didn't realize his lip had started to bleed slightly from bitting it too hard.

"God, knowing you are looking at me makes me so excited, baby." You moaned softly, voice full of adoration, looking at him over your shoulder. "Like a dream come true."

Aizawa turned his head away just to try spite you, using his messy long hair to shield his vision, an attempt to dominate this bizarre game of yours, but uncaring to his resistance, you simply continued enjoying yourself for him to witness. Slowly, you slid one finger into your dripping cunt, your legs trembling as you moaned Aizawa's name outloud.

The fire in his blood was reaching a fever pitch, the sound so obscene of his name on your tongue, accompanied to the squelching noises of your finger pumping in and out your tight walls quickly had him looking back at your depraved little show.

As soon as you felt his gaze back on you, another finger was inserted, making yourself mewl dramatically with your back arching like a cat's, then a third finger testing the stretch of your hole around them. You were taking them so well, his breath hitched. Watching how you were fucking yourself like that ignited that primal urge in him to tackle you to the floor and replace those fingers with the thickness of his cock...

"Oh, Shouta...aahhh I love you so much...!!" You started mumbling, like begging, and it made him pitifully buck his hips into the air before he could stop himself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Aizawa was losing his mind with the drugs maximizing his lust. His cock was so swollen and hard that it was painful, his balls begging to be emptied, just any sort of relief.

Another loud, slutty moan from you that turned into a cry, as your wobbly legs gave out and you slid onto the floor slowly, still fingering yourself you switched positions. Facing him with your legs spread as you sat on the floor, you continued fingering yourself. Now your free hand massaging your own breast, punching the nipple over the fabric of the top.

"I'm so close...ahh...." you panted, looking directly at him, your little pink tongue poking out your gaping mouth. "I'll let you go once I cum, promise."

That was what broke his control, the power of the aphrodisiac too strong to fight. In that moment Aizawa knew he had lost his sense of reason. He struggled violently against the binding rope, a gutural growl erupting from deep in his chest.

"Don't you dare finishing without my permission, you damn bitch."

The commanding tone, the brutality of his voice, you froze in place as you stared at him with wide eyes. He spoke again, glaring at you with unfiltered lust and anger he hadn't felt before. "Untie me now, I'm going to fuck you. That's what you want isn't it? Then bring your pussy over here."

The look on your face was of absolute delight, almost childish in excitement. Before he knew it, you had severed the ropes tying him to the chair with the knife you had kept tucked by the elastic of your stocking.

The sequence that followed happened so fast he barely registered it, when he roughly grabbed you by the arms with his freed hands, forcing you to drop the knife as he pushed you down onto the floor. Crawling on top, Aizawa crashed his mouth against yours, lips violently molding against yours in a desperate, almost animilastic imitation of a kiss, sloppily inserting his tongue into your eager mouth, and you returned the gesture in kind. By the time he realized what had happened, he was already rutting his erection against the gash of your pussy, groaning and whining at the delicious friction.

Breaking the kiss, leaving you with bruised lips, he plopped himself onto his knees and started unbuckling his pants, pulling out his cock that was red and raw, drooling precum like it was about to burst.

"Don't get it wrong, this is only because of your damn aphrodisiac..." He hissed above you, boring his smoldering gaze into yours, stroking his member in one hand.

Then, to his still surprise, you blurted out a hearty laugh. Deviously looking at him like the cat who got the cream.

"Oh, baby...that wasn't an aphrodisiac. It was just regular aspirin."

You admitted so honestly, and Aizawa couldn't do more than stare at you completely dumbstruck for a second. But only a second.

Immediately, you helped loudly as Aizawa unceremoniously turned you over, pulling your hips up so your perky ass was up in the air, and impaled you with his thick, hard cock in one brutal thrust. You cried again, face forced flush against the carpet floor by Aizawa's hand. His hips ruthlessly starting a furious peace, drilling himself into your tight walls without mercy.

"You...damn bitch...are you trying to make a fool of me?!"

Aizawa panted, hissing each syllable with every thrust, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy mound over and over, the dry sound mixing with the wet squelching of your sex being abused.

"Apologize. Apologize for all the trouble you've caused me."

His other hand came down on your ass so hard, the stinging pain making you scream, leaving an raw imprint of his palm on your skin. And he hit you again, and again, as he fucked you relenthlessly.

"Yessss....I'm sorrryyy!!! I'm sorrryyy!!"

You moaned and cried, pain and pleasure too much to bear, words barely making sense. Tears streamed down your cheeks and yet the expression on your face couldn't be anything but pure happiness and adoration for Aizawa. "I love you so much darlin'...aaahh!!! I couldn't help myself!!"

You were so tight and snug inside, your slippery walks tightly squeezing his cock like you didn't want to ever let go of it, he could barely keep himself from cumming too soon with how fucking good you felt.

"You don't deserve to cum." He pushed himself against your back, her larger muscular frame easily pressing your entire body against the floor as he kept fucking you.

"Say it!"

"I...don't deserve to cum!!"

"I'm going to pump you full of my seed and you are going to be grateful for even that."

"Yesssss....!!!!"

Aizawa was soon shooting a heavy load into you, all that accumulated lust from all your teasing, all your annoying chase, all the undying love you proclaimed for him and he had no idea what to do with. He responded to your feelings the only way he knew how, and thick jets of white cum shoot into your womb, painting your walls with his semen until his balls stopped throbbing.

You were full of his cum, a babbling mess looking like you had seen heaven.

Aizawa wasn't sure himself, if he was in heaven or hell.

————

"Hey! Just got a call from the police, guess which wacky villainess is causing trouble downtown today?" The voice of Mic rang into the teacher lounge, peaking his head through he door.

"I don't want to guess." Aizawa muttered softly, quickly getting up on his feet and adjusting his googles, ready to head out. "I'll take care of it."

"Why, Shouta! If I didn't know better, I'd think ya rush to go see her quite a lot these days." A teasing smile, Mic tilted his head curiously. "Did something happen between you two?"

A pause, and the hero turned around to leave.

"Don't be ridiculous."

#aizawa thirst #aizawa x reader #tw dubcon #tw kidnapping #tw drugging #tw yandere

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

Her Monster

Prompt: Nighttime | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

The next time Sasuke went back to Konoha, Sakura greeted him at the gate. She was armed with her usual cheery grin and a bouquet of daffodils for him. He welcomed her presence like the breath of fresh spring air after a harsh winter.

He didn’t stay long however. He just had to physically report to the council of elders, and by afternoon, he was back to the gates, wondering how he will say goodbye to her this time. But she was already there with her rucksack bag, a determined look on her eyes, and an expression that didn’t take no for an answer. Maybe he was in need of company after all, not that he disliked it. Her presence was warm and reminded him of home.

He never minded her conversations – it was a cherished addition to his monotonous days. Somehow, he started to saw countless lives of the villagers through her eyes, as if he interacted with them himself, as if he was there to see it all unfold. He was let in on the gossips, too and the pet peeves she had for their batchmates in the academy. It was another foreign life for him.

She had trouble sleeping on their first week together. He made sure to maintain his distance from her area, mindful of her personal space, but he noticed how she would toss and turn until she would slip a pill into her mouth and slump like a log.

And here he thought he was the one with nightmares.

On their second month together, they became comfortable enough to sleep beside each other. He initiated the move first, grumbling because there were mosquitoes on his side (despite him being fully covered), and he was aware she picked up on his lame excuse. But as usual, Sakura waved this off with a chuckle and jokingly told him, “I still have space. No blood-suckling insects here.”

As if it was his second nature, he extended his still intact arm to serve as her pillow. She turned to face him and snuggled closer to his chest. Warmth enveloped his being like never before.

Until he woke up unguarded with a kunai on his neck. “What the fuck, Sakura?” She’s probably sleep-walking. Do not provoke.

It was as if he faced an entirely different person – hair untangled from the red hair band she wore, angry glints in her emerald eyes, and teeth ground together. She jumped away from him, the kunai serving as her defense. Sasuke stayed still, waiting for her to calm down.

Sakura hissed at him, “Don’t you dare touch her.”

Why is she speaking in third-person? “Have I…. Have I made you uncomfortable?”

Sakura laughed, worry etched on her features. “Uncomfortable? You fucking traitor, killer, murderer!”

She would never say these words to him, Sasuke was sure of it. Right? Right?

“This stupid, stupid girl really stayed in love with you throughout all her traumatic experiences. Do you see now – the nightly terrors she suffers from?”

Multiple kunai buried themselves around Sasuke, but he stayed still. Sakura flung at him, her hand curled into a fist, ready to pulverize him, and he knew he had to move. He quickly shifted across trees, glancing back to see the ground where he knelt collapsed into a big hole. She easily followed him from branch to branch, her agility greatly improved even after the great war, and he was afraid to be on the other end of her punches.

She’s not using chakra? Sasuke surmised to himself. This observation basically confirmed that she was sleep-walking. He heard the twig snap behind him, and he instinctively ducked, slightly missing the knife-sharp kick from the kunoichi. He could have been decapitated.

He teleported himself to the other end of the forest, having gained enough time to rummage Sakura’s bag and find her pills. Just in time, a poisoned kunai lands on his arm before he could substitute with a log. He met her mid-air with a kick and her mouth opens, just wide enough for him to pop one pill into her mouth.

And she fell unconscious, saved by his arm just before she hit the ground.

-------------------------

“Did we move places last night?” Sakura asked, seemingly unaware of what transpired over the night.

Sasuke nodded. He made sure she never saw the damage she dealt on the forest. “Sorry I had to carry you while you were sleeping. There were…insects.” The pain shot up to his arm, and he involuntarily winced. She immediately raised her brow in worry, ready to heal him, but also ready to grill him for the specifics. “I bit my tongue, don’t worry.”

Sakura didn’t talk much the whole day – possibly racking up her brain for leftover memories. And again, they fell asleep together. When Sasuke was certain she was in a deep slumber, he moved away, carrying with him her sleeping pills. After a few minutes, the Sakura resembling last night faced him again, her bloodlust palpable in the air.

“You even have the audacity to continue sleeping beside her,” she gritted through her teeth. “To touch her skin, smell her hair, and hold her hand?”

“Sakura. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kunai appeared in between her fingers, all aimed at him and with the same dosage of poison he readily took on last night. She glared at him with such anguish that it was difficult to compromise her with the Sakura he has been with. “She fucking dissociated because of you, and I’m her defense.”

Ah, this is what Ino called before as Inner Sakura. It’s her last vanguard to her mental facilities. Apparently, even to her emotions.

Sakura continued, “She had nightmares of you striking a chidori to her heart. Cold sweats, harrowing screams throughout the night. But she had the pills, and then you met again, you distrustful son of a bitch.”

He was the bane of her existence. He let go of the pills and remained defenseless from her incoming attack. Sure enough, Sakura closed their gap and trapped his clothes to the ground with the kunai.

“And yet….and yet…..she loves you.” It was a question asked with sheer incredulity. It was the same question echoing in his mind for weeks. “And if I kill you, will that free her from this nightmare?”

She pulled out a syringe filled with violet liquid from her side pocket and pointed it on Sasuke’s neck. He saw her hand tremble from his periphery so he took the initiative and pulled her hand to stab it on his artery. It was immediate, the excruciating pain coursing through his veins like prickling needles.

