#Agoraphobia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkgodcomplex · 3 months ago

Text

Rusted Smiles

Peter (Your Boyfriend) X Reader

AO3 Link

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, Leg Amputation, Agoraphobia, Kidnapping, Nightmares

Enjoy :)

You're drifting. Images come and go from your mind, never sticking around enough to really remember. Where are you? Home? The diner? Your apartment?

You're at your apartment. At least, you think you are. The ceiling feels much too tall. You're in your bedroom. No, the kitchen.

Lucy is making you coffee. You shiver, the apartment is cold. Was it always this cold? You attempt to walk over to her, reaching for the warm cup, but you can't seem to move. Lucy turns to look at you. She's mouthing something, but nothing is coming out. The silence is deafening.

Then suddenly the world is loud. She's screaming, "Please! Please don't leave me!"

Her face morphs, twisting into Don's face, then TK's. They're all screaming. A blob of flesh, moving towards you.

"Darling, please don't leave me!"

You step back, suddenly able to regain use of your limbs. You turn heading towards the door. They yell after you, even as you slip outside and slam the door shut, holding them inside.

You're not on the street. You're in the woods. It's cold. A heavy snow has fallen. You trudge forward. When you look back, the apartment building has disappeared. You shiver, tugging your sweatshirt closer to your body as you keep moving.

You hear a car revving... or is it a van? You swivel your head around. The soft rumbling changes to a guttural growl. Your eyes land on a dog a few meters away.

It arches it’s back in a defensive position, growling lightly. As it sneers, you see rusted metal teeth protrude from it's mouth. It snaps, biting the air before pouncing at you.

You stumble back, racing through the woods. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, along with the snapping of the dog's metal teeth. The snow fall gets heavier as you run. Is it even winter? You're so cold. You need to leave. You need to escape-

As you step, your left leg sinks into the snow. You tug, but it stays stuck. You can still hear the dog behind you. There's snow in your shoe, you can't feel your leg. It's so cold. It's so cold. You close your eyes. You hear the snap of metal teeth and a sickening crunch.

You jolt awake, hands gripping for something and finding sheets. Where are you? You feel dizzy... and cold. Groggily, your eyes try to focus.

"Lay back down, you're okay." A hand presses you back down. You're in a bed. "Just relax."

You blink. A concerned face stares down at you.

That's when everything hits you. The kidnapping. The escape attempt.

The bear trap.

You struggle, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows.

"Really, you need to rest." Peter tries to soothe you.

"I need to see-" You grunt, reaching a shaky hand towards your legs. "I just need-"

"Fine. I'll show you, just lay back. You're pretty heavily drugged."

Reluctantly, you lean back against the pillow he tucked behind your head. You shiver, secretly glad to not have to move. All your limbs feel heavy.

"Don't freak out." Is all he says before he flips the blanket off you.

It takes a moment to process. Your eyes trail down your leg to where it... just stops. Just above the knee is where your leg ends. A thick gauze is wrapped around the wound, already bloodied. You dread to think of how much blood you lost.

Maybe its the drugs, or maybe it's just the shocking revelation, but you don't feel angry. Not at Peter, not at the bear trap, not even at the circumstances. Instead, you start to cry. Heavy tears fall down your face, which is pale from the blood loss. To your own surprise, you reach out to Peter.

"Y-You're not g-going to let me die, right?" Is all you can choke out between the tears and the drugs.

His eyes widen, "Of course not." He grabs your hand. His palms are warm as he rubs up your arm. "I disinfected it and you have painkillers and antibiotics in your system. I'll take care of you, I promise."

Tears still fall. You rub at them with your hand. You feel him gingerly crawl into the bed with you, arm wrapping around your shoulders to cradle you lovingly. "It's okay, it's okay."

You clutch onto his shirt. You tremble, pressing your hands against his warm body. You wince as you feel you leg, or rather what used to be your leg, brush against the bed. You don't want to die here. You don't want to die of infection.

"I won't let anything happen to you." Peter buries his face in your hair as he holds you. "Don't worry, the next round of painkillers should be hitting you soon."

They already are. You find yourself unable to cry anymore, a wave of blissful indifference washing over you. Your eyelids start to droop.

"I have to go to the store to grab more medical supplies." Peter lays you down gently as he gets up. "Rest while I'm gone."

You try to reach for him again, but you find that your hand won't move. "Will y-you get me apple j-juice?" Your words are slurred. "For some r-reason I really want apple juice."

