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archivequinn · 14 days ago

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MADNESS (Eddie Munson x American Horror Story: Asylum)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

Summary: Three years after his disappearance, Eddie Munson is arrested for the murders of Chrissy Cunningham, Fred Benson, Patrick McKinney and others, but the truth is very different. Unable to convince anyone that Vecna exists and that he is innocent, he is locked up in an asylum. But the only way out is to prove to his psychiatrist that he is not insane. If he fails to convince the psychiatrist, he will be executed as a murderer. He must hurry to do so, because Vecna has returned to finish the bloody unfinished business and take revenge.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Mentions of execution, Execution, Death, Mental Health Issues, Asylum, Mental Hospital, Horror, Psychological Horror, Survival Horror, Thriller, Claustrophobia, Prison, Doctor/Patient, Serial Killers, Hospitals, Pain, Depression, Violence, Blood and Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, death of a family member, Nudity, Smut, Sex, Slow Burn, Experiments, TraumaPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Disorders, Smoking.

Before you read:)

This fan fiction is inspired by American Horror Story: Asylum. It contains a lot of horror and thriller content. Since the story takes place in a mental hospital, there may be various triggers. Please check the tags first as there is a lot of violence, sexuality and depression contents. This story is for adults, so close the page if you are a minor.

Please let me know if there are any tags I forgot to add. ao3 link

Violet was waiting for Eddie in the common room. When the door opened, Brendon walked in first then Eddie came in. Eddie looked around with curious eyes and smiled when he saw Violet. She gave him an almost similarly warm smile as Eddie approached the table and sat down across from her. Violet looked around carefully to make sure no one was looking at them, then put her hands in her pockets and smiled. “I brought something for you.”

Eddie's eyes lit up. “Did you bring my walkman?” he asked, excitedly.

Violet gave him a slightly bitter smile. “No, but I think you'll like it anyway.”

She took a small chocolate bar out of her pocket, put it between her hands and handed it to Eddie. Eddie's eyes were brighter than ever. He looked around and surreptitiously took the chocolate from Violet's hand.

“Oh, my God! Violet... I don't know what to say. Thank you so much.”

He put it in his mouth and ate the whole chocolate bar in one bite. “It was the best thing I've eaten in days. In fact, it was the only thing I've eaten that looked like food for days. You'll go to heaven for this.”

It warmed Violet's heart to see Eddie happy. She wondered what it would be like if they had met in a world where he wasn't insane . Eddie liked the music Violet liked, he was always quoting Lord of the Rings . He even said that he played the guitar very well and claimed to have given the best concert in the world. A small note: This concert happened in an upside-down world.

She couldn't believe that Eddie had committed all these murders. Because Eddie seemed so smart and sane.

But there was a truth. Real psychopaths always know how to manipulate you. And most of them are very intelligent. When people think of a “psychopath”, they think of someone who walks around with an axe and terrorizes people, but this is only partly true. Most of the most famous serial killers are college graduates and well-placed.

But when Violet looked into Eddie's eyes, she saw nothing that made him dangerous. Eddie's gaze was different.

Violet looked at Eddie and thought, I promised him I would find out who reported him, and he would tell me what he had learned about this hospital. I was only coming here to talk to him, but he lives here. He had more information than me. And I need that information.

Some time ago, Robert the Prosecutor had moved into the guest house building where Violet was staying because he wanted to know as soon as possible what decision Violet would make. The guest building was very close to the main hospital building, three to five minutes on foot. That's why doctors and other hospital staff, who usually lived far away, sometimes used the rooms there.

As much as Robert staying there had annoyed Violet at first, now it was up to her to turn it into an opportunity. Robert had a business briefcase that he always carried with him, in which he kept all the files on this case. The first day Violet had come to the hospital, when he had bribed her to give him Eddie's verdict right away, Violet had realized that everything was in that briefcase. If she could get to that bag and the files, she could find out who had reported Eddie, the name was there somewhere. The only problem was how to get to the briefcase.

Violet turned to Eddie and asked gently, “What day is it?”

She asked this question every time they met, because she wanted to make sure Eddie hadn't lost his sense of time and space. Eddie leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. He licked his lips and smiled.

“It's Wednesday.”

A smile appeared on his face, but it was quickly wiped away. “Violet, can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” Violet said, nodding her head.

Eddie took a deep breath and said, “What's your favorite music? I mean, something that when you listen to it, you say, 'This song was written for me.' ”

Such a question was unexpected for Violet. She thought for a while. “I think it's Dream On, ” she said. “Why do you ask?”

Eddie smiled. “Uh, well. I’m just curious.”

There was silence for a while. Then Eddie whispered, “I hope I never have to use it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Violet decided to go back to her routine questions. Time passed so fast when she was talking to him that sometimes she lost track of time. When their therapy session was over, Violet stood up and held out her hand.

Eddie shook it and gave her a wicked smile. “I think that's as close as I'm going to get to a woman during my stay here,” he said, unable to contain his laughter.

Violet could imagine that her face was as red as a tomato from blushing. She turned away, holding herself back from laughing.

When she walked out the hospital door and breathed in the gloomy air, she thought, “Jesus, Eddie, I hope you're crazy. Please be crazy. Because if you're not, you're going to die.”

As she entered the building she was staying in and started to go up the stairs, she stopped in front of Robert's room. Suddenly she had an idea and she rang the doorbell.

Robert opened the door without making any sense. It wasn't hard to guess that he wasn't expecting to see Violet.

“Violet... What are you doing here?” he said, with surprise in his eyes.

“I came to talk to you about what position I want to rise to,” Violet replied, placing a smile on her face that she thought was impressive.

Robert leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms skeptically. He was so tall that Violet had to look up when he spoke to her.

“The last time this came up, you said I was garbage and that you felt sorry for people like me. What changed your mind?”

Violet smiled, raising her hand in the air as if chasing imaginary dust. “I think after my conversations with Eddie Munson, I'm more and more convinced that he's not crazy. He could really be a brutal killer and he could be pretending to be crazy. So in that case I want to know what I stand to gain if I write a report saying that he is not crazy. If I hear what I want, maybe the paper you want will be on your desk tomorrow.”

The satisfied smile spread across Robert's face in a way he couldn't hide, maybe he didn't want to hide it. He stepped aside and motioned for Violet to come in.

When Violet came in, all she had to do was find that file. She was sure she could do it. She had to . Because she was risking her career and even her own life for Eddie. She didn't know why she was doing it. But she felt like she must.

In the evening, Eddie was laying in his cell, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the time had passed. He had no choice anyway, there were so limited things to do here.

Suddenly there was the sound of the door creaking. He looked up to see John standing in the doorway and gesturing with his head for him to come in with him.

They walked together to the main hallway. He grabbed John's arm, pulled him a little and leaned into his ear. “How are we going to get upstairs with all these guards here?”

John put a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet. Thank God, this man always had a plan. He walked over to a huge patient standing in front of him. He went over and whispered something in the patient’s ear and patted him on the shoulder. Then he came back to Eddie, leaned against the stair railing and smiled. “Now watch,” he said.

The effect of what John whispered in his ear was immediate: The patient became enraged and suddenly attacked the nurse. Other nurses and guards rushed to the area, trying to pull the patient back. Other patients were screaming and running away, trying to find shelter in panic. Some acted as if nothing had happened and walked away, or continued to live in their own imaginary world.

John nudged Eddie with a tap on the shoulder. “Come on, hurry up, let's go now.”

As they hurried up the stairs, Eddie asked curiously, “What did you say to him?”

John chuckled and said laughing, “I just told him that nurse called him a chicken, he hates that word.”

Eddie and John hurried into the manager's office and closed the door. While John was checking the door, Eddie rushed to the phone on the desk. He started dialing the number and held the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

When he heard Steve's voice, Eddie felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: safety . Without wasting any more time, he quickly got to the point. “Steve, I don't have much time. I need you to come and pick me up tomorrow night. Meet me a few kilometers from the back door of the hospital around eight or nine o'clock at night. Okay? It's very important.”

Steve's voice was full of both surprise and concern, “Eddie? What are you talking about? How and where are you calling me? Listen, I need to tell you something very important.”

Eddie, keeping the conversation short, said, “I'll tell you everything, but I have to get out of here now. Will you come? Please tell me you're coming. My life is on the line.”

Steve took a deep breath on the phone. “Okay, I'll come, but listen to me - there's something you need to know -”

John suddenly gestured for Eddie to stop talking. Eddie hung up the phone without letting Steve finish his sentence.

They heard someone's footsteps approaching, John rushed over and they ducked under the table and hid. There was the sound of the door opening and Eddie gasped and used his hand to cover his mouth. The person who had entered the room took a few steps and then stopped. A few seconds later there were more footsteps and the door closed again.

Eddie finally let go of the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding for how many minutes. He took a deep breath and stood up, but his head was spinning and he grabbed one of the shelves on the side for balance. A few files fell to the floor with the impact of his hand.

John quickly bent down to pick them up. “Wait a minute...” he said. He waved the file in his hand and showed it to Eddie. “Do you know what this is, Eddie?”

Eddie shook his head negatively.

“This is our ticket out of here,” John continued. “When they arrested me, all the evidence I found was left in my car. I was hoping maybe they'd find it and come and get me out of here. I've been waiting all this time for them to come and save me. But these files have been here all along, the bastards have been holding on to them all this time. Of course they did... what was I thinking?”

“But isn't this Manager Wilson's office?” Eddie asked in surprise.

John nodded his head in agreement and replied, “He's in on it. What do you think, Eddie? A doctor in his hospital is going to riddle his patients full of holes and inject who knows what into their bodies and the manager doesn't know about it? You're so clueless.”

What John said was true. Eddie scratched his head in thought and whispered, “You're right,” as he looked at the file in John's hand.

John continued to shake the file. “We need to keep this until tomorrow. After we escape from here tomorrow night, we can use it to shut this place down for good. Arthur will get the death row he deserves. And you and me, man - we'll be found innocent.’’

Eddie was silent for a moment, then looked at John and spoke. “John... Maybe I shouldn't come. No one would notice if you ran away, but the whole world knows me. They'll come after us. You can clear yourself, but when they catch me, they'll either bring me back here or buy me a one-way ticket to the death chair.”

John put a hand on Eddie's shoulder and said, “Let's get out of here first. We'll prove you're innocent too. I know that, Eddie.”

Eddie frowned and said, “You may know that. I know that too. But there's only one person who can prove my innocence, and she's been in a coma for three years. Even if she wakes up, it's impossible for her to remember what happened. Every day she doesn't wake up, she loses brain functions. The doctors say it will be a miracle if she can even remember her own name.”

John looked at Eddie with determination on his face and said, “I'll never let them kill you, Eddie. You're my only friend.''

For a moment Eddie did nothing but nod his head and smile.

They hurried back to their cell, without being seen by anyone, Eddie hiding the file in the cover of his pillow. But it wasn't long before a siren sounded. It was so loud that Eddie had to cover his ears with his hands. When the electric doors all opened automatically, the whole corridor was flooded with lights, the sounds from the patients' cells mingling together. Eddie nervously stepped out into the corridor. All the other patients were doing the same. When John, who was in the cell two doors down from Eddie, came out, he looked at him from where he was. Something was clearly wrong.

Manager Wilson and the guards behind him were walking briskly. One by one, the guards were going into the rooms, forcing out the patients who wouldn't come out of their rooms and putting them in line down the corridor. Each one was looking for something inside the cells.

Manager Wilson shouted, “There have been little thieves in my room. Pray that what they stole doesn't come out of one of your rooms.''

Dr. Arthur was there too. He pointed to Eddie and said, “Look in his cell.''

Two guards ran into Eddie's room. Eddie was shaking but he was trying to stay calm, he kept making eye contact with John - John was no different. He was scared too.

When the guard came out with the file, he said, “I think we found the thief,” and smiled slyly.

“Get him,” Manager Wilson ordered, breathing angrily.

The guards grabbed Eddie's hands roughly, clasped them behind his back and began handcuffing him. When Eddie tried to break free, he was kicked in the stomach.

As the guards started dragging him down the corridor, he barely looked up and looked at John, who was trying to get past the guards to get to Eddie, shouting, “Stop! He didn't do it! It was me! I stole them and I put them in Eddie's room so it wouldn't be found on me.''

Dr. Arthur nodded his head in satisfaction, as if he had expected this, and gestured to John, “Take this partner in crime to my operating room.’’ Then he turned to Eddie and said, “And this one, take him to the electroshock room.’’

Eddie's eyes widened in horror. 'Me?' he thought, 'God, help me,' he pleaded inwardly. But the God who could help him had long since left this hospital.

Eddie was struggling, four people were trying to hold him still on the bed and they could hardly contain him. “Let me go! You won't get away with this!” but no one paid any attention to him.

On the bed were leather handcuffs used to bind his hands and feet. The nurses tied Eddie's hands and feet and squeezed them tight. He struggled, but he couldn't move. He began to watch the ceiling. The light from the fluorescent lamps blinded him. Dr. Arthur walked slowly to the head of the bed and looked at Eddie. Eddie could see him backwards, he couldn't hold back his tears.

Eddie said desperately, “Please let me go. I won't tell anyone what I saw. I swear I won't tell anyone,” he begged. Dr. Arthur put something gel-like on a wooden stick and began to rub it on Eddie's temples.

“We need to make sure you don't tell anyone, son,” he said, bringing his face closer to Eddie's. Then he gestured to the nurse and told them to hook up what looked like headphones to the machine next to him. But the machine had two iron balls the size of tennis balls where they were supposed to go in the ears. They placed them on Eddie's temples.

“I beg you,” Eddie moaned, ”please don't do this.''

But Dr. Arthur didn't seem to care, he shoved a cloth like a piece of tissue into Eddie's mouth and said, “You'd better bite down on this, Munson.''

Eddie's tears flowed and mingled with his hair. He closed his eyes tightly one last time, the last thing he saw before he closed them was the light from the fluorescent lamp on the ceiling.