Sakura doubled over at how things turned out. She just planned to torture him with words, maybe wound him, to an extent – kill him – but she felt intense guilt and sadness. Two emotions that washed over her like buckets of cold ice. “Why….why would you do that? Wake her up!”

Sasuke’s eyes start to roll over and he began to lose his senses.

She panicked, wounding her palm with the sharp edge of the syringe. With what little of the liquid was left, it was enough to summon the other part of Sakura. Both of their screams filled the forest, the poison quickly taking effect.

Realizing the current predicament they were in, Sakura swiftly channeled her chakra and extracted the liquid from her body. Sasuke however was a difficult case – it had been minutes. But she did her best, working hard until dawn. By noon, he was cured of all wounds and poison.

She waited for him to wake up. Somehow, she knew what had happened what with all the scattered kunai lifted off her storage scrolls, her personal dose of syringe, and the half-empty bottle of pills.

Tears were starting to fall down on his face which he first thought was just rain. He reached out to her, softly touching her cheek. “I told you, you’ll never forgive me.”

Sakura sobbed through her words. “There was just this part of me who refused to believe…..that there was this possibility.”

His voice was hoarse but he had to ask, he had to know. “That I love you?”

Sakura nodded, her resolve breaking again.

He lifted his two fingers shakily with whatever strength he had and they made contact with her forehead. A poke, one which she knew the gravity of. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay until your monsters go away.”

Song recommendation for this chapter: For the Fickle by Reese Lansangan - Youtube | Spotify

#ssm21 #sasusaku month #sasusaku #ssm21d3 #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #fanfic #ss fanfiction #anime fanfiction #anime

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years

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The 13 Scariest Paranormal Investigation TV Show Episodes You Need To Watch - And The Links To Watch Them For Free!

As a paranormal blogger, I’m used to fangirling with other occult-obsessives about anything that’s spooky.

It could be a scary movie. It could be a ghost they’ve seen first hand. It could even be an urban legend that frightened them to their very core! Either way, they always have a turning point in their life that pushed them towards the paranormal.

My epiphany was different.

Sure, I’ve always had this constant connection with otherworldly spirits - but it was developed by one thing: paranormal documentary TV shows.

Most Haunted, Ghost Adventures, Celebrity Ghost Stories…

Each and every one made me want to be there with them!

I wanted to wander ‘round castles for a living. I wanted to read ghost stories everyday and explore the history behind them. I wanted to connect the dots and explore a new, hidden world.

It’s for that reason that I’ve decided to share my love for these shows with you, dear reader.

I’ve brought together the best episodes from Most Haunted, Ghost Adventures, Paranormal Lockdown, Celebrity Ghost Stories, Ghost Hunters and Paranormal Witness, explained the ghost stories that are the centre of the episodes, and have even provided links (and the terrifying timestamps) to the episodes.

All you’ve got to do is press play!

Oh, and leave a comment on which one traumatised you the most…

Now, let’s get spooky.

#1 - The Dorothy Puente Murder House - Ghost Adventures (S12, E3)

Ghosts give me the heebeejeebies. Demons make me want to hide under my quilt and cry to a Sigrid song. But it’s stories of entrapment that really fuck me up.

This is one of those stories.

Dorothy Puente was a landlady who ran a boarding house in California for elderly and mentally disabled residents. Don’t be fooled by her charitable exterior, though - what was happening inside the boarding house was a very different story.

Puente was a serial killer who committed 9 murders - a number which is still disputed to this day - throughout the 1980s, and then cashed their social security checks.

Whilst there are a number of details to this case, I thought I’d leave that to be discovered during the episode.

Nevertheless, I thought I’d wet your appetite with some seriously traumatising tales:

In 1985, she hired someone to do wood panelling in her apartment. Not only did she give him an old pickup truck that I assume contained traces of evidence of her crimes, she asked him to build a 6-by-3-by-2 foot box. In non-maths terms, that’s the dimensions of a coffin.

Claiming it was full of books and other small items for disposal, she journeyed with him to a local dump to dispose of these, uh, books, and stopped him before they reached the local area to dump the waste.

She directed him to instead drop it into a river cause that’s not suspicious at all.

But suspicions were roused when she began repeatedly hiring a local homeless man to do certain tasks like digging the basement and removing soil from it, or putting concrete in the garage. It was when he disappeared that the pieces began to connect together.

Given the dark details behind the case, when Zak Bagans and his squad rocked up, they were on the receiving end some of the most striking paranormal activity they had ever witnessed:

Featuring EVPs crammed full of aggressive growls and demands for them to “Get out!”, or Ovilus Voices spewing words eerily similar to the murders and how the bodies were disposed of, this investigation stays true to what happened there.

But outside of the equipment used, the physical effects on the investigators was incredible!

One medium felt a choking sensation believed to channel the feelings of victims being force fed sleeping pills and then left to die in the Death Room. And the other? She drew a picture uncomfortably similar to a spirit seen by a tenant of the house - the spirit of Dorothy Puente.

The other physical contact experienced includes pain felt in Zak’s lower back, as well as Zak entering this trance like state from which he fell off the bed!

Here’s the episode:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x55gpad

Want to seem some spooks, like, right now?

09.10 - an EVP with Peggy, the resident who sees Puente’s spirit frequently.

13.10 - a medium begins to sense spirits and experiences some shocking effects.

17.30 - a medium produces pictures of the spirit she senses.

25.20 - EVPs in the backyard - where the bodies were buried - answer some of the questions that still go unanswered.

30.20 - Zak Bagans begins to exhibit extremely peculiar behaviour.

#2 - Idaho State Tuberculosis Hospital - Ghost Adventures (S18, E10)

Whispers, children and angry old men.

No, it’s not the title of Fall Out Boy’s latest album - it’s just a few of the current inhabitants of The Gooding Inn.

Once a TB hospital that was shut down in 1976, this building has witnessed its patients literally choke and drown in their own blood as their lungs fill up.

But what’s seriously scary about this episode is the effects on the most recent residents of the inn:

Not only was the housekeeper clearly upset about her encounter with an angry male ghost, she clearly feels the negative energy such spirits embody.

But it's when the current resident is interviewed that the reality of this location is realised. Two of her children had died whilst living in the former hospital, forging a strange link that is explored in the episode.

Yet before I spoil the whole show, here’s a taste of what’s to come:

A playful child spirit and a woman with a child make their own appearances, as well as the strange tale - and even stranger spirit - of Anton Beaver.

Ready to watch?

Here’s the episode:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tdCxNtshvhg

Looking for a quick fear fix?

These are the timestamps of note:

05.25 - Zak Bagans starts the show with the housekeeper’s own tale of the hauntings she’s witnessed.

10.00 - One woman recounts the potential impact of the hauntings on her family.

12.15 - a paranormal investigator brings his own footage and experience of activity in a passage from which gurneys and wheelchairs would bring in the patients

16.00 - Zak Bagans researches those who died there - and creates a sudden shockwave of paranormal activity across the building.

21.50 - a weird non-human noise is heard when a dark shadow appears.

32.00 - pranks set by a spirit of a former child patient begin to haunt the team.

#3 - 30 East Drive - Most Haunted (S18, E1 Halloween Special)

Take a look around my blog - no, seriously, look at what I write about: old manors, haunted abbeys, demonic forests… They all seem to stand out. And I think that’s what makes this tale - and this episode - quite so scary.

Welcome to 30 East Drive, a council house nestled in Yorkshire, England.

It started in 1966. The Prichtard family had just moved into a new home when they started to notice rather peculiar occurrences:

A fine layer of dust fell on everything in the house, puddles would appear from nowhere, even if one was cleaned up, the tea dispenser would go off randomly, and items would levitate!

Given the evident paranormal resident, clergymen were called to exorcise the house.

They were not successful. Holy water would leak out of the walls, ghostly hands would appear and ‘conduct’ the hymns being said to remove him, faces were slapped and people were pushed. Despite the rather playful poltergeist at first, this spirit slowly became more aggressive:

The daughter, Diane, began to find scrapes and bruises appear on her body, and was even dragged up the stairs by her hair! It was eventually deduced that this could be the spirit of a Monk whose body was discarded down the well that the house now sits on. Why was he thrown down a well?

Because he - or perhaps his twin brother - raped and murdered a young girl.

And as he is often seen wearing black robes, the house was given labelled the Black Monk House. Fancy a watch? You’ll be spoiled for choice then - Paranormal Lockdown also had a stay in the house.

Here’s the Most Haunted Episode:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO3EeYBGNuo

“But, spookyllama, where are the timestamps?”

I couldn’t find any timestamps of note because the activity in this episode is constant!

Within the first 1 and a half minutes, a marble is thrown, echoing one of the most common hauntings in this house. Knives were also found sticking out of sofas, as was a crucifix jumping off the bed.

#4 - The Wentworth Woodhouse - Most Haunted (S17, E6)

Our next episode also features a ghostly monk, but this time we see activity beyond marbles being chucked at cameramen. Indeed, this episode is just as iconic as the former - this is due to the controversy surrounding the evidence captured in this video.

One of the most famous hauntings of the Wentworth Woodhouse is the first earl of the house walking down the main stairs of the house. Only he’s headless. And they claimed to capture this footage:

https://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/most-haunted-team-finally-catch-12417869

This footage only taps into one component of the paranormal activity seen in this house, however.

This house has seen centuries worth of aristocratic family feuds, deaths and drama which still roam its halls. Whether its footsteps, ghostly laughter or opera singing, it seems all past residents never actually left.

Yet aside from the earl taking a nightly stroll, the scariest spirit has to be a ghost that stands still during his hauntings, leading many people to think he’s a statue.

Specifically, the most haunted locations - aside from the library - are the George VI quarters. With shadows tracing the walls and dark figures standing in the doorways, the Most Haunted team were certainly not alone.

You can see the episode here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdTnJC4cO54

Want a speedy scare?

28.00 - a door rattles and sounds as if its being opened, only its not - it’s locked and there’s no handle.

30.00 - The team hears a whistle, so they whistle back. What happens next is mind-blowing…

50.00 - The crew hears a couple of footsteps follow them around a part of the house.

#5 - The Washoe Club - Ghost Adventures (S16, E7)

The Ghost Adventures team might have investigated this wild-west location 3 times, but it gets no less spooky as time goes on. The oldest saloon there, The Millionaires’ Club, is the centre of the activity as a former exclusive saloon for rich businessmen.

Upon Zak Bagans and his team’s final return, they are reduced to tears by the activity witnessed.

This activity includes the spirit of a prostitute who committed suicide in room 77, a full-bodied apparition in the ballroom, a brick thrown in the basement and a women, Lena, haunting the staircase.

The episodes in particular have also captured EVPs saying their names: “Zak, look out”, and "Nick, Zak, coming..., they're scaring me".

Ready for a trip to the Wild West?

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/xqhyh6

#6 - Hinsdale House - Paranormal Lockdown (S1, E5)

If you thought these buildings were scary, wait ‘til you hear about the Hinsdale House. Question is, what separates it from the other contenders?

This is a demonic haunting.

Considered this generation’s Amityville, the whole property exhibits signs of activity an exorcism couldn't rid it of: mysterious phone calls, chanting from nearby woods, animal hybrids and full bodied apparitions are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this house.