He gives a light smile, petting your hair. "Of course, darling."

You fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

You wake feeling like someone just shoved you down several flights of stairs. You groan, trying to sit up. You're alone. Once again, you pull the covers off.

It's almost like you didn't expect it to be real. Yet, here it is. You stare at your amputated limb. A wave of nausea rushes over you. Shakily, you reach a hand down, feeling down your leg to where it simply stops. Above everything else, it simply feels weird.

The door opens and you jerk your head up, eyes wide as Peter steps in.

"Oh, you're awake."

He's holding a few pills as well as a glass of apple juice. Saying nothing, you reach for the glass.

"Take the pills first, then you can down the juice." He tells you, handing you the cup. "These painkillers aren't as strong, so you won't be sleeping as much."

You gulp down the pills, happy to drink all the apple juice. You've never craved apple juice a day in your life, but it was like food to a starving man right now.

Peter gave a light laugh, "Your body must need the sugars." He says, kneeling by the bed to watch you.

When you finish, you hand him the cup, wiping your mouth.

The two of you sit in silence for a long moment.

"How do you feel, darling?" He asks, reaching to look at your wound. "I changed the bandage again while you slept."

You shrug, chewing on your lip.

His eyes slide up to look at yours, hand ghosting over the bandages. "Are you okay?"

The truth is, you don't have a single thing to say. Anything you could say would just get caught in your throat. Surprisingly, you still can't find it within yourself to be angry. You're just scared.

You reach for him. He grasps your hand without hesitation, holding it tight.

"I love you." He says firmly, looking into your eyes. "Everything is going to be okay."

You give a swift nod, bottom lip trembling.

"You should eat something." Giving your hand a squeeze, he lets go, hooking one arm behind your back and the other under your one knee to lift you up. Your arms scramble to wrap around his neck.

He carries you out into the kitchen, gently setting you down in a chair. He hurries back to the bedroom, coming back with a blanket that he drapes around your shoulders.

"Does soup sound good?" He grabs a can from the cabinet. "It'll be nice and warm."

He manages to heat up the soup without any disasters and serves the bowl in front of you. You stare down at it.

"Oh, right, a spoon." He hurries to the drawer, coming back to hand you a spoon.

It's only then that it hits you. You're entirely dependent on him now. You certainly can't walk, especially if he decides not to give you a prosthetic or a wheelchair. There's no way you could ever outrun him now.

Still, you dip your spoon into the soup, bringing it to your mouth. It's salty and delicious, you eat the whole bowl.

When you're done, he takes away the bowl. You watch as he cleans it.

"What am I supposed to do now?" You speak up hoarsely.

He looks over at you as he turns off the faucet, brows scrunched in worry. "What do you mean, darling?"

"What am I supposed to do with my life?" You stare down at the table. "I can't go anywhere. I can't do anything here."

"You can do whatever you want." He says. "I'll just be here to help you."

In the following weeks, your leg heals nicely. You're haunted by nightmares and phantom pains, but physically, you're fine. You and Peter fall into a routine. For meals, he carries you to the kitchen for breakfast and sets you on the counter so that you can help. While he works, you read or knit or paint or any other of the countless activities he put together for you. He bought you everything you ever could've asked for. Then, in the evenings, you curl up on the couch and watch tv. It's simple... and you almost like it.

On one evening, he left to pick up groceries. You were left on the couch to read, thumbing through the book when you hear him come back. He bursts through the front door, smiling.

"I have a gift for you, darling." He grins, setting the groceries on the table. "I'll be right back."

You perk up, setting down your book. He returns from his van holding a pair of crutches. Hurrying over, he sets them near the couch. "I figured it's best if you could get around the house on your own." He smiles, watching you grab them. You heave yourself up, wobbling. Your muscles definitely aren’t what they used to be. Peter’s hands ghost your waist, ready to catch you if you fall.

You grip the handholds of the crutches, swinging yourself forward. You manage to wobble around the living room.

“See? Look at you go.” He says proudly. You smile at him.

“You know, I was thinking.” He moves closer to you. “Maybe we could go for a walk? Outside, of course.”

You glance over at the door nervously. Why did the idea make your stomach twist?

“We don’t have to today.” He says quickly. “After all, you’re still getting used to the crutches.”

“Yeah.” You echo quietly. “After I get used to the crutches.”