“Let's start with 30 volts,” Arthur said, taking a deep breath.

Violet put her coffee mug under the sink and turned on the water, she had a rough night.

Prosecutor Robert Hills was a smarter man than she thought. But he had his weaknesses. He loved winning and couldn't stand losing. He would do anything, even sell his soul, to get the “Eddie is not crazy report” he wanted from Violet. Violet had to have a long talk with him during the night.

Robert Hills didn't trust her at all, just as Violet didn't trust him.

Violet had asked him to show her the photos of the victims again. He had laid everything in his big brown bag on the coffee table in the center. All the files from the case were on the coffee table at that moment. Robert had even told her a few statements and details that had not been released to the public. This man really believed that Eddie wasn't crazy and that he was a murderer.

''First it starts with nightmares. He shows you your greatest fear. You think it's a simple nightmare, so you don't dwell on it. Then you start to see it when you're awake. As your death approaches, Vecna starts to show himself. He wants you to join him. Your soul will give him strength. That's why your greatest traumas feed him.''

That's what Eddie said in his statement. As she read the file in her hand, she couldn't understand how Robert could know all this crap and still insist that Eddie wasn't crazy. According to him, Eddie was a fraud and he was making it all up to avoid the execution. Later that long night she asked him to make her some coffee.

And while he was doing that, she found out what Eddie had asked her to do. She found out who had reported him . She was so excited she didn't even sleep until the morning.

As soon as she woke up in the morning, she came to the hospital with great excitement. She wanted to talk to Eddie as soon as possible.

She walked down the grand hallway to the common room, she smiled at Brendon who was coming across. He noticed Brendon's agitated state. He came over and leaned into her ear “Something terrible happened last night, Violet. You must see Eddie.”

Violet looked fearfully into his eyes. Brendon nodded for her to follow him. They entered a long corridor lined with rows of rooms and came to a room labeled “1208”. Eddie was sitting on his bed. He was staring expressionlessly at the wall in front of him, mumbling something.

She took an uneasy step into the room and looked at Brendon. Brendon nodded, confirming Eddie's state. Violet called out, hiding her fear, “Eddie?’’ She took another step closer to him. Eddie wasn't looking at her, just staring at the blank wall in front of him, mumbling, “Ed?” she called again. She was in front of him now, but Eddie's eyes still hadn't turned to her. She leaned down, put her hands on his cheeks and said, “Can you hear me?’’

Eddie's eyes were still focused on the wall, but when Violet pushed his hair back, she realized that he had red bruises on both sides of his forehead, on his temples. She recoiled in horror, but grabbed his face in her hands again and said quickly, “Eddie, look at me. Look at me.'' This time Eddie's eyes were focused on her, but his gaze was meaningless. “Eddie, do you know who I am? Do you remember me?�� Violet said, her voice shaking.

Eddie closed his eyes tightly and swallowed, then paused, “You…’’ There was silence for a moment, then he continued slowly, “You're Violet.’’

She sniffled her runny nose. Her throat was knotted with pain. “Come on, let's get you to bed, sweetheart, come on.’’ She held his head and rested it against the pillow, then she covered him with a blanket.

Eddie started watching the ceiling. When she turned her back and was about to leave, Eddie took her hand. He was whispering something. She bent her head and brought her ear close to his lips.

He whispered, “I gotta get out of here.''

The heart didn't need to be stabbed to shatter, because those words were enough to tear Violet's heart in two. She walked out the door and saw Brendon leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting for her. She was panting. She spoke through clenched teeth. Because she knew that if she let it go, she would start crying.

“Who did this?” she asked angrily.

Brendon was as angry as Violet. “Manager Wilson and Dr Arthur,’’ he said.

Violet asked, confused, “Why?’’

Brendon took a deep breath and said, “Eddie and John took something from his room. I don't know what it was, they found it when they were searching the rooms.''

Violet had terror in her eyes. “John? Where is he? Did they do this barbaric thing to him too? My God!” she said, fear in her voice.

Brendon shook his head in the negative and said, “They have him in a cell. It's in the basement of the hospital, no light, no windows, a disgusting place used for punishment.’’

Violet took a pen and paper out of her purse and wrote the names of some medicines on them, “Take these and give them to Eddie. I have a little business.’’

Her eyes were burning with anger and she couldn't see anything else. The way Eddie looked at her shattered her heart. He didn't deserve this. No one deserved this. All along she had believed Eddie was innocent, that maybe the people who had committed the murders had framed him because Eddie was mentally unstable. Maybe Eddie was a scapegoat. But Eddie was innocent.

She came to Manager Wilson's office, opened the door hard and walked in. Wilson lowered his glasses in surprise as she slammed the door wide open.

Wilson said, “Mrs. George, you may not know the ethics of where you come from, but here you have to knock before you enter the room.’’

She slammed the bag in her hand hard on the table. “What is electroshock? What century are you living in? Do you realize that what you are doing is against the human rights of the world? I will report you. You are done, Mr. Wilson. You’re so done. Enjoy your last days here,” she roared.

“Watch your tone, little lady,” Wilson said, pointing a finger menacingly.

Just then the door opened and several guards came in, ready to take her out of the room. Violet was sure her voice could be heard throughout the hospital.

Wilson said, “I told you the day you came here that my hospital and my rules apply, and in some states electroshocking up to a certain volt is still allowed, and it's not against the law. Those little thieves should have paid for what they did. You are in no position to question my techniques.''

Violet was at the point of losing her profession. “If your fucking techniques cause someone to die, are you going to take responsibility because ��my hospital, my rules’? He could have died! You turned an innocent man’s brain into mashed potatoes, you bastard!” she shouted.

Wilson stood up angrily and slammed his hands on the table. “The man you call innocent is 23 years old and the murderer of four people. His most recent victim was a 15-year-old little girl. He put her in a coma. If by some miracle she wakes up, she will never see again. She'll be blind for the rest of her life! It'll be a miracle if she even wakes up! When they told me they were sending you here, I was happy that a professional doctor was coming. But I see that your interest in your patient has taken precedence over a doctor-patient relationship . Since you're so defensive of a murderer!’’

Violet answered him with a sharp look. “This is not something I'm saying just for Eddie, Wilson. Listen to me carefully. When Eddie recovers, I'm going to take it to court that he's in danger here, that his life is at risk. I'm going to have him transferred to another hospital. And you won't be able to keep torturing any patient the way you tortured Eddie and John.''

Wilson scratched his head with a laugh. “As I remember, John Forest was not your patient. Did you know that he burned down a nursing home and killed 15 people, including babies?”

He turned around and took out a file and threw it across the table in front of her. “John Forest” was written on it. Violet picked up the file and began to shuffle through it quickly.

Wilson took a deep breath and sighed, “John Forest is a severe manic depressive. He lives with bipolar at its most extreme. He lives with an identity he made up in his own head. He has schizophrenia. He thinks he's a police officer who's trapped here. And he lives in a world where he says we trapped him to keep him here. He was making progress with his treatment, but since Eddie got here, he's relapsed. We expected it to progress once he found someone who believed what he said. They stole this file last night.’’ He walked to the door. ‘’Come with me.’’

Violet grabbed her purse, which she had thrown on the table, started to go after Manager Wilson and followed him. They entered a room that was used as an infirmary. A few patients were lying on stretchers, moaning in pain, others were asleep. A few nurses were giving some of them soup.

As they walked quickly past the beds, Violet saw John. He had an IV in his arm and was asleep. She had never spoken to him before but she knew who he was, he and Eddie spent a lot of time together.

Wilson raised his hands in the air as if in surrender. “As you can see, Mrs. George, we are not monsters. We've sedated him and we've restarted his medication. I'm sorry about what happened to Mr. Munson, but it had to be done. It's the only way we could keep him from getting confused. He will be fine in a day or two. None of his vital functions have been damaged anyway. He can eat, talk and go to the toilet on his own. The memories that are gone will come back in time. He will just remember some things faintly, that's all.’’

And then he walked away. Stupid bastard. Just because John was mentally ill didn't justify all the things they had done to John and Eddie, she thought. She went and sat down next to John. His eyes were closed but obviously he wasn't asleep, he was just pretending to be asleep. He had heard everything.

“What have they done to Eddie?” he asked quietly.

Violet picked up the file on the bedside table next to John's gurney, checked John's medical tests and answered briefly “Electroshock.’’

He opened his eyes, “Assholes. I'll make them pay for all this. They set me up. It's all lies. I was a policeman, Violet, I was trying to save Eddie and myself. You have to believe me, they're holding me captive here.’’

Violet could only nod. “I believe you,” she said, but she wasn't. Everything was written in the file she was holding in her hand. John felt his eyes grow heavy, unable to bear the effects of the drugs any longer. Violet looked at him sadly, poor man, she thought to herself. She put the files back on the table and left.

She didn't have the strength to deal or talk to anyone any more today, and apparently Eddie wasn't in any condition to talk either. So she thought it best to go back to her room. She was trying to digest and understand everything that had happened. When she heard a voice, which disgusted her even to hear it, she reluctantly stopped and turned around.

Dr Arthur was smiling at her with a satisfied look on his face. “Where are you going, Mrs. George? I thought you'd be attending our choir show tonight.’’

Violet looked him up and down with a look of contempt. “I'm not in the mood to listen to children dressed as angels babbling about how everything will be fine, doctor. But you should definitely go. You obviously need it. Maybe your conscience, which has been lost inside of you, will tingle a little and you will remember where your heart is.’’

She left him there and didn't even look back. Something made Violet feel uncomfortable, something about what the manager and John had said didn't make any sense. Separately it made sense, but put together it was a complicated maze. If John was an arsonist who thought he was a policeman and almost got treatment, and if the file he stole was his own patient file, then why did they electroshock Eddie ?

What were they afraid that Eddie would find out?

Violet had spent the day in her room at the guesthouse, going through the files she had received from Robert. It was almost four in the evening. After taking the last sip of her coffee, she got up and looked out the window at Chassell Hospital. Eddie was probably asleep now, probably from the drugs he was taking. She had prescribed him something to help him recover more quickly and take the pain away. Then she went into the room and threw herself on the bed.

She was dreaming. She knew it was a dream. She was in a beautiful house with a garden. She looked out of the kitchen window into the backyard. Two little children were running around in the grass, laughing. The joy between them was like pure joy piercing the sky. She called out to them as she continued to chop the vegetables in front of her: “Be careful!”

The older one turned to her and smiled. How much he looked like her. She felt a breath behind her. Then arms wrapped around her stomach from behind. She felt a small kiss on the back of her neck. His warm breath tickled her neck. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “What's my darling wife cooking today?'' That was Eddie's voice.

He hugged her tighter as he smiled, he started kissing her neck. “Eddie, stop. The kids are outside. They'll see.” she said, giggling.

He laughed out loud. Eddie's laughter was full and deep, like a depth that made Violet's insides tremble for a moment. She put down the knife and put it on his hands that were holding her stomach.

She backed away quickly as she felt the wetness on her hand, blood on her hands.

She turned around in horror.

Eddie was gone.

She looked out the window. The children were gone.

She ran out into the yard. “Eddie! Where are you? Eddie!’’ The peaceful moment was suddenly swallowed by a deadly silence.

She was scared. Had she hurt them? She would never do that. She entered the house and ran through the rooms one by one. When she got to the basement, she came out into a hospital corridor.

She followed the blood stains on the walls. Someone who had been injured had left and grabbed onto the walls on the way out. It could be Eddie, she thought. Finally she found a room with a red door when all the other doors were white.

As Violet stepped through the doorway, the air seemed to shift, thickening around her like an invisible fog. It wasn’t just an ordinary room—it was something alive, something breathing.

The walls were drenched in crimson. Not the dull red of paint, but the slick, glistening red of fresh blood. Thick rivulets oozed down the surfaces, some congealing into dark clots, while others left sticky trails that glistened in the dim light. The metallic tang of iron hung heavy in the air, invading her nostrils, making her stomach turn.

The floor was tacky beneath her feet. Each step produced a faint, sickening squelch as her shoes clung to the viscous surface. It was as if the room itself sought to hold her in place, pulling her deeper into its trap.

The walls seemed to move. Violet blinked, uncertain if her eyes were betraying her. No, she was sure now— they were pulsing. Slow, rhythmic, like the steady breath of some unseen, grotesque creature. The walls expanded and contracted in a hypnotic cadence, as if the room itself were alive, feeding on her presence.

Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, where ancient, unreadable symbols had been etched in dark, drying blood. They formed a language that defied comprehension, twisting her thoughts into knots with every glance. The symbols seemed to shift when she tried to focus on them, as though they were aware of her gaze. The more she stared, the more they burned into her mind like searing hot knives.

A low hum vibrated in the air—a whisper just below the threshold of hearing. Voices, layered and interwoven: men, women, children—all speaking in a language that gnawed at her sanity. She couldn’t understand the words, but she felt them. They crawled inside her head, coiling around her thoughts like serpents.

She turned toward the door, her heart pounding. But the door… was gone. Where it had once stood, there was now only more of that blood-soaked wall. There was no way out.

It was as if someone was talking to her. She couldn't understand where the voice was coming from, but it seemed to be coming from inside her head. “Violet,” said a deep, stern voice.

“You have suffered so much. But it is over now. I'm here to give you the freedom you deserve.’’

She closed her eyes tightly. She thought of Eddie's face. His angelic face.

When she opened her eyes again, she was between the police cars. And her sister was crying and hugging her, saying, “I can't believe that bastard did this to you. It's over. It's over now.'' For a moment she looked away in surprise, she was remembering this day.

This was the day she feared the most and swore she would always forget. One of her patients had attacked her. He had grabbed her by the throat and choked her until her eyes went dark. She was the one who had gotten him out of the hospital and she was paying for the wrongest decision she had ever made. At the last moment, in a last ditch effort, she hit him on the head with the frame she was holding out her hand and the frame shattered, broke. She had hit him so hard that one of the shards of glass had cut a vein in his forehead. She looked as if she had taken a blood bath from the blood that poured on her. When she came out, the help she had already called for had just arrived. Her sister was getting out of one of the police cars, crying. “I can't believe that jerk did this to you. It's over. It's over now.''