Lucky for us, the Paranormal Lockdown team spent 72 hours here, investigating the hauntings both during the day and night.

Within the first 7 minutes of filming, an abundance of flies fills the house, not unlike horror films that trace the stories behind houses just like this. The following emotional impact on Nick further forges a link to the supernatural.

Featuring choking, consistent EVP’s saying Nick’s name and even Lorraine Warren on the blower telling them to get out of the house, negative energy is an understatement for this house.

You can watch it here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6tujvf

Head to 25.00 if you want to see their investigation of the forest - including the Gregorian chanting that is claimed to still echo on this former Native American burial ground.

28.00 - when Katrina asks spirits to go to Nick and show their presence when he’s in a different room, the spirits follow orders.

Unfortunately, the spooks don’t end when the credits roll:

Nick claims spirits from this house followed him home and told him to go to a little house tucked away in England.

And that house was 30 East Drive.

#7 - 30 East Drive - Paranormal Lockdown (S2, Halloween Special)

So, we know Most Haunted’s verdict of the Black Monk House - what about Nick and Katrina’s?

Having spent 100 hours there - one of the longest amounts of time they’ve been in lockdown for - they witness apparitions, marbles flying across the house, a scar appears on Katrina’s stomach, and even a murder attempt by the spirit.

That’s right - a Grandfather clock is pushed over, nearly killing Nick!

You can watch that happen here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6azzx0

#8 - The St. Augustine Lighthouse - Ghost Adventures (S2, E19)

Haunted locations aren’t just famed for paranormal fanatics like me rocking up.

It’s the history which matters.

And this haunted lighthouse is celebrated for its history with its own museum denoting the things it was witnessed as a part of America’s Oldest Port. And with multiple people living and dying on the property, the subsequent variety of activity is what sets this lighthouse apart from, well, non-haunted lighthouses!

But it's that history repeating itself that makes this one of the scariest episodes included on this list: a woman in white roams both the nearby forest and the top levels of the lighthouse, a man walking in uniform wanders round the basement, and spirits make use of the famous staircase that fills this building.

Have I piqued your interest? You can satisfy your supernatural needs here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHsNtvT8uHU

Check out the walk through of the lighthouse and description of the main activity at 05.30.

19.45 - you can hear the chattering of multiple spirits on the staircase - and you might even see someone - or something - walking down it, too.

24.00 - this is the most incredible evidence they’ve ever captured - trust me.

#9 - The Stanley Hotel - Ghost Hunters (S2, E22)

Famous for inspiring the Stephen King classic, The Shining, this hotel is infamous for its real life haunted history. First opened in 1909, the 420 rooms - including an underground cave system - hold many ghosts who still make regular appearances.

Room 217 for example, once belonged to a housekeeper. Often visitors to this room notice their luggage is unpacked, items moving, or the lights flickering. Oh, and she’s not a fan of couples sleeping together in the same room, either!

After that, why not visit the Concert Hall? Haunted by a spirit who was once believed to be an usher, you may hear a voice telling you to leave, a nudge, or even see flashes of light of his torch.

You might even hear the giggle of a child echoing down from the attic, a former nursery.

Question is, why is it quite so haunted? There’s 2 claims behind this: the crystals in the cave system below the hotel channel the energy, and the staircase is a vortex for ghosts, allowing them to come and go as they please.

Ready to see what happened?

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6ekji3

#10 - The Rain Man - Paranormal Witness (S1, E6)

Ghosts and spirits, demons and death; all the episodes mentioned in this post stick to relatively confined notions of the spiritualistic and pagan religions. However, this episode takes us further than I ever expected.

Paranormal Witness is a show - a bit like Celebrity Ghost Stories - where paranormal stories get retold and acted out.

And this episode follows a young man, Don, who becomes possessed by his abusive grandfather. Having displayed the typical signs of possession, he then began to have strange encounters with water.

Water began to seep from the walls, and then from the ceiling. But this wasn’t water - when someone touched it, it felt sticky.

It was only when Don was stuck in a trance, that water began to go upwards, towards the ceiling, and pots and pan began to rattle.

When religious rituals were used to cleanse Don, the water was directed towards the bible and person performing the cleansing.

This was only the start of Don’s new powers. And they were to intensify during his final stint in prison.

Hungry for more? Check out the full episode here:

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2hvjvg

#11 - The Haunted Highway - Paranormal Witness (S1, E2)

Like I said: Paranormal Witness doesn’t stick to the typical hauntings we see. And this episode involves a UFO.

This story - without spoiling the episode - revolves around a mother and son who go missing in the desert. With a relative’s strange dreams pointing her to where they might be and a medical mystery twisting the tale, all that is left is one question:

What really happened in the desert?

You can watch this episode on Amazon for £1.89.

#12 - Celebrity Ghost Stories (S1, E9)

This episode featuring Morgan Fairchild, Lili Taylor, John Salley and Vincent Curatol is considered one of the scariest episodes of this popular episodes from which paranormal experience are acted out.

Here’s the synopsis to tickle your tastebuds of terror:

“A young Morgan Fairchild is abused by a spirit when she moves into her new husband's family home; an unidentifiable stranger comes to John Salley's aid during a nightclub shooting; Lili Taylor hears unexplained noises when she goes on retreat.”

You can watch this episode on Amazon for £1.89.

#13 - Pendle Hill - Most Haunted (S6, Halloween Special)

Pendle Hill might feature as a hiking opportunity in the Pennines, but it actually has a history - and a haunting - to boot.

Back in the early 17th century, a family of peasants were believed to possess a variety of paranormal powers. And the effigies they made of human hair and teeth didn’t make them appear any less suspicious, either!

The Pendle Witches, as they were known, were arrested, tried and then hung on Pendle Hill.

The witches never left the hill, however.

Not only did the neighbours of the Pendle Witches experience and die from mysterious illnesses, to this day supernatural activity has stuck close to this location.

Teeth have dropped onto tables during seances, and unnaturally frequent rainfall on the hill is a common occurrence.

So, what did the Most Haunted team see when they visited the site?

Acorah was apparently possessed by a witch, and a table and a glass smashed during the seance. Oh, and the whole cast and crew felt as if they were being strangled at certain points during filming.

Were they experiencing the final moments of the Pendle Witches as they were executed for their crimes?

You can check that episode out here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wu7yRqoLxLc

Or, you can have a speedy spook, instead!

30.00 - the equipment batteries drain, a classic indicator of paranormal presences.

32.00 - Acorah begins his readings of the area, and clearly becomes quite emotional and intense when describing the spirits he sees and hears.

45.00 - Acorah exhibits strange behaviour, and is on the receiving end of harmful spirits.

59.40 - Acorah sees a spirit - or perhaps an otherworldly being.

01.48.00 - the team perform the seance.

Now it’s time to hear what you think.

Which episode are you watching tonight?

And did I miss any seriously-spooktastic episodes out?

417 notes · View notes

ohlovelyprongs · 4 years

Text

Always There

Summary: y/n has a history with panic attacks and her boyfriend Spencer helps her go through them.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

Content/Warnings: angst? fluff? both?

Word count: 1723

n/a: Hey! This is my first au ever so don’t be scared to give your opinion about it. I think it turned out pretty well but feedback would be really appreciated. I hope you like it<3 *gif not mine*

“You are being really naughty, babe” said a man on a mask and a knife on his hand. You were tied to a table with your hands and feet immobilized, and you could feel the tip of the weapon right on your stomach as you were only in your underwear. You flinched as it was cold, but you were sure that you could take it.

“I’m not your babe, asshole” you responded, making him even more angry. He didn’t hesitate, and with a quick move he stabbed you right in the middle of your naked torso. You squealed, a tear falling down your cheek. The mystery man let out a little laugh and removed the mask that was hiding his face. He stared at you with his dark black eyes and came closer to you to whisper in your ear.

“You’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that.”

And then everything went black.

You woke up breathing heavily and with sweat running down your forehead. The fear installed itself in your mind, taking control of your thoughts and emotions. It was hard for you to keep your breathing even after that awful dream, just like had happened many times before. You shut your eyes while sitting down and tried to focus on positive things but, by doing so, those dark eyes appeared in front of you and made it ten times worse. Your hands travelled to your head, trying to keep out the memory of what had happened to you last month.

It was clear that you didn’t get over that completely. Your boyfriend and team partner Spencer Reid had been there to help you go through it all, but you couldn’t help falling again in that never-ending spiral of panic and anxiety you thought you’ve left behind. Of course no one expected you to move on so quickly as you were about to die if it wasn’t for the BAU team, but it was being harder than you thought it would be. You didn’t get it, though; why was your dream so much eviler than what actually happened? A one-on-one confrontation does not resemble to dying tied to a table, but the feelings were the same and those brought the past back.

“Y/n? Are you ok?” Spencer sat on the bed next to you when he felt you move, and placed his hand on your shoulder. You shook your head in response, letting his arms surround you on a tight hug. Your breathing was still uneven and fast, and everything you did to slow it down ended up in a failure. “Breathe with me, y/n. Just breathe with me.” Spencer’s voice was rough as he had just woken up but it was soothing and calming. You placed your forehead against his and your hand on his chest, right above his heart, so you could sense his heartbeats. He took a deep breath that you imitated while he rubbed his hand up and down your back.

Slowly, you started to calm down. After a few minutes of breathing, both of you stayed silent. You took your hand out of his chest and melted against him. The tears that had been held back started to blurt out and all you wanted was to be close to Spencer forever. He tightened his grip, your sobs being the only sound that filled the room. He hated seeing you like this, and even though it had happened before, it was hard for him to control his own emotions for you. You needed someone stable who could hold you, and he had to be that person. He wanted to.

“Do you wanna lay down?” he asked softly against your hair, brushing it with his hand. You gave him a little nod before throwing yourself again in bed. Your head was on Spencer’s chest, his heartbeats quieting your demons one more time. His arms never let go of your body, keeping you close to him, keeping you safe.

“Thank you” you managed to say, eyes closed at the feeling of his hands petting your hair. You were so grateful for having him, but you didn’t have enough strength to say something else. Your arms squeezed his torso, just to show him that you really meant it.

“I’ll always be here for you, y/n. There’s no need to thank me” you looked up at your boyfriend, his eyes shining in the darkness and his messy hair falling on his face. You were amazed by his beauty and kindness. You never wanted to be with somebody else.

“You promise?”

“I promise” a little smile formed on your face when his hand reached up to clear some of the tears that still rolled through your cheeks. You hugged him again, this time with your mind at ease.

“I love you” you whispered, your body turning off and falling asleep almost immediately. You didn’t hear it, but Spencer replied.

“I love you more.”

...

The alarm went off and you had to make an effort to stir your arm to turn it off. You stayed in your position for a couple of minutes, waiting for Spencer to hug you from behind like he always did in the mornings. But that day wasn’t the case. You turned around just to find the other side of the bed empty and sighed. You were already missing his touch and warmness.

You flinched as you stood up, stretching your arms above your head. Through the window entered some rays of sun that illuminated the room. The trees outside waved a little and a shiver ran down your spine, causing you to cross your arms on your chest. A hint of a smile appeared on your face; you loved windy days, it reminded you of times where problems didn’t exist and there was only happiness.

