Imagines || shows and movies characters x reader

Addictions || Riley [Inside out 2]

In the dimly lit basement of an old church, folding chairs were arranged in a circle. The room smelled of stale coffee and desperation. Riley sat in the corner, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched a Styrofoam cup. She hadn't spoken much since the meeting started, her eyes distant and hollow, haunted by the shadows of her past. A young woman who had once been full of life and promise now found herself lost in the throes of addiction, battling a pain she could barely understand.

Y/n entered quietly, her face carrying the weight of her own demons. She scanned the room, her gaze locking briefly with Riley's. Something flickered between them—an unspoken recognition of shared struggles, though neither said a word. Y/n took a seat, keeping her distance but feeling the magnetic pull of someone who understood the same kind of brokenness.

As the meeting went on, members of the group shared their stories—tales of loss, relapses, and the arduous journey to recovery. When it was Y/n's turn to speak, she hesitated. The silence stretched uncomfortably before she finally cleared her throat.

"I... I guess I've always been good at running from things," Y/n began, her voice soft but steady. "Running from feelings, from people... from myself." She paused, looking down at her hands, unsure of how much to reveal. "But I guess you can only run for so long before it all catches up to you."

Riley watched her, feeling the weight of her own guilt, shame, and fear pressing down like a vice. She wanted to speak, to share her truth, but the words felt lodged in her throat, trapped by years of bottling up emotions she was too scared to confront. Her mind raced, the voices in her head—her emotions—battling for control. Fear, Sadness, Anger... they all had their say, but Joy had been quiet for far too long.

The meeting ended, but neither Riley nor Y/n left. They lingered, caught in a moment neither could quite define. Y/n stood near the doorway, lighting a cigarette, her hand shaking slightly. Riley approached her cautiously, feeling as though this could be either a step toward healing or another spiral into something darker.

"Hey," Riley said softly, her voice tentative. "I, uh... I liked what you said in there. About running. I've been doing that too... for a long time."

Y/n glanced at her, exhaling smoke as she nodded. "Yeah, it's easier than facing everything head-on, isn't it?"

Riley's lips twitched into a sad smile. "It used to be. But now... now it just feels like I'm getting nowhere. Like the more I run, the more lost I become."

Y/n studied her for a moment, recognizing the familiar pain etched into Riley's expression. She had seen it in herself countless times. "Maybe that's why we're both here. Trying to figure out how to stop running."

Riley shrugged, unsure. "Maybe. Or maybe we're just trading one problem for another. I don't know anymore."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Finally, Y/n broke it.

"Look, I don't know if this place is going to fix anything for either of us. But... if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who's been there..." She trailed off, not wanting to push too hard but feeling the need to reach out in some small way.

Riley hesitated, but something in Y/n's offer—something genuine, unguarded—made her nod. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will."

Over the next few weeks, their paths crossed more and more frequently at the meetings. They started to sit together, talk after the sessions, and slowly, a fragile bond formed. It wasn't exactly friendship, but it was something—an understanding, a lifeline in a world that often felt too dark to navigate alone.

But as they grew closer, so did the dangers of slipping back into old habits. The line between support and dependence blurred, and both Riley and Y/n found themselves grappling with their emotions in ways they hadn't anticipated. Late-night phone calls turned into shared cigarettes behind the meeting hall, and soon, secrets began to spill. 

Riley confessed to Y/n about the overwhelming pressure she had always felt—the weight of her emotions that she tried to drown with substances, the anger she harbored towards herself for never being enough. Y/n, in turn, shared her own battles with addiction and self-loathing, the pain of losing control over her own life.

As their connection deepened, it became clear that their bond could either be their salvation or their undoing. The temptation to lean on each other in unhealthy ways loomed large, and there were moments when both women teetered on the edge of relapse, pulled by the same forces that had brought them to Narcotics Anonymous in the first place.

Yet, within this fragile bond, there was also the possibility of redemption. Together, they began to face the very demons they had spent so long running from. It wasn't easy. There were nights when one of them would spiral, and the other would have to pull them back. There were arguments, tears, and the constant fear of failing.

But for the first time in a long while, both Riley and Y/n realized they weren't fighting alone. They weren't running anymore, at least not without each other. Whether their connection would save them or destroy them was still uncertain, but for now, they were willing to take the risk.

In the unpredictable labyrinth of addiction, healing, and personal demons, Riley and Y/n's journey was just beginning.