She was reliving that damn day in her dream. She was reliving it over and over again. She was forcing herself to wake up, but it was no use. Eventually she was sitting in the back of the ambulance again, she had forgotten how many times this endless cycle had happened.

Suddenly she felt the crowd slow down. Someone came out of the building where she was staying, it wasn't a person. It was some kind of, something, a thing. His whole body seemed to be on fire, maybe wrapped in ivy. She couldn't understand what it was. It came towards her, slowly but surely. When he looked into her eyes, she felt her soul being pulled.

“Your time is coming, Violet,” the creature said. It was the same voice she heard in her head, “You will join me.''

The moment she opened her eyes, she jumped out of bed in fear. Someone was banging insistently on the door. She poured water from the pitcher on the nightstand into a glass. It could have been the worst and most realistic nightmare she had ever had. She was out of breath, her heart beating like it was going to pierce her chest. She was sweating like she had literally run hundreds of meters.

She took a deep breath, turned on the light and looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten o'clock at night. She wondered who had come at this hour. She slowly went and looked through the hole in the door. Someone with long brown hair was waiting in front of the door. It was not someone she recognized. She thought it was one of the nurses or security guards working at the hospital and opened the door.

’’How can I help you?’’

The man looked worried and said, “You are Violet George, aren't you?’’

She nodded her head. She looked at him with curious eyes, waiting for him to explain.

“Hi, I'm Steve Harrington.’’

Violet poured the coffee into the cup and handed it to Steve. Then she walked over to the window and looked outside. Only a few lights were on in the hospital. They would turn them all off soon. The church choir's performance should have been over by now, she thought. After sighing, she pulled the curtain closed and sat on the couch. ’’Did Eddie tell you what he was going to talk about? At least, did he mention what it was about?’’

Steve shook his head. ’’He just told me to come and pick him up from the back door of the hospital. He sounded really scared, like his life depended on it. He said he’d explain everything after I got him. I’ve been waiting for him for a few hours, but no one came. I thought he might be in trouble.’’

She rubbed her forehead with her hand. So Eddie somehow knew what was going to happen to him, and that’s why he wanted to escape , she thought. But now she was even more curious—what did he learn that made him want to run away so urgently?

She sighed, ’’Actually, Eddie got into a bit of trouble because he trusted a friend. One of the other patients, his name is John. He's been receiving treatment at this hospital for some time—I just found out today. He told Eddie that he was a police officer who was lured into a trap and brought here. But in reality, he's an arsonist, though he doesn’t realize it. He tricked Eddie into trying to escape with him.’’

Steve gave a bitter smile. ’’Don't take this the wrong way, Doctor, but from your tone, it doesn't sound like you really believe that.’’

Violet nodded. ’’There's something that’s been bothering me. On my first day here, I met a patient at the door named Mitsy. It was obvious she had a mental illness, but physically, she looked healthy. Later that same day, I learned that another patient named Mitsy had died of severe pneumonia.’’

Steve was staring at her with curiosity.

Violet continued, ’’The patient who died had been bedridden for a long time, unable to walk. They told me it was just a coincidence of names.’’

’’But you didn’t believe them,’’ Steve said, narrowing his eyes as if waiting for her next sentence.

Violet nodded again. ’’I searched the records room where they keep files on all the patients, looking for someone named Mitsy. And what do you think I found? Nothing. There was no other patient named Mitsy. The woman I saw that day and the corpse were the same person. But that brings up another question. How did that woman end up in that condition within just a few hours?’’

Steve was nervously biting his lip. ’’Do you think Eddie wanted to escape because he figured out the reason behind all of this?’’

’’Most likely, yes. He was going to tell me everything anyway. He just made a deal with me—if I found out who reported him, he would explain everything. Now, I’m not even sure if he’ll remember everything clearly…’’ Violet sighed. ’’Right now, there's only one person who knows what really happened. And I’m not sure if I can trust him—John Forest.’’

Steve stared at her, his eyes wide with urgency. ’’Wait a minute. Did you find out? Did you tell Eddie?’’

She looked at him, confused. ’’Tell him what?’’

Steve leaned forward, his voice more intense now. ’’Who reported him to the police! Did you tell Eddie?’’

She shook her head. ’’No.’’ She didn’t understand why Steve was suddenly so nervous. Clearly, he knew the answer to that question too. But deep down, something told her that Steve didn’t want Eddie to find out.

Steve stood up anxiously and began pacing around the room. "Violet, listen to me… we need to get Eddie out of there. Because…" He trailed off, struggling to find the right words, running his fingers through his brown hair, scratching his head as if it would help.

"Steve, he's my responsibility. If you know something about him, you need to tell me. I wouldn’t do anything to put his life in danger." Violet’s voice was calm but firm, urging him to continue.

Steve took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "If I tell you… you won’t believe me." He hesitated for a moment, then a smile flickered across his face, as if an idea had just struck him.

"But I can show you."

They started walking deeper into the forest. About seven minutes had passed since Violet first thought this was a bad idea, but it was already too late to turn back. She had known Steve for less than an hour, and yet here she was, following a stranger into the woods.

"There it is!" Steve said, pointing ahead.

Violet squinted through the trees and saw a narrow path. At the end of it, a yellow car was parked. "I didn’t know there was a road here," she murmured.

Steve smiled and ran toward the car. He knocked on the back window, and after a moment, the door opened. A few young people climbed out, all looking around 18 or 19 years old.

Steve introduced them briefly. "These are Dustin, Will, and Jane."

Violet smiled and greeted them, and they nodded in return. Then they all got into the car. The drive was quiet for the most part. Violet only asked how they had found her, and unsurprisingly, the answer was the newspapers. Ever since Eddie Munson had been caught and sent to the hospital, it had been the only topic in every news outlet and newspaper.

As the minutes passed, Violet's curiosity grew.

They eventually pulled up in front of the city’s 24-hour library. It was past midnight, so the place looked deserted, except for a lone clerk dozing at the front desk.

They made their way to one of the computers. Steve showed her some old newspaper clippings. A series of strange events that had happened in Hawkins.

"So, Eddie Munson isn’t the strangest thing to happen in this town," Violet thought.

Experiments on children, a closed-down factory, townspeople claiming to have seen a creature resembling a dog, people disappearing without a trace… One article even mentioned a girl rumored to have extraordinary powers.

Violet’s questioning gaze locked onto Dustin and asked.

“Alright, I’ve read all this, but do you have any actual proof that any of it is real?”

Dustin, calm and confident, smiled again as he repeated his words.

“The proof is sitting right in front of you.”

As the sentence echoed in her mind, Violet looked at him with a puzzled expression. What did he mean by that? Her eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to piece it together.

And then it happened. The chair... it started to move.

At first, she felt a faint tremor, then slowly, it began to rise off the ground. Her hands instinctively gripped the sides of the chair, as if clinging to the last remnants of stability. Fear climbed up her spine like a cold wave. Her mind split into two conflicting thoughts: This can’t be real. You’re imagining things. Stay rational, Violet!

But another voice challenged her logic: Are you stupid? You’re flying!

Her eyes darted to Jane. The young girl had her hand raised, fingers extended as if she were pulling invisible strings. Wherever her hand moved, the chair followed. Jane’s face was calm, devoid of any hesitation. It was as if she did this every day, as casually as breathing.

Violet’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat reverberating through her ribcage. Her breaths quickened, short and shallow, barely filling her lungs before rushing back out. Breathing wasn’t enough. The world around her seemed to defy gravity, the laws of reality bending before her eyes.

When the chair finally descended and her feet touched solid ground again, the trembling in her body didn’t stop. Her hands shook uncontrollably, her fingers feeling like they no longer belonged to her. Her knees felt weak, as if they might give out at any moment.

Fear wrapped around her mind like a suffocating fog. This wasn’t a simple fear. This was the sensation of reality itself cracking. She was witnessing the unraveling of the universe’s rules.

Will, moved quickly. He rushed to her side and offered a glass of water. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Violet reached out to take the glass, but her fingers trembled so badly she feared she might drop it. She managed a small sip, the cold water sliding down her throat, but her breathing remained erratic.

As she tried to steady herself, Will’s file slipped from under his arm, scattering a few newspaper clippings and sheets of paper across the floor. But Violet’s eyes were still fixed on the empty space in front of her, on Jane, and on what had just happened.

Her mind raced toward an undeniable truth.

Eddie wasn’t crazy.

The stories he told, the ones everyone dismissed as paranoia, as nonsense… They were true. All of them were true .

The realization turned Violet’s thoughts upside down. A deep sense of helplessness echoed within her, like falling into a bottomless pit. Knowing that Eddie wasn’t insane was comforting in one sense, but that comfort was short-lived. Because it meant something far worse.

Eddie was trapped in a truth too big to explain.

And no one would believe him.

No one in court would listen to these stories. No one would believe in his innocence. The entire world would see him as guilty, and that would be Eddie’s death sentence.

Will and Dustin hurriedly gathered the scattered drawings and newspaper clippings from the floor.

"Stop!" Violet’s voice cracked, still trembling with fear. "Can you hand me that?"

Dustin grabbed the drawing she was pointing at and passed it to her. Steve was saying something about how Will had drawn all of them, but Violet's focus was locked on the creature staring back at her from the paper. The same creature that haunted her dreams.

When she had seen this monster in her nightmare, she had assumed it was just a figment of her imagination, influenced by the files she had read. Like how after watching a horror movie, you dream about being hunted by the killer. But she had never told anyone about that dream. And now, here it was—the creature, identical in every detail.

Jane noticed Violet studying the drawing intently. "Why are you looking at it like that? Did you see it?"

Violet nodded slowly. "Is this... Vecna?"

"Yes." Steve, leaning against one of the bookshelves, crossed his arms over his chest.

"But that's not even our biggest problem right now," Dustin added.

Violet’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? What could be worse than this ?"

Will, with that familiar expression of delivering bad news, spoke quietly. "Max woke up."

Violet looked at them, uncomprehending.

"Maxine Mayfield," Steve clarified.

Her blood ran cold. Was this some kind of contest to deliver the worst possible news one after the other?

"Max Mayfield?" Violet repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "But... she’s the one who reported Eddie."

Steve stepped closer, kneeling in front of her, and took her trembling hands on his own, as if trying to steady them.

"Yes," he said softly. "Because that’s not Max. Vecna is using her as a host. We don’t know if he knows that we’re aware of it. That’s why we have to be extremely careful. Max is still in there somewhere, just like Will was years ago. Vecna was controlling him like a puppet, using him as a spy. Vecna lived in the mind of someone connected to this world, gathering strength. It was his mother and brother who pulled him out of Will. And now, Vecna is doing the same to Max. We’re waiting for the moment when she’s at her weakest."

Violet sighed in disappointment. "If Vecna inside Max is Vecna, that means... Vecna who reported him is Vecna. And that means... when the court asks Max who did this to her, Max will say Eddie ."

Dustin shook his head. "They'll execute him. That's why you need to get Eddie out of there."

Violet pointed to herself, stunned. "Do I need to get him out of there?"

Steve said, "We need to go back. We have to protect the town. Listen to me, Violet. Vecna is already after you. He'll eliminate anyone protecting Eddie. Take a walkman with you and put your favorite music in it. Never let it out of your sight. No matter the cost."

Violet now understood why Eddie had asked her for her favorite music. She had to pull herself together and accept what was happening as quickly as possible. There wasn’t even time to sit down and cry. Her and Eddie's lives were in danger.

Just as she was about to stand up, she turned back and sat at the computer. Everyone in the room was watching her with curious eyes. "I need to learn one more thing," she said. She typed "Fire at Sidney Nursing Home" into the search bar.

News about the fire popped up in front of her. She saw a photo taken by a journalist. Firefighters were trying to extinguish the flames. Police had put up yellow tape all around the Nursing Home. The public, waiting in fear for the fire to be put out, were watching the firefighters. And there he was . He was in the back, but she knew it was him. John Forest. He was wearing a police uniform. He was talking to the man next to him. She knew it. John was telling the truth. John was not lying, he was indeed working as a police officer at the time of the fire at the nursing home. But wait... Violet recognized the person he was talking to as well. He was also wearing a police uniform. It was none other than Brendon , the nurse from the hospital.

She printed out the article and stood up. "We can go now."

Steve pulled the car into the entrance of the hospital. As Violet got out of the car with a heavy motion, Steve handed her the phone numbers, saying, “If anything goes wrong, you can reach these numbers.” Slowly, as he closed the car door, he looked at her one last time and continued, “Be careful.” For a few seconds, the sound of Steve’s car engine blended with the silence of the hospital, and then he quickly drove away.

Violet took a deep breath and entered the hospital. There was a faint chill in the air, as if the walls of this place always emitted a shiver. It was very quiet inside, as if everything had remained still on this night. She only occasionally heard the painful moans of patients coming from the corridors.

Every now and then, guards, nuns, and nurses appeared in the corridor, passing by quickly. But none of them seemed to notice Violet, or perhaps they preferred not to. After all, she was a doctor in this hospital.

As Violet walked toward Eddie's room, her heart beat a little faster with each step. At that moment, suddenly a hand grabbed her shoulder from behind, and the fingers swiftly and strongly covered her mouth. Violet was paralyzed with fear. She wanted to scream, but her voice only came out as a muffled gasp. Her hands were trembling as she tried to pull herself back, but the man's strength made every movement feel like a greater threat.

As he continued to pull her backward, Violet was being dragged quickly through a dark passage. The spaces between the rooms seemed to deepen her fear, as if each one was a hidden witness to her terror. At that moment, she felt the traces of the hospital’s cold, slick air on her hands, arms, and fingers.

As she was being dragged toward the janitor’s room, the person holding her turned her toward him. It was Brendon . He made a quiet "shh" gesture with his other hand. When she nodded in fear, he finally removed his hand from her mouth.