The smell of coffee returned you to reality, and you couldn’t help but to follow it to the source. Walking barefoot through the hallway you arrived at the kitchen, where you saw Spencer from behind. As soon as he heard you, he turned to you with a smile and with a take-out mug on his hand.

“Hey” you greeted him, the familiar routine finally occurring.

“Hey, I made you coffee” he extended the mug to you, your hands touching casually when you grabbed it. The warmth irradiating from it to your skin caused chills inside of you. You hadn’t noticed how cold you actually were. “How did you sleep?”

“I’ve had better nights” you admitted with a sigh. “I’ll manage it. I just need to find a way.”

“It’s the third time this week, y/n” you really didn’t want to think about it. To overcome the nightly panic attacks in the past, it took you meeting and opening to Spencer. He’d been way more helpful than all the therapy and pills you’d taken. But now that they were back, you really didn’t know how to handle them, and neither did Spencer. You could see how worried he was about your mental health and it made your heart ache to not be able to remove the sadness you saw in him. The last thing you wanted was to drag his pure soul into your own personal hell.

“I know but… I just need time. That’s it” you gave him a comforting smile because you thought he needed to see one, even if you had to force it a little. He smiled back, but with sorrow in his eyes. Even though he knew he did the best he could, he just wished he could’ve done more. You were his sunshine; he didn’t want your light to go away. You took a sip of coffee while your sight was fixed on Spencer’s clothes. He was wearing his typical sweater and work belt while you were still on your pajamas. “Why are you already dressed up?” you asked, your eyes travelling to the clock on the wall. It was 7:38 a.m. You choked and almost spilled your drink. “Oh my god, we’re horribly late!” You squealed. You usually woke up at 7 a.m. so you could have enough time to eat something and get ready –including the morning cuddles–. But now you had only 12 minutes before heading out to Quantico and you hadn’t done any of those things yet.

“Relax,” said Spencer with a chuckle “why do you think I made it to take out?” he pointed at your mug with his head. You looked at it confused, thinking about it for a second. Then you realized.

“You let me sleep” your eyes met his, and all you could see was pure love irradiating from them.

"I, uhm, calculated how long you take to get ready and set the alarm for another half an hour. I thought you might need it." Your heart melted, he was too precious for this world. He really meant it when he said he’d always be there for you.

You approached him, leaving the mug on the counter behind him, and you joined your lips to his. Without any doubt, his hands travelled to your waist, pulling you closer to his body. Your fingers wrapped around the hairs at the end of his neck, making the kiss more intense, but keeping it soft and delicate. You’ve missed this. More than eight hours without kissing him was hideous. “You’re the best” you whispered against his mouth, a smile spreading on both of your faces. “What did I do to deserve you?” you kissed him again, but this time it felt different. His hands started wandering up your shirt and you were loving the feeling of his skin on yours. However, you needed to get to work, and Spencer had to control himself the moment you tried to remove his sweater.

“I think you should get ready or else we’ll definitely be late” he hummed, breaking the contact between you two. You pecked his lips before swaying away from his arms.

“We can finish that later” you winked at him, then headed back to your room. He let out a little laugh while fixing his clothes; like he hadn’t thought about that already. He picked the mug you’ve left next to him and was about to take a little sip, hoping you wouldn’t notice, but your voice made him put it back down. “Oh, and don’t drink my coffee!” He rolled his eyes, but inside he was delighted. Regardless last night, you were still happy.

It was all that mattered.

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine

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whyisnicole · 4 years

Text

Show Me Your Darkness - Chapter 3

Hi guys! I just wanna say thank you so, so much to everyone who checked out chapter 1! I really, truly hope that you like it, and lemme know what you think!

PLEASE NOTE TRIGGER WARNINGS: Do not read if you are sensitive to suicidal tendencies or suicide in general. This fic contains themes of torture, depression, and language. It picks up but please be cautious of these things <3

"I'm just sayin', YN, you know I've got the room. I think you and Alex would make quite the nice pair of… roomies, hmm?"

You give a humor-filled scoff and your friend, Alex, flips a not-so-sarcastic sarcastic "fuck you" to the red and black clad buddy that you've somehow unwillingly, yet gratefully, acquired.

Your days following HYDRA had been anything but easy - but you weren't the kind of person to simply lay down and die. Literally.

Not only had you managed to free yourself from the imprisonment of a never ending life-sentence as some foreign army's personal test subject, you'd discovered exactly what it was that made you so damn special. You had the power of manipulation - the power of control. Whether it be emotions, matter, life itself, or the body-sized black wings that you could expose or tuck away at any given time, you finally were able to be the one in control.

There was only one side effect:

You couldn't stay dead.

Whenever you would die, you would come back within a matter of minutes, and you've had more than a fair share of time to test that fact. You'd been low after escaping the taught hold of your previous prison; after all, who wouldn't have been? You never truly remembered a time where you had anything, but now you were all on your own. Simply some freak with giant wings who was brand new to her powers - which meant you couldn't control the fact that you could control everything…

And you couldn't handle it.

You did everything you could.

Pills.

Asphyxiation.

Slicing and Dicing yourself until you couldn't move.

Throwing yourself off from any height you could find.

You basically gave Wade Wilson himself a run for his money, and unsurprisingly found that nothing ever worked.

You'd always wake up again, gasping for breath and remembering simply closing your eyes, praying they wouldn't ever open again. But they always did.

It was during one of your famous drowning attempts that you'd met a girl named Alex.

You were standing on the edge of some bridge, no cars passing, no life in sight; just the sound of rushing water beneath your swaying form. All alone, enjoying the quiet serenity and brief peace that was brought to you… Until you heard her. Some chick, bounding towards you and stopping a good thirty or so feet away, screaming out to you, desperately trying to get your attention. You remember her dark features illuminated under the soft light of the street lamp. You remember her standing at a far enough distance yet she was still all too close. You remember the panic in her troubled eyes and the way the wind tussled and whipped around her shoulder length curly black hair as she held her worn jacket close to her body in an attempt to shield herself from the nipping breeze.

And you distinctly remembered telling her to stay away.

You had told her to stay back,

"You need to leave."

"I can't do that…"

"Forget you ever saw this and Just go!"

That you hadn't wanted to hurt her like you hurt everybody else,

"You don't know what I've done!"

"It doesn't matter!

"Yes it does! And if you don't back the fuck up, turn around, and get the hell out of here, then you're just gonna be another victim of me!"

But did she listen?

Fuck no.

So you didn't listen to her telling you to back away and rethink whatever problem it was that you were facing.

You slightly believed her when she said that you could get through this, but only because you knew, deep down, that you'd live. But you were just done with the conversation.

So you did what you'd grown to do best and simply just left…

You jumped.

Feet leaving the pavement as the harsh cold graced your face, and the sensation of tranquility, of freedom coursed through your body.

You felt the smack of the water and a moment of old, but then nothing.

Until you felt everything again.

You jolted awake, spewing water from your lips as you felt the rhythmic pounding on your chest come to a sudden halt.

Alex.

That stupid, idiotic badass had climbed down and catapulted herself into freezing water to save your ass that didn't even need saving.

From that day on you knew you weren't getting rid of her anytime soon, and you'd grown to be beyond grateful for that.

Since the nearly five years that you'd been introduced into each-others lives, you'd learned a lot about one another. You'd learned what made each-other tick, what made each-other happy, mad, sad, and all of the in-between's, and you'd learned each-others secrets. You'd learned everything about what went into making you guys the people that you are now. She knew what you were, and you knew that she was an underestimated genius that could give the best of the best a run for their money - even if she did do some stupid shit now and then.

And you'd also learned that people suck.

You have a small group of close-knit friends that you considered to be more like a family than anything else.

You have a place to lay your head and the best roommate and friend that you could ever ask for.

And you'd also discovered that you do indeed have a purpose. You still struggled with the belief that you're just some freak - some strange phenomenon that doesn't deserve to see the light of day after doing what you've done and being capable of doing the things that you can do, but that's where your new found family came in. Always there to pick you up and dust you off during the worst of times, as you had learned to do for them as well.

You were set.

"Well that's very sweet of you, Wade," Said Alex, bringing you back to the present conversation; "But I think we're quite set here. Nobody to bother us, nobody to try and get me to hack into all the extra channels on their TV, nobody to relentlessly be shot down time after time by YN…"

Wade gasped in mock offense at the painfully hilarious rejection from Alex.

You'd be lying if you said moving in with Wade didn't appeal to you, but you hated to take. And, while you knew you could trust him with your life, and that he would never ask anything for crashing at his place, the "Friendly Neighborhood Deadpool" was fun to watch when he was determined and constantly rejected.

And, besides that, you were content. All you wanted was a place to crash with your most trusted friend, and to be able to fulfill your purpose. To be able to do good with the hand that you've been dealt.

And you had that.

Was it some random, abandoned government-owned home?

Yes.

But was it just you and Alex?

Yes.

And though you wouldn't mind having a third roomie, you knew that Alex and Wade would probably kill each-other if they didn't have at least a nightly break. And you were comfortable. You'd never ask for anything other than livable, and you'd never ask anyone to inconvenience themselves for your pleasure.

It just wasn't you.

"How dare you?" Wade gasped, hands against his cheeks as he feigned disgrace.

You and Alex can't to anything aside from burst out in laughter as Wade simply stood up and shook his head.

"Alright, alright you two. You've won this round. But don't pretend like I'm stupid, I know why you two want your own place… And just remember, I'm more than okay with bringing the party back to my place. Last thing I'd mind is joining in with Steph and Lena."

Wade returns the friendly fire and is simply met with a chorus of "Piss off, Wade" and "Fuck you, Pool" as he makes his was out of the run down home.

"I'm just sayin'," he says behind his masked smirk.

"But seriously, you need anything, you call. Got it, missies?" He questions.

As annoying as he was persistent, Wade truly does care and was always going to be there for both you and Alex. You knew that you'd not only gained a sister, but an overly-nosey and annoying protective older brother. The night you'd met Wade was just as intense as the night you'd met Alex.

It was roughly two years ago after a late-night mission had gone south for you that the red spandex wearing vigilante had caught the tail end of your fight with a neighborhood trouble maker that did a little more than steal a candy bar here and there.

You'd heard and seen evidence of this particular asshole dealing around in the matter of underground drug cartel operations, and you'd finally gotten a hold of his whereabouts.

You knew it was stupid and risky, but he'd slipped from your grasp before and you couldn't let that happen again.

You'd been working with a "team" - that team consisting of yourself, a blind badass who went by the alias of "Daredevil" as opposed to his day name of Matthew, and some tough guy named Frank with a vengeance and skillset that you never wanted to find yourself on the wrong end of. His given name of "The Punisher" was there for a reason after all…

At the time, you were just working with them to simply get the case over with, but little did you know that those two gents would quickly become a special part of your tight-knit, dysfunctional family.

But they were lagging, and you were ready; just not as ready as you thought.

It had been a couple of years ago, and you still hadn't mastered your technique yet, and not much has really changed, you've just gained a lot of practice and experience since then.

You'd managed to off the crook, but you'd taken a hell of a beating at the same time. And, while you couldn't technically die, it still hurt like a bitch.