That night, the two of crawl into bed. You’ve been sleeping together for a while now, ever since your leg healed enough to not hurt when bumped. Peter lays on his back, your head on his chest as you clutch onto him.

“Goodnight.” He says gently, rubbing his fingertips up and down your spine.

“Goodnight.” You say, hugging him tighter.

You’re at the diner, sitting in one of the booths. It’s loud, like it always is. Servers are bustling in and out, people are chatting loudly. TK sits across from you. The only thing that’s in front of them is a glass of apple juice.

“Has the diner been busy?” You ask.

They simply stare at you, smiling.

“… Are you still looking for a new apartment?”

Silence.

“TK, are you alright?”

As you speak, the diner goes silent. You turn your head, everyone is looking at you. Nervous, you look back at TK, who is slowly opening their mouth.

“TK?”

Blood gushes from their lips, an impossible amount, dripping down their face and onto the diner table. You try to scramble away, but as you lift yourself away from the table, you fall to the floor.

Your leg. You only have one leg.

Everyone has begun to laugh. You look around in panic. They all stare at you, smiling with their pointed metal teeth.

You bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. Peter is grasping you in an instant, tugging you close.

“It’s okay now, I’m here, I’m here.” He grabs your face, pulling you so that your forehead’s touch. “You’re safe.”

“I was at the diner, and everyone had these teeth-“

“Do you know where you are now?” He says, thumb brushing your cheek as he nuzzles your faces together.

“Home?”

“Home. That’s right.” He says lightly. “Nothing can hurt you here.”

You throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as he lulls you back to sleep. Before you fall asleep, however, a single thought flickers in your head.

What are you so afraid of, if not him?

You move around the house, getting a better handle of the crutches. It’s nice to not completely rely on Peter for getting around. You’re able to get your own food and sit in the living room whenever you want.

You stand over Rat’s cage, peering in as Peter comes out of the hall, having just finished work.

“What are you doing, darling?”

You look up, “Nothing.” You tell him, hoisting yourself over to him.

“You’ve gotten a handle on those pretty well.” He observes, watching you move.

“I have.” You say proudly, moving around to show off.

“I think we should go out today then.” He says. “I think a walk would be romantic.”

A pit settles in your stomach. You have been doing well with the crutches. Honestly, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want to go outside.

“Okay.”

Peter gives you one of his jackets. It’s big on you, but warm. He ties your shoe for you.

Unlocking the door, he pushes it open, heading out in front of you and holding the door open. You crutch forward, lingering in the doorway, looking out.

A cold breeze hits your face. Slowly, you begin to crumble in on yourself, shaking your head slowly.

“Darling?”

Your body trembles, lower lip quivering as you try to move back.

“Darling, what’s wrong?”

You quickly try to move back, but your crutch catches on the wall, sending you tumbling backwards into the house. You land hard, having the wind knocked out of you.

Peter rushes to your side, kneeling down as you shake your head, tears falling down your face.

“Don’t make me go outside, don’t make me go.” You sob quietly.

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” He quickly moves to shut the door, returning to your side after. He scoops you up, carrying your trembling form to the bedroom. You hold onto him for dear life.

Curling up on the bed, he rocks you, kissing your forehead as he whispers soft reassurances. As you calm down, he leans close, whispering in your ear.

“Don’t worry darling, you never have to leave again.”

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hazelira · 11 days ago

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only for you

Jay had always been the type to go with the flow—calm, collected, and never one to make a fuss. He cracked dry jokes with his friends, shrugged off chaos with a smirk, and seemed unaffected by the world around him. Nothing ever rattled him. Nothing ever seemed to make him waver.

Except for you.

He knew something was wrong when he saw you curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, your hands trembling against the fabric of your hoodie. The room was warm, but you were shivering like you’d been caught in a snowstorm.

Jay didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over, sat down beside you, and gently pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. Warm. Too warm.

You flinched, barely processing his touch, lost in a haze of thoughts that refused to quit. Everything felt distant like you were watching the world through a foggy window. Your own body felt foreign—too hot, then too cold. Your limbs were stiff, your headlight, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop replaying everything that had gone wrong this week.

It felt endless. Overwhelming.

And then Jay spoke, low and steady. “Hey, baby. Talk to me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clenching into fists to stop the shaking. “I… I don’t feel real.”

His brows furrowed, concern flickering in his dark eyes. He reached for your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours firmly—solid, grounding. “You’re here. With me.”