Violet yelled angrily, "What do you think you’re doing!?"

Brendon pulled a card from his pocket and then retrieved a file he had hidden on the side of his jacket and handed it to her.

He whispered, “This is my nurse card. It opens all the patient rooms except for the manager’s offices and the cells in the C block. With this, you can take Eddie out of his cell.’’ Then he handed her the file. ’’And you’ll protect this file like it’s everything. It contains all the filthy things Dr. Arthur has done. John and I were after this man. I was about to lose my job to get this file, so make sure it gets to its destination, Violet.”

Violet, filled with fear and adrenaline, listened intently to every word coming from his mouth, nodding her head to show she understood.

“How will I get Eddie out of here?” she asked.

Brendon gave her directions to a secret way leading from the C WARD . Violet didn’t want to go through the C WARD.

There were animal-like things there that had lost any trace of their humanity. She had been terrified the first time she saw it, and that was during the day. Now, it was well past midnight, and she was certain that Dr. Arthur kept his undead experiments locked up there. But there was no other way, she had to get Eddie out of here.

She ran to Eddie’s room. She showed Brendon’s card to the ID scanner next to the cell door and stormed inside. Eddie seemed surprised. He stood up. "Violet?" he murmured.

It was clear he couldn’t immediately tell who was coming through the darkness. His speech had improved, but his hands were still shaking from the effects of the electroshock. Violet ran to him and hugged him. She was there. In his arms.

Eddie stood still for a few seconds, still in shock. Then she felt Eddie’s arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her toward him. He smelled her hair. Then he pulled back and held her face in his hands.

Eddie whispered, “What are you doing here? Someone will see you.”

Violet whispered back, “I know you’re innocent, Eddie. I’m getting you out of this hell.”

Eddie smiled and tightly squeezed Violet’s hand. Before they left the cell, Violet checked around to make sure no one was around. Once she was certain, they left together. They weren’t running, but they were walking quickly. Eddie held her hand and pulled her. “Wait!”

Violet turned to him, as if asking what was going on.

“We need to take John too. We can’t leave without him,” he said.

For a moment, she hesitated, feeling uneasy. Violet was already getting herself into enough trouble; she couldn’t take any more risks. “I’ll come back for him later. I promise. We have to go right now, ” she said.

But Eddie shook his head in disapproval. “He got you into trouble for me. When the files came out of my room, he took the blame. He could have said nothing, but he protected me. I owe him this.”

Violet reluctantly accepted it. It seemed Eddie wasn’t going to leave without John. She gripped Eddie’s hand tightly again, and they started running. Fortunately, the infirmary was on the ground floor. When they rushed inside, several patients started screaming. She was relieved that this was a mental hospital, because patients always screamed here, but they were rarely taken seriously.

They headed for the bed where John was. He was awake, sitting up, seemingly lost in thought. He was surprised when he saw them. “What are you doing here?”

“There’s no time for questions. We need to leave. Now!” Violet yelled.

They ran together and finally entered the corridor where the C WARD was. It literally smelled of death. They were running for their lives.

Violet only turned around for a second. Eddie and John were no longer there. The corridor seemed longer than it actually was.

She saw the creature - Vecna - coming toward her slowly from a distance.

Vecna's presence was emerging from the darkness like a shadow, and it was appearing at the end of the corridor. The sound of its footsteps was turning into a metallic, echoing growl. "Eddie?" she murmured in fear, unsure if Eddie and John could see her or Vecna anymore.

They were so close to the exit door. Eddie’s heart was about to jump out of his mouth from fear and running; his eyes were going dark as he ran. Sometimes, flashbacks of memories came and went in front of his eyes; the electroshock felt like it had reset his entire body. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, and there was an incredible pain in his head.

But the nightmare was now over. The only thing they needed to do to get out of this cursed asylum was take a few more steps, then they would be free. Eddie noticed for a moment that Violet had stopped. He called out to John, who was running ahead. "Wait!"

Eddie hurried toward Violet."Violet, come on. Why did you stop? We need to go. What are you waiting for?!"

She didn’t respond. She just kept staring down the corridor. Eddie waved his hand in front of Violet’s eyes.

"Can you hear me?! Violet, can you hear me?! Shit.. shit, I don’t like this. "

John came to them in a panic. "What’s wrong with her like this?!" he was saying.

Eddie didn’t know. No , it couldn’t be. He knew. This was exactly the same as what happened to Chrissy. Was Vecna taking her?

God, no. No.

Eddie quickly grabbed Violet by the shoulders and began shaking her violently. Then he cupped her face in his hands. "Violet! Can you hear me? Violet! Listen to me! You have to run from him! For God’s sake, you have to run from him!" Eddie was shouting in fear.

John timidly nudged Eddie; Eddie didn’t have a second to spare for him. "Wait, John!" he yelled, his tears fogging his eyes.

John was pointing down the corridor. The patients in the C ward were waking up, and there were sounds of banging on the doors of the cells. The patients in these cells were humanoid creatures who had survived Doctor Arthur’s experiments. Eddie thought, this can’t be happening now. Please, not now.

He turned back to Violet. He slapped his forehead a few times. "What was her favorite song? What was it?!" He couldn’t remember. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, but it hurt so much. The places where they had electroshocked him were still aching.

"Dream on!" he said suddenly, with a brief expression of relief as he remembered the song, but… what were the lyrics? He squeezed his eyes shut again. He had to remember. He slapped his forehead a few more times.

He was shouting at himself, ’’Remember the lyrics, come on Eddie!’’

Then Violet suddenly began to rise slowly into the air. Eddie's eyes were focused on Violet's slowly levitating body and his pulse was getting faster and more erratic with each beat of his heart.

John was so terrified by the sight that he collapsed to the ground. He was screaming. ’’What the fuck is happening?!’’

Eddie swallowed hard, ’’No, no. Please don’t take her. I can’t lose her too.’’

taglist: @arabellagreenleaf @25bohemianmoons

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #american horror story

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oddballwriter · 1 year ago

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THE WRITINGS ON THE WALLS

Please read all of the rules in their entirety and respect my boundaries. These rules mostly accommodate my writing and requests and not my interactions with conversations with readers in my inbox. Thank you in advance!

I am okay with writing smut or small suggestive writing as long as they follow these requirements-

The character(s) are of age, meaning they are at least the age of 18 years old.

I WILL NOT write things involving scat, SA (cnc is okay), ageplay, ddlg, or anything intense of that nature.

PLEASE tell me the sexual anatomy that you want the reader to have AND the pronouns you would like them to have. I commonly write in the second person and refer to the reader as "you". However, the character(s) will have to say pronouns when referring to you, aka Y/N.

2. With the previous rule mentioning that I will not do extremely intense smut content, I would also like to add that I DO NOT participate in Dead Dove Do Not Open content. I also don't do yandere content for either the reader or the character(s), it makes me uncomfortable to write it either way.

3. I put up 18+ banners on my smut and suggestive content, along with using the community labels to help keep any minors from interacting with them. However, I'm no fool, and I know that people can easily jump that by lying about their age when making an account. So I take a sweep at any blogs that have interacted with those pieces. If you want to avoid being sniffed at you can simply put that you are above 18 in your bio if you don't want to put your full age.

If I find out that anyone who interacted with a smut or suggestive writing is under the age of 18, they WILL be instantly blocked with no hesitation. I restate this in my warnings in my writings too, but those are the only warnings that people get to stay away other than this. So pay attention to any banners on my writings.

4. I do not write fics of real people, only fictional characters. I say this mostly because I have one fandom that I write for who's characters have the same name as their actors but I will be extending it to any actors or IRL persons. So no youtubers or actors.

5. Pay attention to the warning labels on any writings to prevent being shocked or triggered by any content written, depicted, or described in the stories. If there is something that you think should be in the warnings but isn't please do not be afraid to notify me either by inbox or DMs, saying them in comments is fine but it is best if you use inbox or DM.

6. I am currently a student in college and have other things that may take up my time. Please understand and respect that I may not get to your request immediately or right away since writing is a hobby to me and I have other assets that I need to attend to first.

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ashers-transition · 2 years ago

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2 Months T Update (February 13, 2023)

If you're wondering if I'm ever going to post one of these on time, the answer is no. Anyway, here's my two months update!

Just like before, I will be skipping over anything that hasn't changed and only discussing the changes that I have noticed.

My other transition logs can be found here:

Pre T 1 Month

Please check my pinned post for more info about me and why I started this blog!

CWs: eye contact (in video), discussion of menstruation, discussion of appetite and disordered eating.

(If I’ve missed any content warnings that I should include, please let me know and I will add them in).

Facial Hair

Prior to starting T, I already some darker hairs around my upper lip. It's hard to tell for sure, but I believe I not have slightly more in that area. It's still not very noticeable, especially at a distance. Here are some comparisons, with the first image in the set being pre T and the second being now (2 months on T).

Menstrual Cycle

In my pre T post, I mention that I struggle with chronic pain, and that I get a flare whenever I get my period, with the first day being the worst. I started a new pain medication around three months ago that has lessened those flares enough for me to be functional during them.

For my second period on T, things started to change. This time around, I did not have any extra pain while on my period (at least, not enough for me to be able to tell in addition to my usual pain). That being said, I did have a much longer period than usual, with a much much lighter flow. It was light enough that I could go through a whole day without bleeding through a liner, but my period itself did last for three weeks. I talked to my doctor about this and she did say that this is something that can happen, so there isn't any need for concern.

I know having a month long period sucks, but considering my usual pain when I'm on my period, I honestly would rather have longer, lighter periods with no pain than more "normal" ones with pain.

Acne

I have once again noticed a slight increase in acne. It still is within the realm of a normal breakout for me, but I might try switching up my skin care routine if it gets much worse*. If anyone has any tips let me know, lol.

(*note: I fully believe that acne is a neutral feature and is not inherently bad. It only becomes an issue if it starts negatively affecting you; for example, if it becomes painful. I personally struggle with BFRBs, and acne can be a trigger for me).

Energy Levels, Pain, and POTS

I already struggle with fatigue quite a bit, but honestly this past month was more rough than usual. I think it might be related to being on my period for a full three weeks, but I ended up taking multiple naps most days and sleeping odd hours in general. This isn't completely unusual for me, but I haven't had it to that extent in a while.

As for pain and POTS symptoms, I haven't noticed a difference. I did faint once, which is not common for me, but it was in a controlled environment (medical testing).

Appetite

I have noticed a bit more of an increase in my appetite. It isn't that big of a difference, but I am more consistently eating 3 meals a day, sometimes with snacking in between.

Voice

I'm starting to notice more of a difference in my voice. While still not too bad, my voice has been cracking more than usual lately. I'm unable to pretend-scream as easily as I was before (I get dramatic when playing video games), and I also am struggling more when singing in the car lol. That being said, no one has mentioned noticing a difference in my voice other than one of my partners, who I showed a direct comparison to my pre T voice.

[Video description: A waist high video of Asher talking to the camera. End video description.]

[Video transcript: "Hi, my name is Asher, and this is my voice 2 months on T."]

Other

In my last update I mentioned that I'm planning on switching to taking injections due to a reaction I had to the gel. I have not switched yet (gotta wait for insurance stuff), but I have started rotating the application area more than I had been previously and it has helped a bit. By my next update, I will be on injections.

#medical transition #hrt #testosterone update #t update #testosterone gel #trans man #transmasc #trans resources #transition resources #actually disabled

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pyr0vents · 3 months ago

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TW Mentions of: SA, abuse, grooming, suicide, self harm, drugs/alcohol, sexual innuendoes, mental health

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Introduction

Hello I’m Scott, this is my vent account separate from my main @pyr0man1c to keep my mental health away from my happier and jokey posts.

My account is 14+ due to my age and content (16+ is what most people find suitable but I myself am not 16 so it feels kinda hypocritical)

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

From my bio:

‼️My vents may be triggering to others due to the severity of my mental health, I will add warnings as needed to prevent people from seeing content they don’t want to see or may be hurt seeing. Please be aware I cannot get help currently, I live in America and do not have health insurance or healthcare, I do not have access to therapy or medication due to this, telling me to get help is pointless as I am aware I need it but can’t get it. I am in a very sensitive state and may not take well to certain things, please be mindful of that and all I have said, thank you‼️

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

Any art about me being Groomed/SA’d or abused by an older figure, is not something that has happened to me.

To explain, I have been SA’d 3 previous times by 3 different people at 3 different ages and 2 different places.

Because of this trauma, it has caused a response to have a desire to be brutally harmed and abused by someone, I am aware this is wrong and that’s why I try to express it through my art to get the bad thoughts out instead of acting on them by putting myself in situations where I would be harmed.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

The drugs is the same.

It was not actually caused by exposure to drugs or alcohol at a young age, it is connected to the desire to be abused, the desire to hurt myself and get put in bad places, including stuff like drugs or alcohol. The only drug I’ve ever actually considered doing is Nicotine and possibly weed but I think the second hand smoke from growing up around a smoker dad kinda caused that.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

Self harm and suicidal thoughts are something I’ve dealt with since I was 10, it’s nothing new. The newest thing from it is the weird sexual pleasure to self harming I’ve gained. (I have so many sexual problems lol) I honestly have no idea how this one came to be and it’s a mystery to me.

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

Now into a me introduction now that the important stuff is done!

My name is Scott but you can call me Scotty

I am Queer FtM and Ace-spec

My pronouns are He/It

Im 14 turning 15 in December!

Im an artist and animator on my YT

Main YT:_kbil_nzrmx_

Vent YY:KbilVents

DNI

Bigots

Transphobes

Homophobes

Racists

Pretty much anyone who wouldn’t like a queer trans man who hates himself and hates everyone on this list.

Please be respectful of those around you, whether you agree with them or not, we are all entitled to our opinions and thoughts. Don’t be creepy with underage people on here if you are 18+ and mind what you say to me and others especially considering how I am very vulnerable on here and very obvious mentally unstable!!!