That's where the red-suited anti-hero named Wade Wilson, or "Deadpool", came into the picture.

Apparently the asshole you'd dispatched was on more than just one or two hitlists.

Wade had been hot on his tail, but managed to stumble across a beaten and bruised chick with wings, and the lifeless form of the prick he was targeting.

It was when Wade was scolding you about your techniques and making his classic witty remarks while carrying you home as you bled out in his arms that you knew you'd gained another accomplice...

And you were all the more grateful for him in the long run.

"We know, Wade. Thank you." You smile, giving him a small nod.

"Yeah, now get lost and go make a difference. Don't die too much." Alex sasses.

"Wouldn't make a difference!" Wade returns as he tries (and fails) to make a graceful and "cool" exit. He's never gonna learn that he's really better off walking away instead of trying some new trick that he swears he can master after watching one of those fail compilation videos.

He never masters it.

Ever.

"God, will he ever learn." Alex scoffs, tossing her head back and exasperatedly throwing her left arm over her face - her right one laying next to her, hand gently clasped around the neck of a bottle.

"Must you ask," you smile, "At this point I think your answer is pretty well clear."

The two of you share a laugh and Alex takes a short swig.

"Well," she says as she tosses the bottle outside of the half-way boarded up window in the run down living room;

"It's getting pretty late. I think I'm gonna head to bed. You gonna go do your thing?"

You take a moment to ponder before giving an affirming nod.

"Yeah, I'll go patrol for a bit. Check some things out, make sure nothing too crazy is going down tonight." You sigh, groaning as you pull yourself up off of your dingy pallet on the hard cement floor.

"It's Hell's Kitchen, Y/N. Crazy is a side effect here." Alex's scoffs as she cleans up her sleeping area a bit - dusting off the blankets and fluffing her pillow as much as possible before taking a seat on top of the freshly-made little nest atop a mattress stationed against the corner of the living room.

"I can't correct you there."

A sigh escapes your lips as you pull off your plain white, short sleeved V-neck, and slip on a long sleeved black one instead; followed by a zipped up olive cargo jacket and black knee high lace-up boots.

"That's cuz' I'm always correct." Alex retorts, a smirk painting her features bright.

"Yeah, yeah. Be home later. Stay safe and don't wait up." You smile, bidding Alex goodnight as you slip your phone into one of the zippers of your jacket and slide out the front door.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Alex smiles as she switches off the lantern sitting in-between your pallets, her glowing dark brown skin no longer illuminated by the soft yellow light. Tying her hair into the most perfected messy bun New York has ever seen, she wiggles herself in between the scratchy yet comforting blankets. Bidding you a silent goodnight, she whispers a quick prayer for protection and a safe night for the both of you before shutting her eyes and drifting to sleep after about half an hour of tossing and turning.

-------------------

Tags:

@eridanuswave

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21stcenturyhope · 5 years

Text

PJM // Sweet Dreams

Park Jimin

summary: people met their soulmates through their dreams but your situation just got a little more complicated

genre: slight angst, fluff ending

length: 1.3k words

notes: this is an alternate ending to the Jimin soulmate AU I wrote, here. thanks @eyajoon for the request!

You sat by the purple river beneath the cotton candy trees. Food was sprawled out on the picnic blanket as you waited for Jimin to meet you.

For almost a year now, you had been meeting Jimin in your dreams. At first, you had thought that it was just another random, normal dream. But as he began to frequent your dreams more often, you recognized the dreams for what they really were - it was how all soulmates first met each other.

Soon enough, the dreams became a nightly occurrence. You couldn’t wait for night to fall so that you could see Jimin again. In these dreams, his voice rang out clearly and his touch felt real.

The two of you learned quickly though that any attempt at sharing your location or contact information was instantly forgotten the next day when you woke up. Coincidentally, during a stressful time at work, you also discovered that taking sleeping pills prevented you from meeting Jimin in your dreams at all during the night.

So, you treasured the little time you had with Jimin each night. Only fate would determine when the two of you could meet in real life.

“Y/N!”

You looked up to see Jimin running towards you. You couldn’t help the smile that came to your voice. Too excited, you got up and ran to meet him halfway. When you finally reached Jimin, you took a big leap right into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your lips met in a heated kiss which seemed to never end. When the two of you finally broke apart, he let you back down gently and rested his forehead against yours.

“Is it crazy to miss you so much even though I just saw you last night?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you giggled.

The two of spent the remainder of your shared dream lying leisurely by the river with you occasionally feeding Jimin grapes. The two of you happily chatted about how your days had been, relishing the sweet opportunity to be in each other’s presence.

Suddenly, the ground beneath you began to shake and the sky split in half with a loud, echoing crack.

You woke up with a start.

An uneasy feeling began to settle in your stomach. Your dreams with Jimin had never ended so suddenly nor so violently. What if something happened to Jimin last night in his sleep?

You shared all of your concerns with your roommate over a cup of coffee that morning.

“Hmmm… I get why you’re worried, Y/N. Just try to focus at work today and go to bed early tonight when you come home. If he doesn’t return to your dreams tonight, then you really have something to worry about.”

You nodded in agreement but that queasy feeling stayed with you all day.

Contrary to your roommate’s advice, you were unable to focus at work today and you were relieved to finally be home. As you were brushing your teeth while getting ready for bed, your roommate appeared behind you in the mirror.

“Y/N! My uncle managed to get me tickets and backstage passes to BTS! Tell me you’ll come with me,” she pleaded.

“That’s the group you’ve been into lately, right?”

“Yes, a glorious group comprised of the seven most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.”

“Prove it,” you teased after spitting out your toothpaste.

As if she was already prepared, your roommate whipped out your phone and began to name off the members.

“That one is Jungkook, he’s talented in everything he does. And that one’s…” Your breath hitched as your eyes landed on the last member your roommate was introducing.

“Jimin…”

“Wow, even you’ve heard of Jimin. Gorgeous, isn’t he? It’s a shame that he has a girlfriend now.”

“What?” You felt like you had just been run over with a truck at your roommate’s revelation.

“Yeah, the media reported on it just a couple weeks ago before leaving for tour. He was seen with some female idol from another company. They were even looking at engagement rings. But we can still admire his beauty up close, what do you say? Will you go with me?”

“Sure… I’m going to head off to bed first though, okay?”

After tucking yourself beneath the covers, you reached over to your bedside table to grab the bottle of leftover sleeping pills you had. After learning about his potential fiancée, you weren’t quite ready to face him just yet.

The day of the concert finally approached. You had taken sleeping pills every night since you first learned Jimin was part of BTS. It wasn’t only because you were unwilling to see him but you also had trouble falling asleep at night due to your heartbreak.

You hadn’t told you roommate who Jimin was to you, afraid to ruin her happy mood. So, you quietly followed her backstage where the two of you waited to meet the members. One by one, the members began to file into the room. Your roommate excitedly greeted them while you could only muster a polite smile.

“You’ll have to forgive Jimin,” Namjoon was telling your roommate. “He’s always late.”

Your heart clenched painfully and you could feel your breath shorten when you realized you’d finally come face-to-face with the man who was supposed to be the love of your life. Panic set in and you grabbed your roommate by the arm to get her attention.

“I need to leave,” you whispered into her ear. “Jimin… he’s him.”

“Oh, Y/N…” your roommate’s eyes clearly expressed her sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”

You shook your head, indicating you wanted to be alone. Muttering some excuses to the members, you rushed out of the room with your head down. Before you could make it out the door, you collided into what seemed like a hard surface. A pair of arms caught you before you fall backwards.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Your whole body stiffened. You could recognize that voice anywhere. You had waited over 365 days to hear it in real life. You gave into temptation and looked up at Jimin. His features were just as beautiful as they were in your dreams.

“Y/N?! Oh, thank god! I thought something had happened to you when our dream ended and you didn’t come back for several nights.”

Jimin was tearing up as he pulled you into a fierce hug, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

“Y/N?” you heard Hoseok whisper. “Like the Y/N?”

“We’ll give you guys some space,” Taehyung said as he ushered everyone out of the room.

When the two of you were finally alone, you slowly extricated yourself out of Jimin’s embrace. Confused, Jimin reached back out for you but you took a few steps back away from his reach.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if I’m a little overwhelming but I’m just so happy that fate has finally brought us together…”

His act of ignorance wasn’t cute to you and the next words out of your mouth were said in anger.

“Cut the crap, Jimin. I heard that you were looking at engagement rings with another woman.”

Rather than try to defend himself or become upset, a wide smile stretched across Jimin’s face.

“You mean this ring?” He pulled out a velvet box from his pocket that contained a stunning diamond ring.

“That girl was someone I used to train with at my old dance academy. She came along with me because I wanted a second opinion.”

Slowly, Jimin got down on one knee.

“We’ve spent the last year trying to find each other, Y/N. I knew I didn’t want to waste another moment when I found you. So, I bought this ring on the off chance that if I finally met you, I could ask you to marry me. What do you think?”

Tears filled your eyes as relief flooded your heart.

“I think you should ask me already.”

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

Dropping down on both knees so that you were level with him, you cupped his face as you pulled him in for a long-awaited kiss. When you finally broke apart, you gave him the answer he was looking for.

“In case you didn’t know, that was me saying yes.”

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myaekingheart · 6 years

Text

Let's Take a Moment to Talk about Eating Disorders

This is the only thing that's been running in the back of my mind for days, weeks, maybe even months so I think it's time I sat down and really talked about this for a second. First off, I really hate myself. Let's just get that out of the way. If I didn't, I probably wouldn't be putting myself through so much torture. Not that I can even control much of this. The issue is that I know I have an eating disorder, but I just don't know what the fuck it is. I feel like eating disorders are very hit-or-miss in the diagnosis department. There's a handful of really well-researched and apparently common ones and then anything that doesn't fit the bill gets tossed into a junk drawer full of wide spectrum scenarios. I am one of those people in the junk drawer. I don't fit into any of the other boxes. I am an outlier, an unusual suspect. Of all the cases in which I am the strange, uncategorized lowlife, I never thought that the same would apply to eating disorders, as well.

Should I see a doctor or a therapist or something for all of this? Probably. Will I ever? I guess we'll see what happens. The thought of sitting in a room with a stranger going over all of this just comes off as unnerving and intimidating. Granted, not that spewing all of this nonsense out onto the internet is any better. At least here, I'm not guaranteed anyone will listen. I can tell you all I'm carrying the child of a one-eyed alien and you'd all probably go about your business as normal. But in a doctor's office, that's another story. They're staring at you taking notes on everything you're saying and the worst part is that you're shelling out tons of cash for them to do so. Then they'll look over everything they wrote down and overanalyze you, diagnose you with fifteen million different problems, and hand you a prescription and send you on your way. Probably. I've never done this sort of thing before so I wouldn't know, but that's how I assume it happens. Either that or it turns into a commitment where you're obligated to return once a week to chat about your problems and your pseudo progress. What a waste of time. Just like this entire paragraph.