“I know, but it doesn’t feel like it.” Your voice wavered, and frustration pooled in your chest. “I can’t stop thinking. My head won’t shut up. I feel sick.”

Jay exhaled slowly, never once letting go of your hand. His usual lazy demeanour was replaced by something softer, something rare—undivided attention.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, shifting closer until his warmth pressed against your side. “I’m right here.”

You hated feeling like this. I hated the way your body betrayed you—how your legs wouldn’t stop bouncing, how your breaths came in shallow bursts, how exhaustion clung to you but refused to let you sleep. It wasn’t fair.

Jay didn’t rush you. He didn’t tell you to calm down or try to fix you. He just stayed. He ran a hand through your hair, his fingers massaging slow circles against your scalp. “Breathe with me?”

It took effort, but you tried. His voice was an anchor, something steady in the whirlwind of your mind. He inhaled deeply, exaggerated so that you’d follow. You mirrored him, your chest rising and falling with his.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your head. “You’re doing good, baby.”

You swallowed, blinking through the haze. The shaking hadn’t stopped completely, but the suffocating weight in your chest eased—just a little.

Jay shifted, standing up only to return with a hoodie in his hands. The one that always smelled like him, like fresh laundry and something inherently Jay. He draped it over your shoulders, rubbing your arms through the thick fabric. “Wear this. You’re burning up.”

You slipped your arms into the sleeves, drowning in the warmth.

He crouched in front of you, eyes never leaving yours. “You still with me?”

You nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He reached for your legs, pulling them into his lap and running his hands up and down your calves, soothing the restless shaking. “You don’t have to go through this alone?”

A lump formed in your throat. “I know.”

“I mean it.” His voice was softer than usual, stripped of his usual teasing. “You don’t have to say anything if you can’t. Just let me be here, yeah?”

You bit your lip, emotion swelling in your chest. “Yeah.”

Jay leaned in, pressing a kiss against your temple. “That’s my girl.”

And the world didn’t feel quite so far away for the first time that night.

The hoodie smelled like Jay—faint traces of his cologne, warm fabric softened from wear. It settled around your shoulders like a shield; holding it tight enough could ground you completely.

Jay stayed close, his hands never leaving you for too long, as if afraid you’d drift away if he let go. His thumbs traced soothing circles over your calves, his warmth chasing away the icy cold that refused to leave your skin.

Your fingers twitched, still trembling, and you curled them into your sleeves, trying to steady yourself. Jay noticed. Of course, he did.

Without a word, he took your hands in his. His palms were rougher than yours, warm and firm, a stark contrast to the unsteady tremor in your fingers. He brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Still feel like you’re floating?”

You swallowed, nodding. “A little.”

Jay hummed. “Alright. We’re gonna fix that.”

He shifted, adjusting you so that you were practically in his lap now, your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear—strong, honest. You focused on it, on the rise and fall of his breaths, on the way his arms tightened around you as if he could physically hold you together.

“You’re here,” he murmured against your hair. “With me. Safe.”

The words wrapped around you like a lullaby, settling into the cracks of your fraying thoughts. You wanted to believe them. You tried.

The room felt unreal, but Jay didn’t. The warmth of his hands, the press of his lips against your temple, the steady weight of his arms—he was real. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

“I hate this,” you admitted, voice small. “I hate how my body doesn’t listen to me. I want to sleep, but I can’t.”

Jay exhaled a long, measured breath. “I know, baby. It’s not fair.”

You clutched onto his hoodie, blinking against the burning in your eyes. “It’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said firmly. “You’re overwhelmed. You’re exhausted. Your body’s trying to keep up. That’s not stupid—that’s human.”

His words hit somewhere deep, somewhere raw, and you let out a shaky exhale.

Jay pressed his chin atop your head, rocking you gently, like the motion alone could soothe you. “D’you want to sleep on me?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. “We’ll just stay like this. No pressure.”

His hand found yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You squeezed back to feel something, to remind yourself you were here.

The buzzing in your head hadn’t disappeared completely, but it wasn’t so loud anymore. Your body still felt tense and ached from holding onto stress for too long, but Jay was here. Solid. Unwavering.

For once, you let yourself lean into him wholly, closing your eyes as his voice hummed something soft against your hair—a melody, maybe, or words meant to lull you into something gentler.

And for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.

Because Jay would hold you through this, he always would.

Because when it came to you, he was never just nonchalant.

He was everything.

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