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

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ehldritchblast · 7 months ago

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RULES:

CREDIT: The PSD I’m using for my edits is “ENHANCE ABILITY” by Jaynedits.

ONE. This blog will likely be a low-activity blog, but I will usually be available through IMs if anyone wants to chat (and you can feel free to ask for my discord if we're close enough). JUST A HEAD'S UP: i am INCREDIBLY new to the dnd scene. i'm still learning and doing my best to get things right, but if anyone has any advice/critiques, please feel free to let me know! i just ask that you be nice about it, thanks!

TWO. I have ADHD and as such, I will answer asks / respond to threads as I get the muse for them. It's nothing personal if I don't get to something of ours right away, it's just hard for me to focus at times!

THREE. Sometimes I will drop threads without warning and it's nothing personal, I just lose muse. I'm more than willing to start up a new thread. The best way to write with me is from sending memes or writing starters. I also like to plot and find that I'm more invested in threads this way.

FOUR. I will only follow 21+ blogs on here and will block any minors who may follow for my own comfort. I have the right to follow or unfollow you whenever I please. That being said, I will not follow back personal blogs, or a RP blog that I couldn’t see my muses interacting with. Please don’t take it personally.

FIVE. I only ship with chemistry and I'm open to discussing shipping with our muses so long as there's chemistry and the you're willing to discuss / plot ship dynamics with me. I'm also duplicate friendly and love that other people love these muses too!

SIX. THINGS THAT WILL MAKE ME NOT FOLLOW / UNFOLLOW / SOFT/HARD BLOCK YOU:

+ you are under 21, are racist, transphobic, homophobic, antisemitic, ableist, pedophilic, harass others, etc. + you write an original character with little to no information, as I need something to go off of to think of how to interact with your muse. + post an excessive amount of ooc (enough to constantly spam my dash; i don’t mind if you post more ooc than actual rp most days bc i do the same), have constant poor grammar / spelling mistakes (though i'll be more lenient if english isn't your first language), partake in petty, pointless drama, or write in a lot of purple prose / overly format your posts. + don't tag triggering content, write a lot of incest, child death, and any form of abuse (i.e. domestic, sexual, etc), or focus heavily on pregnancy plots. + you follow me first and make no attempt to interact with me, are absent from your blog for long amounts of time (without posting a hiatus warning), disrespect people's boundaries, vague blog, or post a lot of callouts. + if you are a personal blog, follow and unfollow me to try to get my attention, send me things (i.e. memes / rp stuff) when we aren't mutuals, harass my friends, just use me as a number for your follower count, ignore the things i write for you (especially if it's me answering a meme you sent in or writing you a starter), or don't put in the effort for a ship that i have grown invested in. + if you follow me to write / ship with my male muses and ignore my female & oc/tav muses.

SEVEN. I do not deal with ooc drama. If I see it happening on my dash I will not get involved in it, and if it reaches a certain point, I will probably block the person(s) in question.

To add to this: I do not view certain ‘callouts’ as ‘drama’. If someone is bringing attention to harmful behavior, that’s fine. I won’t hesitate to heed that person’s warning and acknowledge / reblog that post if I feel that it is necessary. The types of ‘callouts’ I find unnecessary are the ones where someone is just being petty and talking shit because they don’t like someone and/or are bullying them. That’s something you could handle privately and doesn’t need to be on the dash and/or just block the person and move on. I will not tell you who and who not to write with. I would much rather simply block anyone I wish not to see on my dash. That said, please do not hesitate to inform me if I'm interacting with someone who is a genuinely toxic individual.

#rules.

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loyalpromise · 1 year ago

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RULES:

CREDIT: The PSD I’m using for my edits is “ENHANCE ABILITY” by Jaynedits.

ONE. This blog will likely be a low-activity blog, but I will usually be available through IMs if anyone wants to chat (and you can feel free to ask for my discord if we're close enough).

SIX. THINGS THAT WILL MAKE ME NOT FOLLOW / UNFOLLOW / SOFT/HARD BLOCK YOU:

+ you are under 21, are racist, transphobic, homophobic, antisemitic, ableist, pedophilic, harass others, etc. + you write an original character with little to no information, as I need something to go off of to think of how to interact with your muse. + write an animated character / use an animated fc without having a live-action fc available to use instead (realistic animation (i.e. animation that looks very close to real life people) is fine though, and i don’t mind if you are a multi that has animated fcs on your blog), use youtubers, models, singers, or any other non-actors as your fc. + post an excessive amount of ooc (enough to constantly spam my dash; i don’t mind if you post more ooc than actual rp most days bc i do the same), have constant poor grammar / spelling mistakes (though i'll be more lenient if english isn't your first language), partake in petty, pointless drama, or write in a lot of purple prose / overly format your posts. + don't tag triggering content, write a lot of incest, child death, and any form of abuse (i.e. domestic, sexual, etc), or focus heavily on pregnancy plots. + you follow me first and make no attempt to interact with me, are absent from your blog for long amounts of time (without posting a hiatus warning), disrespect people's boundaries, vague blog, or post a lot of callouts. + if you are a personal blog, follow and unfollow me to try to get my attention, send me things (i.e. memes / rp stuff) when we aren't mutuals, harass my friends, just use me as a number for your follower count, ignore the things i write for you (especially if it's me answering a meme you sent in or writing you a starter), or don't put in the effort for a ship that i have grown invested in. + if you follow me to write / ship with my male muses and ignore my female & oc muses.

SEVEN. I do not deal with ooc drama. If I see it happening on my dash I will not get involved in it, and if it reaches a certain point, I will probably block the person(s) in question.

#rules.

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mxdarling · 2 years ago

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[Yandere type]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: Yan. neige because I want to see more RSA content PLS-

ೃ⁀➷: Word count: 526

ೃ⁀➷: Reference/Inspiration: {Link} | {Link}

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[Warnings:] obsessive behavior, worshipping behavior, yandere behavior, guilt-tripping, clingy behavior, mentions of stalking, taking photos w/o consent, taking agency away.

[GN reader]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :Neige LeBlanche;

✉ - [Worshipper, delusional, obsessive type.]

➮ NEIGE LEBLANCHE is a sweetheart. He's nice, friendly, naive, just in general a very pleasant person to be around. He's so sweet that it's almost hard to be mean to him, especially with all he's followers and popularity. While he can be insensitive he means no intentionally harm. He genuinely thinks your just a perfect human being and one that deserves all the love in the world. It's honestly almost cute and can be mistaken as puppy love if it weren't for those signs of obsession.

➮ He's a hardcore worshipper for his darling, very hardworking too. Always wanting their darling to be happy and pleased from him efforts. He's willing to give up the whole world for you, just say the word and it's yours. From the moment he met his darling he's already giving praises and compliments right towards their direction. He's so smitten for you, it's pretty much obvious to everyone even you but he's just so oblivious that you can't help but indulge him. He's clingy for sure, always by your side not wanting to leave you alone. Even if you ask for space away from him, can you really refuse him? He's just being there for you, after all he's been nothing but sweet to you hasn't he?

➮ Being in a school full of rich princes and goody-two-shoes like Royal Sword Academy he's probably heard some fairytales from his classmates about the moment they found their love, the moment they knew they were destined to be with each other and live happily ever after. Now he's has this idea of his knight in shining armor coming to save him and sweep him off his feet, swearing to each other that they will never part and staying together forever. Oh, how much he fantasized when that certain day will come. Stay with him forever, won't you?

➮ He's very much in love with you, so in love with you that he thinks you feel the same way too, even though you don't really do... Any nice thing you do for him, just adds to his delusion of you sharing the same love for him as he does for you!! He's already made up his mind that you guys are married, no matter what anyone says he's made up his mind. No one can change it otherwise, not even you. He's already planning your wedding despite still being in school, he's already told his friends, parents, and just everyone he knows in general. His fans can know later. He can finally make his fantasizes come true...

➮ Knowing Neige, he wants you to be happy. For that Neige needs to know everything about you. By everything I mean everything. From your favorites, likes, dislikes, hobbies, just everything about you. He mostly asks you about what you like and dislike thinking he's just trying to know you. Sometimes if he can't asks you any questions about yourself, he'll stalk you himself. He's taken dozens of photos just about you and only you, he even memorized the dates and time he took them. He basically has a whole album just dedicated to you. It's so sweet of him...

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[a/n; Sorry I haven't been posting stuff, been lacking motivation so I wanted to get this out to maybe make up for my lack of activity?]

#Yandere twisted wonderland #Yandere twst #Twisted wonderland #Twst #Yandere twisted wonderland x reader #Yandere twst x reader #Twisted wonderland x reader #Twst x reader #Neige LeBlanche #Twisted wonderland Neige LeBlanche #Yandere twisted wonderland Neige LeBlanche #Twst Neige LeBlanche #Yandere twst Neige LeBlanche #┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ Yandere #Headcanons ☄. *. ⋆#gender neutral reader

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jamesbuchananxsteviegrant · 3 years ago

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[AU, SMUT] What Are You? | Bucky x Steve x Reader

Category: AU, Smut (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Mafia themes, derogatory language, intercourse Ship: Steve x Bucky x Reader Summary: Steve and Bucky Are Planning Some Work With a Client, But What Happens When That Client Doesn't Respect Their Girl? Request: N/A Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 2.6k

—

Almost everyone knew - there was no doubt about that. Everyone should’ve known, at least, but those who didn’t pay enough attention… sorry for them.

Everyone who heard the sound of the heels clacking against the marble flooring would straighten themselves up as if the sound was coming from the men themselves.

Which men? Oh, which men indeed.

That’s not to say that the woman couldn’t have any kind of friendships with any of the men in the building - she does need a little bit of platonic fun here and there.

“Slow down, Aphrodite, you might chip the flooring.” A mocking voice calls from behind her. Despite it being from a familiar face, the other men still stiffen as if they were the ones doing wrong.

“You might shatter the mirrors if you look in them for any longer.” The woman retorts as she attempts to hide the grin that forms at her own comeback.

The man, however, doesn’t even try to hide his smile as he turns his strides into a jog to catch up with her.

“How do you even know how often I stare in the mirror? You spying on me?” Sam asks, the pair glancing at each other and both now smiling.

“So you admit that you stare at the mirror, and not just look at it?” The woman tactically avoids his question with her own retort.

Sam’s laugh echoes through the corridor they’re walking through. It’s quite spectacular really - some would mistake it for being a palace. A place where only the good-willed people reside. Almost a shame that it’s full of the likes of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and Steve Rogers - the two men who own just about all the power there is in New York, let alone Manhattan.

“You know they’re not done yet, right?” The man quizzes, a content smile still on his lips as his hands rest in the front pockets of his black trousers.

The woman doesn’t respond, simply nods.

Sam catches it out the corner of his eye and simply shakes his head.

“You have a habit of interrupting their meetings.”

“And you have a habit of saying things that might get you killed one day.” (Y/N) answers, but her gentle smile admits that that’s not entirely true.

Her attire consists of a loose but very fitting crimson dress that sits mid-thigh, along with the matching red heels that are buckled around her ankles. A simple silver chain around her neck that has two small, but very expensive, black and red diamonds resting in the centre of her collarbone.

“Tell Steve that his car’s being valeted if he needs it anytime soon.” The man comments as he turns off down another corridor, different to (Y/N)’s route.

She simply nods again.

Why is it that she’s heading toward her husbands’ meeting? Because she’s interested in seeing how it will end. The man who has been persisting to speak with Steve and Bucky for the last sixteen months is desperate, to say the least. He wants investment in their three hotels that are situated across NYC, in Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan.

She was the one who decided on where those hotels would be built, so she wants to see the man, John Walker, crumble as her partners’ pretend they care, only to tell him no.

It might seem like a waste of time but in reality, it’s to see how the man deals with hearing the word no, and whether Bucky and Steve need to deal with him.

“Ma’am.” Christopher greets as (Y/N) approaches the door of the conference room that her men are in.

“Chris.” She responds, nodding her head as he opens the door for her. “How’s it going, gentlemen?” The woman adds as she casually struts into the room, grabbing everyone's attention.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone turns to look at the woman who’s interrupted their meeting. Steve and Bucky simply smile as they take a moment to admire their wife.

“Excuse me?” John is the first to speak up and everyone’s attention turns to him, including (Y/N), who doesn’t seem phased by his evident frustration.

“You’re excused.” Her response is simple but ignites a spark inside of the man.

“Do you usually let whores just stroll around and cause inconvenience in their wake, gentlemen?” He asks, but his eyes remain on (Y/N).

The woman’s eyebrows raise, and a surprised but impressed smile etches its way onto her face. She says nothing. John stares at her with a quirked brow, waiting for a response from the two men his question was directed to, so obliviously aware of the fearful stares he’s now getting from everyone else in the room.

Bucky and Steve’s heads turned very slowly, in sync, back toward their guest, their smiles now distorted into that of pure fury.

“Would you like to say that again?” Steve speaks up first, John now turning his head toward the boss in curiosity of his sudden change of voice.

That’s when the man notices all the stares on him. His eyebrows furrow as he acknowledges everyone’s expression. His eyes flick from the other men in the room to Bucky and Steve, to (Y/N), and back to the two leaders.

He gulps.

“I said: Say. It. Again.” Steve enunciates.

“Come here, doll,” Bucky speaks up also, his eyes flicking from John to (Y/N) for a brief moment, his arm opening up and inviting the woman to situate herself on his knee.

The woman obliges, striding over to her husbands and letting the brunet’s arm wrap around her as she sits.

John’s eyes haven’t left Steve’s, too mortified to even blink, but he catches the action of Bucky and (Y/N).

Steve’s eyebrow quirks, reminding his guest that he’s waiting. And Steve hates waiting.

“I didn’t mean- I didn’t know she was- gentlemen, please, look, this is all a big misunderstanding, I just-”

“Called our woman a whore and an inconvenience.” Bucky finishes his sentence, his expression just as murderous as Steve’s, despite the soothing actions of his hand stroking his wife’s waist.