Anyways, back to the important shit: the whole reason I'm even typing out all of this crap at 8am on a Wednesday. I have some unidentified problem and I don't know how to fix it. I've always had problems but I feel like more recently, they've only gotten worse and that scares me. When I was a kid, I had some mild eating issues but I don't ever remember it being anything too drastic. My earliest memory of disordered eating was when I was about three. My parents were having some kind of party and all I remember is sitting on the floor in the basement-turned-playroom among all the other kids while a marathon of Mr. Bean tapes was playing on the TV. I specifically remember the one where he meets the queen, the scene in which he's having trouble with his fly and has his finger sticking out of it to look as if he's whipped his dick out. Lovely to think that Rowan Atkinson gave me just the slightest first glimpse into understanding male genitalia. But anyways, I don't remember what exactly happened at this party to make me do this but somehow I must've spiralled into panic and that manifested itself in a refusal to eat. I went almost a full 24 hours without eating, if I remember correctly, and was fixed only when my mom whipped out a vintage Fisher Price nurse we fondly called Nurse Peggy who convinced me to nibble on some Ritz crackers. I don't have too many other wildly vivid memories of Nurse Peggy but according to my parents, she needed to be whipped out A LOT. I guess I was just one of those kids who didn't like to eat, or was a wildly picky eater. I remember panicking one time because my mom made tuna noodle casserole, one of my favorites, but there was a dark piece of mushroom in it that I swore was the missing leg off one of my little plastic ladybugs and it terrified the fuck out of me. But yeah, so this shit has evidently been going on for quite some time.

Ironically enough, around the same time this eating bullshit started, so did my anxiety. My very first panic attack had to have been when I was about three years old, as well. My mom and I were on ebay looking at a vintage Fisher Price castle when I guess I got so excited that I spiralled into a full-blown anxiety attack. I remember becoming suddenly overwhelmed with a loss of control over my body, shaking and hyperventilating and feeling like I was going to be sick. I have a very distinct memory of my mom tucking me into her bed and calling her own mother in an absolute panic, asking her what the hell she ought to do and being fully ready to drive me to the emergency room if need be. Obviously I calmed down after a while but it was the most terrifying experience of my young life. Little did I know that it was only the first of many panic attacks. Probably about ten or so years ago, I was officially diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder. In fifth grade, I was having panic attacks every single night to the point where it became disgustingly routine. My doctor took what I told her into consideration, diagnosed me, and prescribed me some anti-anxiety meds. They didn't last very long. Sure, they made me feel great but all I could think about was what my doctor told me about there being a high risk of addiction. I've never been one for medications for that exact reason (when I was little, during Red Ribbon Week one year we were literally given a coloring page about how you shouldn't take medicine if you don't need it and that doing so can kill you-- I distinctly remember it was two panels of two kids in a bathroom and I'm pretty sure there was a medicine cabinet filled with drugs and it was all very Schoolhouse Rock-esque in style but carried a very dark and brooding message). That coupled with the fact that the medication gave me some pretty hefty bathroom issues, I gave up on it after a couple of days. I know you shouldn't quit any medication without a doctor's consent but quite frankly, I didn't give a fuck. I wanted off and I wanted off now. Looking back, sometimes I wonder if giving up on those pills was the wrong decision, if I would've been better off if I had continued them all these years. Sometimes I wonder if I needed them more than I was willing to admit. Anxiety has affected and influenced every aspect of my life from irrational panic attacks during college orientation to trichotillomania during times of stress or when I'm insomniatic to, you guessed it, eating disorders.

Sometimes I feel like my brain is a playground and all the disorders going on in my head are small children running rampant together at recess, playing tag and hide and go seek. They all work in conjunction with one another like the cogs of a clock, winding together and grinding together. Anxiety is the queen bee, the line leader, and everything else follows suit in response to it. I pull my hair out sometimes because I'm anxious. I don't sleep because I'm anxious. I don't like high ceilings because they make me anxious. I don't eat because I'm anxious. And if anxiety was to have a little sister, it would be called emetophobia. I've been emetophobic for as long as I can remember, even though for the longest time I didn't have a word for the disorder. It was just that terrible, debilitating fear of throwing up. There was one girl back in first and second grade who used to tease me about it. She'd just sit there at lunch and say puke or barf or vomit and I'd instantly lose my appetite and feel woozy. I wonder if she ever regrets doing that to me. I wonder if she even has any idea the affects that had on me as a kid. Obviously nobody thinks vomiting is pleasant, even those with the more well known eating disorders who induce themselves (I doubt they find the actual act pleasant, regardless of how purging themselves makes them feel) but with me, the hatred and discomfort toward it is so extreme that it-- you guessed it-- gives me panic attacks. This has been perhaps the most recent culprit of my eating issues as of late, this emetophobia. And unfortunately, this isn't the first time something like this has happened.

When I was a kid, during the time I was getting panic attacks every night, one of the big things I feared was vomiting. A few days after my birthday that year, I had eaten a slice of leftover cheesecake at 9:34pm while watching reruns of I Love Lucy and later that night, I violently threw up. I still even remember what it looked like ten years later if that gives you any indication of just how bad this vomit phobia is. The cheesecake tasted like coffee and because of this, I couldn't stand the smell of coffee for a year or two afterward, having massive freakouts when my parents would make their nightly cups and forcing them to spray Febreeze throughout the entire house to try and mask the scent. To this day, the smell of coffee still sends a shiver down my spine. One of the main reasons why I don't drink it. Because of this experience, however (and the fact that almost every time I have vomited, it's been at night), I quickly fell into this vicious cycle of situational restriction. I refused to eat after dark out of the absolute fear that nighttime alone would cause my vomiting. This honestly became incredibly debilitating, and was especially a nuisance when daylight savings time ended and it began to get darker earlier. I'd constantly try and get my family to cater to this irrational fear, begging for dinners as early as 4pm just so I could avoid the possibility of thowing it all up after dark. Eventually, this all somehow petered out and I got back onto a more normal eating schedule but for the longest time, this was a massive problem and I'm terrified to say that I think it may be making a comeback.

The past few months have been pivotal for me. I spent a year straight toiling away in college in order to get my associate's degree as quickly as possible, then literally the very next day after my last final exam, I moved 300 miles away into an apartment with my boyfriend. It's been taking a while to adjust and I still find myself having some troubles even now three months later. In a way, a part of me feels like perhaps I wasn't entirely ready to move out in the first place. I can't drive, I've never had a job. I basically fall behind in every single aspect of adulthood except academically. And even though my boyfriend and I had been planning this months ahead of time and spoke of moving in together very early in our relationship, it still feels like everything moved outrageously fast. Living on my own has been wildly different than living with my parents, as well, both for the good and the bad. The good involves a newfound sense of freedom and the excitement of starting a new life-- one in which my boyfriend and I are not long distance, the beginning of spending the rest of our lives together. The bad, however, includes a chaotic aimlessness, a lack of structure, and crippling reponsibility. In the short few months I've been living on my own, I've found myself spiraling into a series of strange habits that are probably good for my finances but bad for my mental health, and the majority of them revolve around eating. First and foremost is the comeback of the nighttime fears. Because my boyfriend works retail, he works a broad range of hours that can fall anywhere from early morning shifts at 6am to closing shifts where he doesn't come home until almost midnight. This makes our routine very unstable because things change every day. Some nights we'll eat dinner at a solid 7pm and other times, food won't even be a thought until almost one in the morning when he gets home and has taken some time to relax. In a perfect world, this would be great. I always wanted to live aimlessly with zero structure, just eat and sleep whenever I please. Now that I'm here, though, the implications are terrifying. I've been getting panic attacks every single night for the past month or two whenever I eat without fail. But they're not the normal types of panic attacks that involve hyperventilating and full-body trembling and sweaty palms. Instead, these are much quieter and more akin to a persistent fear than anything else. It's a rising in my chest, a lump in my throat, the feeling that I can't swallow or that the food is going to come back up like acid reflux. It's the constant feeling that at any second, my chair is going to tilt back or a giant hand is going to peel the ceiling away or the floor will cave in and an immense gravity wil suck me down to the earth's core. This isn't so much a problem with breakfast or lunch or whatever the fuck you can consider my daytime meals these days. It's only at night when things get heavy and I feel like everything is caving in. Because of this, I feel like I can't eat. Even if I wanted to, even if I'm starving, I physically cannot bring myself to overcome these feelings and just eat. Every time I try, my throat tightens up and I'm seized by this overwhelming sensation of something rising up within me and my body jolts in the same way as when someone sneaks up behind you and touches your shoulder or your back or your arm. I spend my nights hiding this as I glance at my food, shift uncomfortably in my seat, rub the back of my neck or tug on my earlobe or squeeze my foot, constantly chanting over and over again in my head to just breathe, that I'm fine, that I'm not going to be sick. For a while, I just attributed all of this to leftover symptoms of a cold I had a few months back. I had insane postnasal drip which, as an emetophobic, I refused to hock up and spit out so it just stayed in my system building up and circulating and choking me. A part of me is still convinced that's part of the problem. But now I know that it's also so much more than that. It's not just leftover phlegm, it's also anxiety and restriction and absolute fear.

The other big contributing issue here has to do with obsession. Obsession with ingredients, obsession with calories, obsession with body image. This is where the more textbook features of eating disorders come into play. I've always had a love-hate relationship with my body image. I've always been very petite, always the shortest kid in my elementary school classes and I could still fit into size 3T skirts when I was in, like, second grade. At first, it wasn't anything other than just being small. I was still a healthy weight for my height and age, I had some baby fat on me. I looked fine. Second grade, however, was when everything hit the fan. I think at the end of the day, it all boils down to my teacher. I remember her as this chubby woman with gray hair and glasses who kind of reminded me of Ursula from The Little Mermaid. She was the first teacher I ever had who never blatantly praised me. All my other teachers were incredibly kind and nurturing women who saw so much potential in me and made me feel like I was capable of anything. I'm not saying that this is entirely the greatest tactic just because I don't think we should teach our children that they are the best ever and that they can do absolutely anything no matter what (just hang on here, I'm not sadistic, I'm making a very valid point), but I'm not saying that being really tough on them is great either. I firmly believe in teaching our children that they can do whatever they set their minds on given that they work hard. That success is directly influenced by effort but that they can accomplish anything so long as they just work for it. It's a very Tiana-esque method (from The Princess and the Frog). My second grade teacher, however, was one of those really tough women. I always felt like nothing I did was ever good enough for her. I remember getting freaked out after she lectured us on the dangers of plaigiarism and watched us sinisterly as we worked on a classwork assignment about it, then graded us harshly and marked points off if even a snippet of a sentence was exactly like the passage. She also made us use those stupid rubber grips on our pencils that forced us to hold them a certain way and she'd yell at us if we took them off. Now, for some kids I understand that this kind of discipline is good for them but I was not like most kids. I started reading when I was two and always colored inside the lines. In third grade, I found out I was mentally gifted and spent the rest of my elementary school career spending one full day a week doing additional classwork in gifted programs. My mind has a very specific way of working that this bitch was not tolerant to. It was exactly like that quote about how you can't test a fish on it's ability to climb a tree and expect it to do well. No matter what I did, if I didn't do things her way, she wasn't satisfied and that was really detrimental to my self esteem. It was this year that I started really changing for the worst. I lost all my baby fat and became incredibly thin. I was still a super picky eater, restricting myself to things like carrots + dip and chicken nuggets. This was also about the time when I started becoming really moody and disagreeable, which has honestly never changed since. I used to come home from school in a really good mood, like my parents would pick me up and I'd be happy and bubbly and ramble on about my day. Instead, now I was snappy and rude and easily frustrated. School wasn't coming to me as easily as it used to. I'd spend hours staring at one homework page struggling to figure things out and breaking out into tears because I just couldn't grasp it. Granted, this was never an issue with vocabulary homework, which I excelled at no matter what, but math homework was the devil. My dad and I would get into heated arguments about it because I just could not understand no matter how hard he tried to help me. I'd get angry with him because he'd try to show me the solution in a manner that was different than the way my teacher taught us in class and I was so hellbent on doing everything to cater to the teacher's methods that I would lose my mind if anyone even so much as considered forcing me to do things a different way. Again, this harkens back to that god-awful second grade teacher. This was a recurring thing throughout all of school, even to this day. I have constantly felt obligated to the best in everything I do, whether that's academically or socially or personally. Despite my academic success, socially I've hardly ever been fluent. There was a time as a young kid when I was very outgoing and unfiltered but after years of being bullied and just pushed around, I gradually crawled into my shell to the point where sometimes I can't even fully be myself around my own parents or boyfriend because I get nervous or second guess my decisions, overthinking reponses until it's too late. To everyone else not within my social circle, I'm just really quiet and perhaps a bit intimidating. The resting bitch face is strong with this one. I struggled to retaliate against the harsh words of classmates or the pressures of friends who craved popularity, attempting to force myself into a box in which I did not fit. I was that lanky nerdy kid with the glasses and crooked, oversized teeth who looked like a walking skeleton with pigtails. Sometimes I look back at picture of myself as a kid and wonder how the fuck I didn't even die, I was so goddamn skinny. My childhood best friend came from an Italian family who was very focused on good food. Looking back, it's no wonder I'd sometimes catch her mother glaring at me at the dinner table because I just never fucking ate. I'd take a few bites and then say I was done, then run back off with my friend to play. I don't know how I even had any energy, honestly. I swear I must have been running on empty.

