Sarah Paulson's Characters - Oneshots

⚠️ A Familiar History

Ship: Diane Sherman x Reader

WARNING: Self harm, history of abuse, breaking and entering

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Running through the woods, the hail was pelting against your skin, melting and soaking your clothes. The only thing to be found was a house entrenched in trees. You ran up to the basement window, opening it and sneaking in. The warm air licked at your cold skin, running goosebumps up your arms as you hid.

You looked at the bruises your father had given you, shaking from the adrenaline running through your body. You escaped through the window in your room after hearing his drunken insults down the hallway.

The rain still hadn't let up, the moon hanging high in the sky. It was possible he sent his girlfriend to look for you, if he wasn't too drunk to forget. Your head started to feel fuzzy, falling asleep hidden in a strange room.

Your eyes opened when you heard people moving around, eyes tracking the paths. The sound of a door being knocked on made your blood run cold. Someone opened the door. "Hello, I'm looking for this person, have you seen them?" You held your breath, praying internally. "I haven't, hopefully you find them soon." Then, the door closed.

You slowly crawled from your hiding spot, looking around the room. It looked ominous, like it was some kind of secret operation. The sound of someone coming down the stairs made you run back to your hiding spot, shaking. A woman had come down, looking over the room. Staying still, your hiding spot was working, until a sneeze forced itself out. "Who's there?" The woman questioned, visibly scared. "Promise that you won't hurt me." You squeaked out, fists clenched around your shirt. "I promise..?" You crawled out, staying on the floor to prove you are not a threat.

"What are you doing here? People are looking for you." The woman stared at you in shock, confused. "I know, I know. But..." You lifted your sleeve, showing an array of bruises and cuts. Her eyes glanced to your arm, the confusion dropping from her face. A pain remained in her eyes, too hard to read. "Who did that to you?" She got to your level, checking bruises on the outer surface of your arm, her fingers just barely grazing your wrists. "My dad, after mom passed he started drinking alcohol and his girlfriend magically showed up." Your words brought a look of reassurance from the woman. "I won't let him get to you. How old are you?" "18, turning 19 soon."

The woman helped lift you up, taking you upstairs. "You can sleep in my daughter's room, I'm sure some of her clothes will fit you." She showed the room, pointing to the bathroom across the hallway. "Towels are in the closet, take as long as you need." She smiled softly, leaving to another room.

You grabbed pajamas and went into the bathroom, stripping down and going into the shower. The feeling of the forest being washed away felt good, though the soap stung your wrists. Looking at your inner arm, cuts laid horizontally on your skin, but what was on your back stung more. You got out of the shower, looking in the mirror. Small cuts tallied out how long since your mother's passing. 1,825 days. Getting the clothes on, you came out and looked around.

The woman was getting started to plate food, more importantly, the food being played: baked Mac and Cheese. You came up beside her, taking the plate she handed you. Taking a fork and sitting at the table, you thanked her and started to eat. She was heading out of the room with her plate, sitting in the living room. It was lonely in the dining room, but you didn't want to be stepping on her toes. "Why don't you come out here?" She offered, you quickly coming in. Sitting beside her, you ate without hesitation. Hunger was a terrible feeling.

"My name is Diane, by the way. Diane Sherman." She spoke softly, smiling as she watched you eat. "(Y/N)."

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the inside of your wrist. The urge was there, thoughts clouding your mind as you stared blankly. Diane stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. "What are you looking at?" She questioned, gently grabbing your hand and looking at your wrist. Her curiosity dropped, eyes wide. "I know what you're going to say. You shouldn't do that, it's bad for you, blah blah blah. I know, I know, I know. I've heard it all. Just don't pay attention to them."

Diane sat beside you, rolling up her sleeve. Your gaze wandered over, getting a glance. Faded cuts lined her skin, some so faded you could barely make them out. "It gets better, kid. It takes a while, but it gets better." Diane explained, hugging you. "The hard part is you have to do it every day, but it gets easier. Recovery is possible, you just gotta want it." Diane planted a kiss on your forehead, hearing you release a sob. She laid your head on her chest, letting you cry. "Thank you." You whispered between sobs, hugging her. Diane caught a glimpse of your back, hugging you closely.

"I won't let another person hurt you again, (Y/N). Never again."