“I didn’t know she was your-”

“And you think that excuses it?” Steve interrogates. “You think calling any woman a whore is acceptable? An inconvenience?”

John gulps and the sound echoes in the room. His eyes flicker away from Steve’s for a moment to the woman herself, intentionally or not, but his eyes drop to the prominent cleavage on display.

Bucky smirks at the action that most definitely didn’t go unnoticed by himself.

“Sweetheart,” Steve begins, John’s attention darting straight back to the blond’s once more. (Y/N) hums in response. “Who do you belong to?”

(Y/N) bites her lip, core throbbing at the obvious dominance and possession of the two men.

“You and James.” She whispers, Bucky’s hand gripping her waist tightly at the use of his birth name.

The sweat glistening on John’s forehead is clear as day.

Knowing what’ll get everyone in the room riled up even moreso, (Y/N) turns herself around so she’s facing Bucky, sat on his lap, legs on either side of his body. Everyone else in the room keeps their eyes firmly locked on the glass table or the white ceiling.

A pleasant hum resonates from the brunet’s throat, his hands naturally adjusting to rest on her hips.

The moment John’s eyes flicker to (Y/N) once more and then drift down her back, a gun is cocked and metal is pressed firmly against the back of the man’s head.

The woman goes to turn her head around to see what’s happened but Bucky’s lips locking with hers prevents that from happening. She whimpers against his mouth and he absolutely adores it.

“Bend over this table for me, doll.” The man murmurs. “Let’s show Mister Walker what a proper whore looks like.”

The excitement that sparkles in his wife’s eyes makes his cock throb between his legs.

“Yes, sir.”

The pet name makes both men throb.

The woman stands up and turns herself around, making sure every sway of her hips is a show to be watched. Her eyes lock with none other than their security lead, Tony Stark, who’s holding the gun up to Walker’s head, as she bends herself over the table, dress drooping at the front to display her cleavage.

Tony’s eyes don’t even flicker away from her own. The staff in this building know better than to try and indulge in what is rightfully Bucky and Steve’s. John, however, sees this as a prime opportunity to stare at what he believes he’s being offered, his trousers getting tighter.

(Y/N) sees it. She finds is humorous.

Bucky’s hands slide their way up the backs of his wife’s bare thighs, pushing up the crimson material as he reaches it.

Her eyes flutter shut and lips part in satisfaction at the feeling.

“Tell us what you want, doll.” Bucky mumbles, sitting the bottom of her dress at the base of her back, grinning at her lack of underwear.

“Touch me.”

The explicit word that escapes John’s lips are heard clear as day and he knows it, face once again panicking as he looks back at Steve, whose expression still hasn’t changed.

“Where do you want me to touch you, princess?” James continues, not paying an ounce of attention to anyone else in the room right now besides his missus.

His fingers stroke the top of her inner thighs, seeing her soaking wet core already dripping down them.

“Want you to touch my pussy.” (Y/N) breathes, eyes flitting open barely a millimetre.

James presses soft kisses on his wife’s ass before sliding his middle and ring finger lightly over her slit. The action gets a mewl out of her.

Fifteen men in this room in total, only two of them can touch this woman yet all fifteen are dreaming about it.

“Move.” Steve states, prompting John to widen his eyes once more, but this time the words aren’t directed at him.

Bucky grins and obliges, removing his hands from his girl and stands up.

(Y/N)’s eyes open fully this time as she whines in complaint at the loss of contact, but a large smack on her ass distorts her whine into a large gasp.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you, sweetheart.” Steve states, manoeuvring himself so he’s stood directly behind his wife, Bucky casually pulling his own gun out of his inner blazer pocket and wiping it down with his hands.

John’s face stays facing Steve, but his eyes follow Bucky as the brunet moves behind him and out of his sight.

Tony takes the sign to back away and let his boss take over from here.

Steve has no shame as he unbuckles his belt, undoes his trousers and pulls out his rock-hard cock, stroking it with his hand a few times while his other hand returns to Bucky’s previous actions.

“You see that?” Bucky whispers in John’s ears, prompting the man to gasp and jump in his seat. He gulps again but remains silent. “I asked you a question.”

The man frantically nods, fearful for his life, and absolutely humiliated.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Steve murmurs, leaning down and moving her hair aside, kissing the back of her neck.

Before the woman can even respond, her husband thrusts himself inside of her in one go, (Y/N)’s back arching and moaning so loud that Christopher can probably hear outside the door, and Steve’s head being thrown back, his own moan equally loud.

Bucky almost loses his composure if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew not to falter when making sure a man like John Walker was wanting his woman.

“Fuck…” Walker whispers, lips parted as he stares at the woman in front of him being railed by none other than Steven Rogers.

“Keep watching because this is your death wish.” Bucky whispers, John’s eyes widening. “Does she look good?”

John nods his head almost desperately.

Her moans only get faster and louder as Steve fucks her.

“Remind him what you are, sweetheart?” The blond groans, grabbing the woman’s hair and pulling her head back so she’s more or less face-to-face with Walker alongside her other husband.

“A whore.” (Y/N) practically begs.

“Louder.” Steve demands.

“A whore!”

“I said: fucking louder!”

“A WHORE! I’m your whore, sir!” She screams, John losing it and standing up to lean forwards but a gunshot firing beside his head makes him stumble back down to his seat.

(Y/N) flinches are the known noise but settles quickly as Bucky strokes her face with the hand that’s not holding the freshly-fired weapon.

“Don’t you fucking dare move an inch toward our wife.” Bucky threatens to the man he’s leaning over.

John gulps but nods, not taking his eyes off (Y/N).

“Is she inconvenient now, Walker?” Steve asks, glaring daggers at the man. He only shakes his head, eyes only meeting Steve’s for a split second. “No?” He breathes. “Then what is she?”

The guest falls speechless, shaking his head as his eyes flicker between Steve and (Y/N).

“Hot as fuck.” He whispers, Bucky growling in his ear.

“Fuck!” (Y/N) cries out, desperate eyes staring at Bucky’s, who smirks at her state.

“Think our girl wants to cum, Steve.” He comments, John panting in his seat.

“Yeah? You wanna show this scum what a good girl you are for us, baby girl?” Steve grunts, not slowing down but rather speeding up as he too reaches his peak.

The woman’s head nods in desperation, face flushed as her eyes flicker across all men in the room, including Tony’s, who simply winks at her before removing his stare.

“Say it, doll.” Bucky demands.

“I wanna cum.” (Y/N) gasps, watching her brunet lover shake his head.

“Gonna have to do better than that, doll.”

“Please,” She begs. “Please, daddy. Sir. Please, let me cum!” Her voice screams, Steve grunting in response to the feeling of her squeezing his cock, milking him for all his worth.

“Cum, baby girl.” He permits. “Cum like the whore you are.”

And how she does.

Her scream could shatter glass, Christopher would be concerned if he hadn’t already established the differences between the woman’s fearful screams and her pleasure-filled ones.

Taking full advantage of Bucky’s distraction, John leaps forward to get a taste of the woman who’s almost passing out from the pleasure, but that’s the last move he makes as a bullet is shot through his back, knocking him down onto the table.

Tony doesn’t seem phased as he shakes the smoke from his gun, settling it back into his pocket.

Making sure the woman doesn’t collapse atop the, now dead, man on the table, Bucky holds her up while Steve sorts himself out before pulling her back across the table and into his lap.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The blond whispers, smoothing the hair out of her face.

(Y/N) nods but keeps her eyes shut as she rests against her husband’s chest.

“Words, baby.” He requests.

“M’okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

Two of the security men alongside Tony head over and remove the body from the room, Bucky asking for someone to clean up the mess whilst walking over to his two lovers.

“We okay?” The brunet murmurs, Steve smirking and nodding before both paying attention to their girl who’s still half unconscious.

“Does anyone else in the room have anything to say before we carry on?” Steve asks, everyone shaking their heads frantically. “Good, now leave.” And they do.

“You okay, baby doll?” Bucky whispers, cocooning her cheek with his hand.

The woman nods and manages to open her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“That’s our girl.”

Tag List

Stucky x Reader Only Tag List: @polarbearnamedpanda | @marvelous-glims

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lostandsearching · 3 years ago

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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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jakowskis · 3 years ago

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Batjokes Meta

Hello, so I’ve been fixated on Joker / Batjokes again and I have a lot of thoughts. I did my best to sort my extremely messy ideas into some basic concepts and then went to town dissecting them. Everything here is my opinion! Just things I’ve concluded, based on content I’ve consumed. Responses are welcome and encouraged! Please (kindly) tell me if you disagree and why, too, ‘cause I love differing perspectives. Gives me so much more scope. And if you do agree, feel free to reblog with any additional thoughts! Or DM me, if that’s more comfortable for you. I’m very passionate about this, as evidenced by all the paragraphs I’ve typed up, and I’m eager to discuss it!

General trigger warning for some heavier topics, seeing as we’re discussing the Joker who’s, yanno, whole thing is murder and destruction and mayhem. Nothing a Batjokes fan wouldn’t be familiar with and possibly even fond of, of course. Only other thing I feel a need to warn for is very frankly discussing mental illness, especially in these first few paragraphs. I’m a big ball of mental illness myself (in fact it’s been pretty bad lately, which is probably why I’m back to fixating on the damn Joker, lmao. Coping and all), so I’m gonna use blunt terms, but please know I’m not intending to be ableist or ignorant. I’m fully aware of the weight behind words and the thin ice always being treaded on regarding Joker’s mental health.

This analysis contains three segments:

Batman and Joker as opposing forces

The nature of their canonical relationship

Could their relationship ever evolve into something semi-traditionally romantic?

Let’s begin...

1. Batman and Joker as opposing forces

So, as we all know, Batman and Joker are meant to contrast one another. Order versus chaos, repression versus freedom, even masculine “heterosexuality” (although, lol, Bruce,,,) versus feminine/androgynous queerness. They’ve always existed as perfect foils for one another. One place I think this trend of being opposing forces is especially cool is in the fact that Batman is one of the only times a hero has been characterized by darkness and blackness. Usually within fictional narratives, black is evil and white is good, but we have a unique take on that trope in that Joker’s the light one, he’s colorful and bright and, of course, very villainous, in stark opposition to our noble Dark Knight.

Anyway, another place this mirroring is prevalent, which I don’t see talked about as often as it ought to, because it’s super interesting; I recently read an analysis that said something along the lines of, Batman and the Joker both lost their minds and snapped - but in opposite directions. Bruce had his One Bad Day that broke him, and he lost himself to it, but in his specific brand of madness, he clung desperately to order and justice, and committed himself to enforcing those ideals, to the point of sacrificing his ability to maintain a healthy private life, unreasonably dedicating himself to keeping the city’s villains alive despite all the harm they do, and convincing, nay, deluding himself into believing they can be rehabilitated despite frequent evidence to the contrary. There’s a good man behind it, certainly, but not a healthy one. Not one who’s in his right mind. There’s an illness behind his actions that isn’t as talked about, especially alongside the much more outwardly and visibly mentally ill Joker.

I think this adds a beautiful contrast between them, when we realize they were both created in response to the world hurting them. They both saw how cruel the world could be, but Bruce dedicated himself to trying to fight it, and trying to fix it. He no longer cared about it hurting him, he just wanted to stop it from hurting others. He never wanted anyone to hurt like he did the night his parents died. Which… backfired, because in his refusal to let Joker (and the other villains) die, thousands of others have. (“All the people I’ve murdered by letting you live.”) But that’s another story.

On the flip side, Joker suffered at the universe’s cruel hands, and he decided to laugh at it. The reason why he finds the humor in misery is something everyone could pitch in about, but my thinking is that Joker, post-transformation, is primarily dedicated to a need to be free (among other things, of course, like his need for stimulation and entertainment). Free from society’s expectations, its rules, its entrapments. To be truly free, one can’t be controlled by anything - including the universe. And it can never hurt him again if he laughs instead of cries. It can’t get him when he finds pain so goddamn amusing.

Which led me to an interesting revelation. Following his dedication to seeing the joke of it all, he began devoting himself to trying to get everyone else to see the joke. Which, of course, manifested in him trying to break everyone, both specific people and Gothamites as a whole - give them all their one bad day, en masse. A lot of ‘em died before he could see if it worked, sure, but eh, collateral damage, as far as he’s concerned. Regardless, in this way he’s sort of repeating his own trauma? Not the specific circumstances, of course, just the concept. And if you think about it, he feels like that trauma freed him - which means he’s kind of trying to save people, in his own fucked up way. He’s trying to save them from ignorance and normalcy. Well, again, the ones he keeps alive, anyway. Because he does have a tendency to try to keep people alive, after he’s made them suffer. More interesting that way. Death’s only funny under certain circumstances, to him. But only if they’ve proved themselves as being vaguely interesting.

I think this is doubly interesting when we think about the fact that Joker considers himself an agent of chaos. He’s sort of… trying to convey a message, he’s trying to spread something to the masses. And it’s worked, he’s the face of Gotham’s anarchy movement for a reason. It’s spread to real life, too, though society’s appreciation of and identification with Joker deserves its own analysis. But even that contrasts with Batman. Batman targets individuals to try to keep everyone safe, and something is being communicated to society as a byproduct (namely the message of, “I’m here to protect you. I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” while Joker targets society, partially to communicate something to an individual, namely Batman. The masses get the message, too, which he appreciates, but at some point, his attention narrowed down to Batman and Batman alone. Probably when he realized he could find his eternal purpose in him. Constantly fighting him, constantly working to undo his do-gooding.

Speaking of. Now we come to all of this in relation to Batman and Joker. Despite not knowing the circumstances behind Batman’s conception, Joker’s deduced something made him the way he is, and he finds it fascinating the universe could produce two perfectly opposing entities from theoretically similar circumstances. He can’t understand why Batman’s dedicated himself to order when, to him, it’s so clear that’s a foolish and futile conviction - but he appreciates it nonetheless. He loves the way they oppose each other so perfectly. He loves that he’s got someone to be his perfect enemy.