High school, as I remember it, saw a brief intermission in my eating issues. There were a few instances where things were difficult for a time but they weren't anywhere near as monumental as my childhood eating issues, I don't think. Rather, my focus in high school was more on rejecting college, having fun with my friends, and obsessing over boys. Things didn't really hit the fan again until my first year as a full-time college student. As an adult, this is when I began to take things a little more seriously in regards to eating disorders. This was when my IBS started, which has remained a staple in my digestive issues ever since. Everything I ate made me double over in pain on the bathroom floor so I resolved to just not eat. Can't suffer from digestive cramps if you have nothing to digest. This was obviously directly linked to a lot of personal stresses I was facing in my life, what with all the changes that were getting tossed at me left and right. It was a very monumental time filled with a lot of new experiences and fears. I was trying to adjust to the fact that I was actually an adult now and that I'd never step foot in my high school again (which, even though I hated, I had grown rather attached to), never hang out with my friends again (because the majority of them left me), never pass my crush in the hallway ever again (granted, he graduated a year before me and I'm living with him now so that all worked out). The minute winter break started, I caught a nasty cold during which I was sleeping a lot and barely eating. It wasn't until after this that I realized something was seriously wrong with the way I looked. I had always been thin but this was like advanced thin. This was needing a belt on size zero jeans thin. This was dangerously thin. From that point onward, my obsession with my weight and eating habits has been an uphill battle of more adult proportions. I struggled for months afterward to get back on track, to gain the weight back, to push through the crazy intense IBS pains and start really eating again once and for all. It worked for a time and things went relatively well. I got back on track, I started adjusting to college, I got a boyfriend who cares deeply about me. Things were going well. Now, however, is when I feel like I'm slowly slipping off the wagon again.

Because of timing, I spent from August 2016 to August 2017 in school non-stop so I could get my degree and move in with my boyfriend when the lease on his old apartment expired and his roommate moved in with his own girlfriend. I didn't mind doing this. After all, it meant earning my degree quicker and moving in with my boyfriend sooner. A year straight of school wasn't all that awful anyways. Summer courses weren't really anything to write home about, I got through them and then I was done. It was no big deal. Or at least not until finals week. Things started out alright but I was on a massive time crunch. Everything was chaotic, a massive whirlwind. I felt so much pressure to do well, knowing that if I failed any of my tests it would drop my grades and I'd put myself at risk of having to retake classes and essentially ruining everything. I was really hard on myself about academics and added even more stress by procrastinating on packing. A part of me didn't quite register that all of this was really happening in the first place, not until I started moving all of my things into boxes and seeing my room grow barer and barer every day. The peak of the week came the night of my history final. My teacher was incredibly disorganized and let things overflow into the very last day of class so that not only did we have a final to worry about, but we had to wade through an hour and a half of boring presentations beforehand. I was suffering from a rather nasty headache that day, some jaw pain probably caused by a wisdom tooth coming in, so I took what I thought was plain ibuprofen before class. I gulped down two pills and thought I was good to go. What ensued was basically evidence as to why I always reject medication. As it turns out, the pills I took werent't actually ibuprofen but migraine meds with massive amounts of caffeine in them which, as I have recently discovered, I am intolerant to. This would further explain why the coffee flavored cheesecake as a kid sent me into a panic attack and made me puke, why premade brownies are potentially dangerous (my boyfriend and I bought organic brownies from Lucky's Market a few months back that had non-alkalized cocoa powder in them which, surprise surprise, has 4x the caffeine was cocoa powder processed with alkali. I had one fucking miniature brownie and within minutes I was shaking, hyperventilating, and ran to the bathroom on the verge of throwing up. I also realized just today that this also may have been the reason why I vomited a few years back after having eaten a brownie at a Disney resort), etc. I was struggling through the entire night, shaking uncontrollably with sweaty palms. I was dizzy and constantly felt like I was going to puke. I barely made it through my final exam but forced myself to finish because I knew I didn't have time to reschedule. This incident has drastically affected my own eating habits, however. Ever since, I have been wildly obsessed with what's in my food, shying away from sweets and always checking ingredients labels and refusing to drink any soda but Sprite (which, thank the lord, is both delicious and caffeine free). That moment has made me insanely paranoid, though, and a little too mindful (in the bad way) of everything I put into my body. I am so terrified of ever putting myself through something like that ever again that it leads me to restrict even more than normal. The same goes for the way my IBS affects my eating habits, as well. I'm constantly previewing menus for potential restaurants I might end up going to, thinking long and hard about the food I'm going to order. There are certain places where I don't even deviate on the menu, I stick to the same thing every single time I go there no matter what. I am terrified of trying something new and having an adverse reaction to it. With that in mind, I've just come to terms with the fact that restricting just seems easier. None of this is anything new, though. I've been restricting for as long as I can remember. There is, however, one other contributor that is new and that is finances.

Up until now, I have lived under my parents' roof where they paid for everything and I didn't have to worry one bit. They'd let me pick out whatever I wanted in the grocery store and the kitchen was free reign. I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and that was great. I didn't think about restricting as much back then, except for when it came to IBS. Now, however, things are different. My parents support me financially when it comes to bills and rent but other than that, I am basically on my own using whatever financial aid money I have leftover from my past year of school. I can afford things but I know that until I get a job or start school back up in January and get more financial aid, that that money is what is going to carry me through things like grocery trips and dinners out. It's incredible how much more analytical you become when it's your money that starts being spent on necessary things. Because of this, I've found myself and my relationship with food transforming and probably not for the better. My boyfriend and I are very aimless when it comes to grocery shopping. We don't meal plan, we haven't been couponing, we don't write shopping lists, and we don't seem to make a habit of rationing meat out for multiple meals. We basically just go to the grocery store, grab whatever we want, and hope for the best at the checkout counter. Coming from a home where my parents meticulously plan grocery store trips and buy certain things in bulk, this is a cold shock to me and it's difficult to figure out how to navigate. What I lack in physical lists, I try to make up for in overthinking during the trip itself which then only makes me come off as slow and confused. My boyfriend even described it like I was acting drunk once but it's all because my brain is trying to process so much all at once, like walking into a test after having not studied and never even attended a class. There's a lot going through my head and not a lot of time for me to process it. I don't like doing things this way but I don't know if I even have the motivation to work towards being a more organized shopper. But anyways, because of this our grocery costs tend to rack up pretty quickly which makes me feel guilty and almost uncomfortable since I know we only end up getting a limited number of meals out of that haul. This is where the restricting comes in. Grocery money is always in the back of my mind which essentially translates into this desire to make everything last as long as possible. I greatly ration my food and restrict myself out of the fear of running out and having nothing to eat. I live for leftovers and I make sure I eat just enough at restaurants or during homecooked meals for there to be something to put in the fridge at the end of the night. This doesn't always mean I eat until I'm full, though. Most often times, I'm not that full. Not that I could eat any more even if I wanted to (see a few paragraphs above). This would work great if not for the fact that I'm also obsessed with expiration dates. If something has passed it's expiration date or we have leftovers that have been in the fridge for a while, even if they are actually still good and safe to eat, I will not eat them. I threw out an entire pack of baby carrots the other day because they were one day past the expiration date and they looked dried out and therefore I considered them unsafe to eat. I have never had full-on food poisoning in my life before and I don't ever plan to because it seems my goal in life is to be as delicate and restrictive as possible so as to prevent myself from ever throwing up. If I do, I have failed and will overthink it for the next couple weeks. I get so paranoid every time I get sick that it's going to happen again that I just starve myself because I assume you can't throw up if there's nothing in your stomach (newsflash: you can and I learned that the hard way-- I went almost twenty four hours with barely eating something once and I ended up violently vomiting right before I had plans to go out with my best friend and ever since, I have also been terrified of not eating enough and doing the same exact thing to myself again. So basically, if I eat too much, I'm scared I'll throw up. If I don't eat enough, I'm scared I'll throw up. If I eat anything at all, I'm scared I'm going to throw up. It's real fun). The worst experience of this starvation-after-vomiting thing was in sixth grade. It was the day of a huge standardized test and I was not feeling good at all but I knew I couldn't afford to miss this and my mom refused to let me stay home so I sucked it up, did my best, and went to school. The doors hadn't even opened yet and I was already losing it. Literally a full minute before the teachers opened their doors, I started puking down the entire sixth grade hallway in front of EVERYONE. My friend immediately jumped into action and dragged me to the nurses office as I left a trail of vomit behind me. It was the most traumatizing experience of my life and I will never forget it. After this, I refused to eat for days. I went home, my mom gave me a bath, and I slept on the couch for hours until lunchtime when my mom brought me home a Subway sandwich that I could barely eat without feeling like I was going to be sick again. The day passed in a haze and the next morning, I guess I was looked upon with varying shades of disgust and humor. In a way, I think I kind of unwillingly became some sort of legend at that school because everyone remembers me as the girl who puked down the hallway. The next day was like the big celebration for finishing all of those rigorous standardized tests and as such, my teacher bought donuts for everyone. I love donuts so the normal part of my brain was rejoicing but the traumatized side was in a fetal position in the corner having a panic attack. I did end up grabbing a donut but whether I ate it or not was another story. Sometimes I wonder if deep down everyone in my class knew I had some sort of eating disorder because eating that donut the day after I got sick was like trying to teach a fish how to fly and everyone knew it. Everyone saw I was struggling, everyone knew I had a problem. I don't remember if this was an everyone thing or not but I do distinctly remember the boy sitting next to me was watching me eat and egging me on like I was running a marathon. It almost felt like I was the age I am now and attending a kegger where some frat guy is shouting "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" Just like that, it was simultaneously motivating and condescending. I swear, everyone was watching me as I struggled to just eat that goddamn fucking donut. I never did finish it. I think I ate about half before tossing it in the trash and making peace with failure. It all still haunts me to this day, though. Especially because I put myself through the same torture day in and day out with my eating nowadays. I stare at the food on my plate and I can hear the voices in my head screaming at me to down the damn thing, meanwhile inside my digestive tract is a bunch of blaring sirens and flashing lights for absolutely no goddamn reason.