Which leads us to our next point.

2. The nature of Batman and Joker’s canonical relationship

I’m just gonna bluntly begin this with a single declaration: they’re so deeply bonded, to such a remarkable extent, it’s hard to dismiss it as anything but ~love~. Certain fans and writers will try to pretend that’s not a reality, but it is. It’s not shippers goggles, either; Joker’s feelings have been explicitly put into writing enough that most people can pick up on it (though the amount of times I’ve seen it boiled down to “it’s just him being a creep / it’s him trying to unnerve Batman” … I could commit atrocities), while Batman’s feelings are much more subtextual, but both are prevalent enough within the content that it’s hard to make an argument that they’re not deeply emotionally entangled.

Now, it’s not traditional romantic love, by any means, but there’s romantic fragments… undercurrents. Especially on Joker’s end. He perceives it as a romance. He expresses it to everyone as being something inherently romantic. That’s where I take issue with the “he just does it to unnerve Batman” argument, because while that’s true, I do think he likes to taunt Bruce with it because it gives him power over him and because it’s amusing to - he speaks about him using romantic-coded language when he’s not even there. When he’s alone, or when he’s talking to other people privately. It’s just a fundamental part of his character. He adores him, in a sick, horribly unhealthy way. Absolutely revolves around him.

And it’s complex, because I consider it love, it’s been referred to as love, but it’s such a bizarre brand of love… because on both ends, it’s dark and obsessive and grim. On Joker’s side, it’s “I’ll kill everyone around you until there’s only me and you, locked in this eternal dance. You’re my world and I’ll make it so I’m yours too, because that’s what we’ve been building towards, and you know it. You’ve always known it.” Which… is the plot of DotF/Endgame, but I do think that’s like, the darkest end of Joker’s fixation on Batman.

Which begs the question; is there a lighter end? That’s something I’m going to explore extensively, later on. Something I find of particular note is Joker’s particular tendency to talk about kissing. Like, his flirting often comes back to mentioning kissing - “Can I have a little kiss?”, and stuff like that. Hell, that’s even relevant in his flirtations with other characters, particularly men (the one panel of him asking Lex Luthor if he’s “going to kiss him or what?” springs to mind. Ooh, also ASHoSE’s “Kiss me, Charlie!”). A lot of times Joker comes across as rather... lovelorn, like there’s this legitimate hopeless romanticism to his otherwise pretty depraved Batman obsession, which is something worth exploring, because it says a lot about his human side. You know, speaking of, I find it interesting that his best known origin, The Killing Joke, involves him having a wife he loved deeply, because that doesn’t seem particularly relevant to his character, it doesn’t seem to really contribute anything to him - except, maybe, why love is such an important concept to him. Well, in regards to him and Batman, anyway. Also, I’ve thought a lot about him and Harley, and I don’t wanna get into that here, but the fact that he kept her around because he liked having someone who loved and cared about him… yeah. You wouldn’t expect it, but deep down, Joker does have a need for love and validation and affection that’s pretty damn human, although, in his twisted mind, it’s usually sated by Batman’s “attentions”. A kiss with a fist is better than none!

Speaking of… I recently read some excellent meta from the incredible Dracze (the author of Half Way Across, if you’re unfamiliar, which is the most popular fic in the Batjokes fandom - and deservedly so) and they talked about how Bruce and Joker channel their complex feelings for each other into their fights, which is why their confrontations are so much more passionate and heated and even sexually charged than their fights with anyone else. For Joker, it’s courting. Their fights are dances. In DotF, when he tries to poison Batman, he calls it “his kiss”. It’s all intrinsically romantic for J.

And for Bruce, well, he doesn’t read it as romantic - he refuses to - but he feels it. He feels their connection, and it terrifies him. Where Joker revels in it, has dedicated himself to it, Bruce lives for it nearly just as much, and he knows it, and he can’t stand it. But he does understand it. He’s arguably not even in denial about it, just unwilling to verbalize it. To validate what Joker’s always claiming, even though he knows he’s right.

What is their connection anyway? Why are they bonded in the first place? Well, aside from what I previously mentioned in regards to them reflecting each other, and aside from Joker sincerely believing he was created to be Batman’s arch enemy - they’re each other's greatest challenge. Not only by way of immediate stimulation, as in the utter adrenaline of always trying to keep up with one another, to consistently one-up each other... it’s all a battle of wits (and fists), all about mental and physical stimulation. They both crave it. Batman enables Joker, indulges him, because he needs it, too. And in all of this battling, they’ve learned each other, as no one else has. (“I hurt him. I know him.”)

But, the long term challenge lies in completely transforming the other. Fixing Joker would be Batman’s greatest victory (and in this way, he’d ‘defeat’ him), and breaking Batman would be Joker’s. J wants Bats to give into madness (which is everything he’s fighting against), and Bruce wants Joker to give into order (which is everything he’s fighting against). They’re both relentlessly attacking each other’s cores, because if they won, if they succeeded, it’d be the ultimate victory.

But something interesting that we don’t really talk about… is the fact that for Bruce, “fixing” Joker would involve, fundamentally, breaking him. Because he wants him to give into order, to give into his better nature, which goes against everything Joker is. Where Batman’s dedicated to his morals, and Joker’s constantly trying to get him to break his code, and we all acknowledge that, Joker’s entire being revolves around his conviction to meaninglessness and chaos. His refusal to let laws dictate him - even ones governed by the universe. His refusal to be tamed. If he did, if he was stifled, it’d probably break him. And that’s… what Bruce wants. And what a lot of shippers seem to want, but I’ll explore that more in the next section. But I find it interesting that everywhere else, Bruce’s dedication to rehabilitating villains is an endearing quality, and it seems that way with Joker, too (because the ending of TKJ, when Batman offers it, it’s undeniably a really touching moment) - but then you take into account that Joker canonically gets suicidal and listless when he can’t be the chaos to Batman’s order, because chaos is all he has. There’s good intentions, of course, behind both Bruce and the Batjokes shippers in question, but I just wonder about the consequences of trying to… get Joker to behave, really, lol. Because it would go against everything he is, and I can’t imagine him being okay with that. (Even if it meant he could win Batman’s love. Oops, spoilers for the next section.)

Either way, neither of them can ever seem to succeed in truly defeating the other, in their respective ways, so it’s just a perpetual war. Bruce feels responsible for the Joker, so he considers it his duty to always be there to fight him. And Joker has this fantasy of Batman giving in and killing him, he wants that victory over him, but he also just loves the fighting so much. So he savors it and aims to break him slow. With every little scheme, every occupied building he blows up, he’s seeing how far he can push the bat. He’s eternally devoted to always being the chaos to Batman’s order - to the death. ‘Til death do us part.

And in that… lies their particular peculiar brand of love. These two men… they’re star crossed, they’re some type of soulmates, but those concepts, here, aren’t exempt from darkness. They’re not romantic and idealistic. Batman and Joker are soulmates, their paths are deeply interlocked and interwoven, and still they beat each other until they’re bruised and bloody and delirious. And for Joker, that’s what love is, and for Bruce… he doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he needs Joker, needs him as he is, sick and twisted and fucked. He has a darkness inside him that Joker provides an outlet for, that Joker welcomes, and it’s… G-d, I don’t even know. It’s fascinating.

But the question I wrote this analysis with the intention of going over is this: could they ever be healthy? Could they ever be in love in a more traditional kind of way - in a way that’s almost even normal?

Which brings us to our next segment.

3. Could Batman and Joker’s relationship ever evolve into something semi-traditionally romantic?

Alright, this is what I’ve been waiting for. So from everything I’ve said, hopefully if you’re still reading, we can agree this is a love story. The thing is, in current canon, it’s an unacted-upon romance. Unconsummated. Because Bruce doesn’t want to acknowledge what they have, and Joker doesn’t want to potentially ruin what they have (which is why he’s never graduated passed simply flirting. Anything more might push Bruce into panic mode and he’d isolate himself, and Joker knows that and doesn’t want to chase him away. Well, that and, on the DC people’s end, fear of canonizing the homosezuality of it all, having to commit to it, and risking alienating the dudebros lol.)

Regardless - currently, Joker’s alright with that. He gets what he needs out of their relationship. Something I think a lot of Batjokes shippers would disagree with me on is that I don’t know if Joker really has an interest in having Batman/Bruce romantically, let alone sexually. I think what they have, to him, is as good as sex and emotional intimacy is to normal couples.

The thing I find interesting is that I think Bruce would have an interest in pursuing a legitimate... normal-coded (new term lmao) relationship with Joker. He’d just require that he change fundamentally first. See, for reference, there’s a trend amongst several of my favorite ships (plenty of enemies-to-lovers ships, as you can imagine) in which you have a character who’s done bad things (note: the severity of the atrocities in question varies, but I think with Joker’s crimes in particular, shippers tend to deem certain stuff irredeemable and pick and choose, and usually decide to focus on versions of Joker who aren’t quite so bad - which is perfectly understandable and acceptable in a fandom revolving around comics, where characterizations are so inconsistent and what’s canon and what’s not is already pretty wonky)... yeah, you have a character who’s done bad things, and then you have another character who sees the potential and good in them anyway, who has a complex and romantically-coded relationship with them, but who also has the maturity and stoicism to refuse to get romantically involved until they’ve overseen their change into a better person. The idea of nudging an antagonistic character into undergoing a redemption arc, so they can be rewarded with love - it’s a charming concept. It’s kind of therapeutic, really, to those of us that are villain lovers, but not apologists. We acknowledge they’ve done bad, we have them put in the work to be better, and then we get to enjoy them not even being interested in villainy anymore because they’ve finally gotten a taste of being loved, and it’s enough for them. Finally, they have something else, something purer, to live for and to derive fulfilment from. And I think several Batjokes shippers enjoy this concept, too. Redeeming Joker, so Bruce can (sort of) non-guiltily love him back. Because he’s so sure there’s something redeemable in Joker. Everyone tells him there’s not, but he refuses to believe them, partially because that’d be giving up, but also because… I think he really wants to believe the man he feels so deeply connected to, this man who he’s invested so much into, isn’t pure evil.

So, I think Bruce… has the propensity to be inherently interested in a “normal” relationship, because the nature of his infatuation with Joker lies in taking responsibility for him and keeping him under control. If that manifested in ‘fixing’ him, and then, eventually, just keeping him happy and healthy… I think he could be content with that. Fulfilled by that. It’d just take time and development.

What I think is utterly fascinating about that is that Joker knows this. And it troubles him.

The reason I started this analysis was because the one semi-recent comic, involving Bruce and Selina getting married and Joker sabotaging it - it’s been fucking haunting me. Selina and Joker’s conversation in it is absolutely phenomenal, and sooooo thought provoking.

The line that prompted all of this, all… 4k+ words, apparently, was this one: “He wants peace, and I could give him that, and he’d love me …. [but] if I did that … he’d lose the frown and the costume and the big black bat. He can’t be happy, and also be Batman.”

This line fucking blew my mind, because it shows that Joker’s thought about it. He’s reflected and been like, “This is love, but it’s not normal love. Could I be happy with normal love? Could he?” He thought about it and he realized - if he wanted Batman’s love, in the pure sense of the world, he could win it. He knows exactly what he needs to do to win it. All it’d take would be giving in. Expressing a willingness to change. But he could make Batman love him - at the expense of everything he is. At the cost of their eternal battle. And the trouble is, that’s what Joker’s in love with. The hatred, the intensity, the fighting. So (the man behind) Batman could love him, and could probably even be content in it - but Joker’s worried it wouldn’t be enough for him. And in that way, he’s not really, truly in love with him. He’s in love with the idea of him. What he stands for. He wants Batman’s love, but if he got it, it’d probably bore him. Because he’s not interested in the man beneath the mask. He’s interested in what he perceives as the god of order that he was reborn to fight against.

And it hurts him. In this comic especially, it saddens him, and it could extend to other versions of him… because I think that’s that human part of Joker, that exists deep down, impossibly deep down, where no one can access it - but it still comes up and tears at him, sometimes. Because he’s the personification of Differentness, to such an extreme extent that he doesn’t know if he could exist comfortably in a “normal” way. He’s scared to attempt to, because he’s sure it wouldn’t work. That human part of him wants love, wants Batman’s in particular because he adores him so, but he knows it wouldn’t be enough.

Which… fucking sucks, as a shipper. A lot of shippers like to think Joker could be happy in a domestic relationship with Bruce. That it’d be enough for him, and he’d be willing to give everything up if he got to love Bruce and be loved in return. Trouble is… I think he’d be soooooo indefinitely understimulated by that. I mentioned Half Way Across, and I think that fic is absolutely brilliant, though in my pondering, I’ve determined it works so well (and even at all) because it’s under very, very specific circumstances. Like, it was absolute genius on the writer’s part, and their relationship develops believably and beautifully into something wonderful, but I don’t know how possible it’d be for them to evolve into something traditionally romantic elsewhere. Mostly because of Joker’s need for stimulation. He had little else to do, so he was able to find the process of falling in love to be stimulating and appealing, and it certainly helped that Bruce was giving him and him alone such focused positive attention for once. But I don’t know if he’d be able to sit still and do that if he was still running the city.

So perhaps he could be content with love, but I don’t know if he could… slow down long enough to give it a try? Which is another question, really - what would need to be done to stop them fighting for a minute so they might have a chance to acknowledge their feelings? And could they even have a relationship without one trying to fundamentally change the other? Could they compromise? Would they be willing to? What’s the second biggest thing they could offer each other / take from each other, as a show of faith, without wanting to break each other?

Hell, could Joker somehow keep (most of) his philosophies about chaos and violence, but align himself with good? They’ve worked together against common enemies before. Maybe that’d be a compromise. Joker no longer committing violent crimes, but still being along to go reasonably, heh, batshit against people Batman agrees deserve it? Could Bruce sort of… divert Joker’s energy into something more productive for Gotham, ie crime-fighting?