Will any of this ever get better? Who fucking knows. By now, I've come to terms with the fact that this is an endless cycle and that it's something I will have to struggle through and face time and time again for the rest of my life. Do I enjoy that fact? Absolutely fucking not. But is it realistic? Yeah, I think so. I don't know if there's ever such a thing as true eating disorder recovery, or if I'll ever even find out what the fuck kind of disorder this even is. It's hard to try and treat something that's so complex and that also doesn't seem to fit into any of the commonplace categories. Sometimes I wish I had anorexia or bulimia instead solely so I could at least pin a name to this torture. Otherwise, I don't know how to cure what doesn't even have a name. Sometimes I wonder if this even actually is some sort of eating disorder or if it's just the conglomeration of multiple different issues combining into one giant super disorder that's wreaking havoc across my entire wellbeing. I have no goddamn idea but fuck, do I wish I knew. If only I fucking knew.

#this is just a bunch of personal bullshit #it's redundant and stupid but i just needed to get it all out #so you can happily avoid this if you'd like #eating disorders #ramblings

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years

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prompt : effie and haymitch at home and effie hurts herself and starts crying and doesnt stop crying and haymitch tries to do something to make her stop crying because he cant take it when she cries

Here you are! [x]

A Crisis & Redecoration Plans

Haymitch lazily scratched his stubble coveredcheek and stared at the coffeemaker brewing his daily dose of caffeine as if itheld all the answers to the universe.

He often did that in the morning: watch the oldrusty machine work and wonder how his life had taken such a drastic turn thathe was now full time responsible for two kids and a woman, all that littleworld not quite sane. The kids he mostly knew how to deal with. Effie… It wasanother story.

He was trying, learning, but ever since she had showed up on his doorstep with herproverbial tail between her legs… It had been… difficult.

Effie wasn’t dealing and he was surprised shehad lasted so long on her own in the city to begin with. He wasn’t sure how tohelp and he wasn’t even sure she wantedhelp. She had been forced to come to him because she had nowhere else to stayand because she was so much in debts she needed money – and admitting thathadn’t exactly been smooth sailing on her part. He didn’t care about the money.That had been the easy problems tosolve.

She had triggers as long as the arm and everytime he opened his mouth he was afraid he would put his foot in it.

She never left the house. Some days, she neverleft the guestroom. Every time the kids were around she was all smiles and pretences,a quick reassurance here and an obvious lie there – because if she was still inpajamas at four in the afternoon it wasn’t because she hadn’t found the will toget dressed but because Haymitch had fucked up the laundry, of course. She had panic attacks. Shesuffered from flashbacks. She was full of contradictions he wasn’t sure how tonavigate – and he didn’t think she knew how to navigate them either – like thefact that she wanted the front and back doors locked but hated feelingconfined…

He didn’t have the best sleeping schedule. Heusually spent half the night up and only went to bed when the sun was about torise only to get up at noon. Effie’s sleeping schedule was erratic. On the daysshe actually managed to get out of bed, she stuck to a strict routine that wasbordering of obsessive and that involved a lot of cleaning. Seriously. His house had never been that clean, not even when Hazelle hadstill worked for him. They could have eaten on the floor. She went to bed ateleven on the dot every night and slept with the lights on. She had nightmares.Very bad ones. Sometimes she let him comfort her, hold her until she fell backasleep… Other times she couldn’t bear to be touched and instead she grabbedwhatever cleaning product was the closest.

He had gotten used to her cleaning at night andhe had kissed his own habits goodbye. He was too scared of leaving her byherself, he was too scared of what she would do although he had never reallyvoiced that worry out loud. He had snooped through her things to make sure shedidn’t have sleeping pills and he had made sure there was nothing stronger thanaspirin in the house. The liquor… He kept his stock in the shed for now. Hesimply didn’t like the self-destructive spark in her eyes.

So he forced himself to go to bed around thesame time she did. If his own nightmares didn’t wake him up, hers did. Or herroaming the house.

Nevertheless that was how he had gotten in thehabit of getting up at ungodly hours – early enough to see Katniss sneak out ofher house and to the woods – staring at his coffeemaker and hoping it wouldsomehow magically give him the answers to his very complicated life.

It would be much easier if she actually talked to him. She had come to Twelve,to him, and he wanted to believe it meant something.However he was also acutely aware that he had been her last resort and that sheresented her hand being forced. They hadn’t parted on the best terms. There hadbeen a lot of things unsaid and unacknowledged about his role in her captureand imprisonment. Things she had thought and hadn’t voiced. Things he shouldhave clarified but had been too scared to face. It wasn’t all forgiven yet. Shestill blamed him to some extent. They would get through it in time. Probably. Maybe. They had always hurt each otherand they had always moved on. Granted, being captured and tortured by theCapitol took the cake but… Effie alwaysforgave.

He should apologize, he thought and thecoffeemaker made that clicking noise that Katniss insisted meant it wouldexplode soon.

“Does that mean yeah or no?” he muttered butthe machine, traitor that it was, suddenly fell silent. He sighed and pouredhimself a mug, filling it to the brim. He was about to add a dash of moonshinewhen the crash echoed throughout the house.

He was out of the kitchen and in theliving-room before he even knew he had moved, worried that Effie had had aflashback or something.

She had been asleep on the couch when he hadwalked downstairs, having probably sunk there after one of her nightly cleaningsprees.

Now she was crouching in front of the smalltable next to the couch, fumbling with the broken pieces of the lamp that hadbeen in the house as long as he could remember. The good one, too. The one thathe used to read late into the night because it was the brightest.

She looked up at him, a mix of dismay and… fear on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sosorry. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to… I thought it might look better overthere and… I shouldn’t have touched it. I’m sorry, Haymitch. I…”

“Breathe.” he ordered, warily crouching infront of her. He didn’t dare touch her. Her pupils were blown, her moves werejerky and her breathing was loud. It wouldn’t take much to send her over theedge and into a full panic attack.

“I’m sorry.” she repeated. “I’m so…”

“It’s okay.” he cut her off again. “It’s just afucking lamp, sweetheart.”

“I shouldn’t have tried to move it.” She shookher head, still picking up pieces as if she could fix it by simply holdingthem, as if it would somehow glue them back together. “I… This isn’t my house.I shouldn’t move things and…”

“You’re welcomed to move things.” he shrugged.“It’s your house too now, okay? You can move stuff. Hell, you’re welcome tochange the curtains even.”

The brown drapes on the living-room windowswere eaten by moths and every year they looked worse and worse. He wouldn’thave minded taking them down.

And, to be honest, the fact that she wanted tomake it a little more to her tastes made him feel relieved. That was more likethe Effie Trinket he knew.

“Really?” she asked uncertainly, almost shy.

It might have ended right there, he might havemanaged to coax her into the kitchen to eat some breakfast, if she hadn’t cutherself on a broken piece of faience.

“Shit.”he spat immediately, cradling her injured hand between his own, forgetting allabout not trying to touch her so he wouldn’t spook her. It was a deep gash buthopefully not deep enough that it would need stitches. He could already guesshow it would go if he tried to drag her to the hospital anyway so he decidedthey would wait and see. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Come upstairs with me,yeah? I’ve got a first aid kit in my room.”

And he kept it stocked in case Peetaaccidentally hurt one of them or himself during an episode.

Effie didn’t give any hint that she intended tostand up though. She was staring at her palm and at the blood pooling there,her face blank…

Trigger, he deduced, not quite surprised.

“Effie.” he called gently. “Tell me where youare.”

She was silent for almost a whole minute.“Twelve. With you. Safe.”

“Good.” he praised. “Let’s get this cleaned upand bandaged, yeah? Out of sight, out of mind.” She looked up at him and he wasstartled to see her eyes full to the brim with tears. He could only watch, struck,as they rolled down her cheek. “What’s wrong?” he worried, dropping from hiscrouching position to his knees so he could get closer to her. “Does it hurtthat bad?”

She shook her head and started sobbing.

Full earnest sobs that sounded painful.

If there was one thing he truly hated, it was seeing her cry. He had always hated it. Even inthe beginning, when he had still hated her… A crying Effie was a rare thing andall the better for him. It made him mad with helplessness.

“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong… I’ll fixit. I promise, I’ll fix it.” he pleaded, feeling powerless and hating thefeeling. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t failed her… If he had…

“I’m so sorry I broke your lamp…” she gaspedbetween two sobs.

He blinked at that. Of all the things…

“I don’t care about the fucking lamp.” he grumbled, annoyed that she wasn’t getting it.“It’s just a thing. This house’s full of things I don’t care about.” She criedharder at that and he realized how it sounded so he placed his hand on hershoulder and, when she didn’t protest, let it travel to her nape… He squeezedgently like he used to do, like she used to like. Affection, comfort,possessiveness… That small gesture had conveyed so much over the years… “You’rethe only thing in here I fucking careabout. I promise you. I’ll prove it. Look.”

He stood up and grabbed the closest thing thatfell under his hand. It turned out to be the ugly miniature of a cat –something that had come with the house too and that he had never bothered tossingaway. He felt a sense of satisfaction when it shattered on the floor. He shouldhave done that years earlier. A lot of things had fallen prey to his drunkenrage since he had won his Games but there were still so much shit that the Capitol had consideredtasteful decoration back in the day…

She gasped when the miniature exploded, herlips pursing into a sad pout. “I liked it.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she did.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” he declared,carefully helping her to her feet. She held her hand up but blood trickled tothe floor and she blanched. She was still crying but less. “I’ll buy you a newlamp too. You can pick, even.”

“Can I pick new curtains too?” she sniffed, herinterest clearly piqued.

“Sure.” he caved, steering her upstairs.“Curtains, lamps, furniture… Whatever. Nothing pink and we’re good.”

She considered that when he prompted her to saton his unmade bed and ran to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. She hadlost interest by the time he was wrapping the bandage around her hand. Shedropped her head against his shoulder when he was done and he remained still,not wanting to spoil the moment. She sought him for comfort sometimes but itwas rare. She was too confused, he thought, she didn’t know how to accept orrequest his help.

“I’m too tired now but maybe later.” sheoffered.

“Sure.” he repeated, tentatively brushing astrand of hair behind her ear. “I mean it though. It’s your house too now.”

A small fragile thing of a smile floated on herlips.

It wasn’t much but it was enough to make hisday brighter.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #post mj #book!verse #post prison effie #angsting h #protective haymitch #hurt comfort #not established #injuries

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