Again, though, would Joker want that? Would he want a relationship with Batman that didn’t involve them at each other’s throats? Some comics say yes. I know White Knight had something about, “I had to be close to you, even if it meant being your enemy.” But I don’t think Batman alone is Joker’s raison d’etre. Fighting Batman is. Having an equal, a worthy opponent, an outlet for his energy, someone who takes everything he gives him and hits back with more - that’s what he lives for.

And it’s what they’re tied into. Their bond is founded on violence, and they both pour all their frustration and grief at the world into each other, because they’re personifications of everything the other is working against. Bruce is always thinking, “Why can’t the evil just stop? When does it end? Why can’t I fix it and end all the pain?”, and Joker is the personification of needless, endless evil - and Joker is always thinking, “Why can’t anyone see the humor in it all? Why can’t they laugh at it with me? Why can’t you, Bats?”, with Bruce representing the refusal to see futility, and foolish (and stubborn?) devotion to hope. Unstoppable object, immovable force. They’re stuck in it, and dependent on it, and a weird, incredible connection’s come out of it… where they need each other, they crave each other, they exist for each other.

There’s romance bubbling under the surface of it all, for sure. It could go somewhere, if someone took a step towards change. If someone gave in. But neither of them are willing to. And, like I’ve spent this whole thing establishing, if either of them did, it’d fundamentally break them, at their cores. Now, it seems like Joker being the one to change, him being the one to give in and let Bats guide him towards a better path, would be positive all around, because maybe his core needs to be broken so he could be happy and healthy, but I just… mmm, there’s a fuckton of unexplored potential there. I find it really stimulating, thinking about what they could potentially become. Of all my ships, no other pairing is this complex, specifically in regards to, like, what their future could look like. Usually it’s pretty cut and dry, but here, it’s a mess. And I love it.

So yeah, I’ll wrap up with that. Like I said at the beginning, please offer your thoughts! I sort of put out a controversial opinion by saying, “I don’t know if Joker could be happy if he actually got Batman’s love”, but while I believe that, it makes me sad as hell, so I’d really love it if somebody proved me wrong haha. What do you think it’d take for him to be interested in something traditional? Or maybe that’s the wrong angle, maybe wanting them to have something “normal” isn’t a feasible concept, so what do you think would be the best way for them to navigate their relationship into something less unspoken? What do you think they should graduate to, and how do you think they could get there?

Thanks so much for reading, and have a lovely day :)

#batjokes #joker #batman #dc #meta #analysis #txt #mine

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the-bau-quinjet · 4 years ago

Note

hiii! i don’t know if you have done this but can you do a hotch x reader where they get kidnapped by tobias instead of reid? xx

4 Months

Warning: Criminal Minds level violence, drugs, torture, rabid dogs

Word Count: 3562

a/n: I decided to switch up some of the specifics, just to make it a bit more fun to read. I hope you like it :) Also, we're pretending Rossi was there bc he is really the father of the group and it fit better than having Gideon 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

"JJ, we have to split up." You barely looked back at her, missing the nervous expression on her face as you ran toward the cornfield. "I'll take the field, you take the barn."

You slowed to a brisk walk as you neared the cornfield, raising your gun in front of you. You couldn't help but think about how pissed Hotch would be if he knew what you were doing.

You shook off the thought, knowing he would do the same if the roles were reversed.

Spotting movement, you moved farther into the corn, trying to spot any signs indicating which way Tobias went. A bent corn husk was the last thing you saw before the world went black.

"He's not a witness. He's the unsub." Hotch's eyes went wide as he realized you and JJ were there without backup. "Call JJ, now." He instructed Morgan, taking out his own phone to call you.

Hotch's eyes met Morgan's as both calls went unanswered. No words were exchanged as everyone ran out to the SUVS, putting on bulletproof vests as they went.

Hotch was nervously tapping the steering wheel the entire drive to Hankel's house. He couldn't stop replaying your last conversation.

"Y/N, you and JJ go talk to Hankel. Find out if he saw anything." Despite his stern expression, you could tell his eyes were smiling at you.

"Sure thing." You nodded, mouthing 'I love you' before turning to JJ.

That's it. He didn't even have the chance to mouth it back. JJ would've seen, and even though the team has theories about your relationship, you haven't confirmed anything yet.

He pulled into the driveway, running up to the house, gun out before anyone could stop him.

Prentiss followed Hotch, Morgan and Reid took the left, Rossi and a local cop took the right.

They tore through the house, clearing it with fierce determination, but came up empty.

"It's clear." Rossi called, joining Hotch and Prentiss in the living room. "Where are Morgan and Reid?"

Hotch spared a glance out the window, discovering the barn likely being cleared by the missing agents.

Everyone ran out of the house, arriving outside the barn just as Morgan and Reid lead a distressed JJ outside.

"What happened?" Hotch questioned, glancing over JJ's shoulder into the barn. Clearly you weren't there, but he needed to hope.

"We split up. Y/N went into the cornfield... I had- I had to shoot them." Her voice was detached, eyes glazed over.

"The dogs." Morgan clarified, leading JJ to a paramedic.

"Dammit. The house is clear. No sign of Y/N or Hankel." Hotch ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind. The worry was nearly overpowering, but it wouldn't help find you.

The sheriff approached, removing his hat. "A deputy two towns over gave directions to a man matching Hankel's description. He's headed for a hunting lodge."

Morgan nodded to Prentiss. "We'll check it out."

Your head was pounding. A vile scent reached your nose, causing your eyes to flicker open. You flinched at the closeness of the man in front of you.

"Tobias..." The name slipped out in a whisper.

"They're not here. It's just me now." He stated, calmer than you would've expected.

"Who are you?" You asked, trying to portray a fake sense of calm.

"I'm Rafael." He pulled out a revolver, adding a single bullet to the six chambers.

"No. You don't have to do this." Your heart ached, fear gripping your body as he aimed the gun at you.

"It is my duty to enact God's will." He said, right before pulling the trigger.

Hotch pulled back into the driveway, leading Garcia into the house.

"His computer setup is in there. If there's even a hint of where they might've gone, I need you to find it." Hotch gestured to the back room.

Penelope nodded. Carrying her own computer bags, she followed Derek into the depths of the house.

"What've we got?" Hotch questioned those remaining around the table.

"He knew he could throw us off, pretend to be looking for a hunting lodge." Emily spoke quickly.

"We've got piles of information, journals, notebooks. We're still sifting through it all." JJ added, shirt still bloody from yesterday.

Just then, Reid rushed in from another room. "The walls in the bedroom, they are covered in the latin phrase 'honora patrem tuum', honor thy father."

"Garcia, look for anything you can find about his father." Hotch gave out orders, but his focus was elsewhere. What was happening to you?

"Over here!" Morgan called from outside.

The team ran around the house to see Morgan opening a cellar door. Nodding slightly, Hotch and Morgan made there way inside.

"Tobias Hankel, FBI." Morgan shouted, receiving no answer.

They quickly found the dead body of none other than Hankel's father. Even the new information did little to calm the worry brewing inside of Hotch.

"Confess your sins." He ordered.

"My sins? I don't have any sins." You did your best to hold back the tears, trying to figure out who you were talking to.

"Everyone has sins. Confess, and you will be forgiven." He stared you down, waiting for a response.

You simply shook your head, mouth slightly agape. The smell was getting to you. You couldn't think straight with the pain in your head.

"I- I don't know what-"

"YES YOU DO. CONFESS." He hit you, whipping your head to the left.

"Hotch, he took drugs to escape. Dilaudid cut with a psychedelic." Emily relayed the information her and JJ got from Tobias's sponsor.

"We've got something too. The dates in his journals don't add up. He was talking about his father as if he was alive months after he killed him."

"His father beat him, preached about sin." Emily replied, putting the pieces together alongside Hotch.

"Split personality. Profile the father. He could be the key to finding Y/N." Even just saying your name he felt his heart clench.

"Who are you?" You questioned him as soon as he walked through the door, trying to figure out who you were dealing with this time.

"Tobias." He moved about the cabin almost nervously.

"Who was here before?" You knew Rafael, but the other personality was a mystery.

"My father." Definitely the most violent. He was who you had to look out for. "I'm sorry if he hurt you."

Tobias looked over you newly forming bruises before pulling off his belt.

"No. No what are you doing?" You felt your heart rate increase as he wrapped the belt around your arm. You could barely register the words he was saying, something about escaping from the pain.

"Please. I don't want it. I'm fine." You begged, tears brimming your eyes. He ignored your pleas, injecting the drug into your bloodstream.

Despite how much you hated it, you felt the relief he was talking about. The pain was gone, even if just briefly. You thought about your time spent with Hotch. It didn't feel like long enough. You wanted more. You had so much you wanted to do with him.

"Aaron..." You mumbled his name between kisses. "They could see us." You did little to stop him, despite your words.

"We should tell them." He whispered against your mouth, holding you close. "They would be happy for us."

You sighed blissfully, forehead pressed against his. "Really? You know they've got a pool going to see when we'd finally get together. Who do you think had money on 4 months ago?" You laughed into his neck, pulling him closer.

"My bet's on Rossi. He knows us both too well." Aaron smiled, a full genuine smile.

"You're probably right, but just to make it interesting, I'm betting Reid. He's too observant not to have noticed." You squinted at the window, knowing Reid was staring at the closed blinds on the other side.

That earned a laugh, one you could feel in his chest pressed tightly to your own.

"I love you." He kissed your head, content to hold you for a little while longer.

"I love you too." You leaned ever farther into him. "We can tell them when we get back from this next case."

"Deal."

"Get in here!" Reid called from the computer room, pointing to a screen where you were being broadcast. You were handcuffed and tied to a chair, clearly beaten.

"Pick one to die." The voice of Tobias could be heard, despite him not being visible on the screen.

You shook your head, staring into the camera. You wanted to plead for Hotch to save you, but you knew it wouldn't be fair. He didn't need that on his conscience.

"Choose one, and I will free another."

You shook your head again, trying to think of a clue you could give the team. "I won't let you hunt them like a poacher."

"Now. Or I will kill them all." He threatened, lifting you from the ground.

"I'll pick who lives." You stuttered, breaths coming fast and short. "The right screen."

You were forced to watch as he turned off the camera, leaving the screens to show the heinous murders he was about to commit.

Suddenly, Rossi was talking to you through the screen. The sight of him nearly brought you to tears.

"Y/N. This isn't your fault. None of it. You can't blame yourself. We will find you, but I need you to be there when we do."

You knew exactly what he meant. You were already blaming yourself, despite Rossi's father like relationship with you, it was hard to believe him.

It did give you the strength to remember the team though. You needed to see them, all of them, again.

"He's back!" Morgan called everyone in to view the screens again.

"Confess your sins." They watched as he beat you.

You cried. You begged him to stop. You begged Tobias for help, but nothing worked.

Hotch felt his heart break even more with every word.

Suddenly, you were on the ground, still tied to the chair. You were seizing, Charles Hankel watching as it happened.

The screen went dark, causing Hotch to punch the desk.

"Dammit." He shouted. He didn't care if his worry was beginning to poke through the surface. He needed to find you and he needed to do it now.

"The timestamp." Emily's voice drew him out of his head. "There's only a few minutes between the time of death and when it was posted. He's got to be close to the crime scene."

Finally. Something that felt like progress.

They watched the screen as you appeared again.

"Choose one to die." It was Rafael this time.

"I can't. I can't do it." Your face betrayed every emotion you were feeling inside.

"Pick one." He stated again.

"Me. Kill me." You nearly begged.

"You said you weren't one of them. Your team has 7 other members. Choose one of them to die."

You shook your head, fear gripping you once again as he pulled out the revolver.

"Choose." He connected the gone to your forehead, resting it there.

"No." He pulled the trigger, watching as you flinched.

"Choose." You shook your head, tensing as he pulled the trigger again.

Hotch felt his heart in his stomach, internally begging you to just say a name. He couldn't watch you die, not like this.

"Choose." He pulled the trigger yet again at your silence.

"I won't do it." You held firm, knowing you had limited chances.

"Choose one to die."

You opened your mouth, panting as an idea came to you.

"I choose... Aaron Hotchner." Your heart ached even saying it, but you needed to give him a clue. "He's a classic narcissist. Thinks he's better than everyone. He'd go to his grave knowing he was wrong." You winced internally, trying not to give away your plan.

Hotch left the room, trying to understand your words. The two of you had just argued about the definition of classic narcissism.

"I think you're wrong." You laughed at his amused expression.

"Yeah? Or do you just like making me exasperated?" He questioned your motives, pulling you closer as you laid in bed together.

"Maybe a little bit of both." You shrugged, leaning up to kiss him. "Promise me something?" You asked, a nervous expression on your face.

"What?" He looked at you with so much concern, you felt your heart beat a little faster.

"If... If I die, you can't blame yourself." He opened his mouth to protest, but you kept going. "I know you Aaron. You'd take it to grave thinking it was your fault. I can't let you do that. Not when I know you blame yourself for Haley's death." You felt your heart break for him and the pain he had been through. "Promise me." You were nearly begging.

"I promise." He whispered, his throat tight at the idea of losing you.

He was brought back to the present by the sound of Rossi's voice.

"Hotch, you know Y/N didn't mean any of that." Rossi tried gently, unsure of how Hotch was coping with your situation.

"I'm not a narcissist. What's my worst quality?" He looked at the apprehensive looks everyone was giving him. "I'll start, I have no sense of humor."

He nodded along as his team listed his faults.

"None of you said I ever put myself above the team, because I don't. Y/N and I just argued about the definition of classic narcissism." He paced, trying to put it together. "I'd take it to my grave... Grave was a hint."

"What? How do you know?" Reid shook his head, trying to understand the logic.

"I made a promise. It's a long story." He shook his head, trying to clear the memory so he could focus. "Y/N knew I would remember it."

"A cemetary. It's got to be a cemetary." Morgan added.

"No cemeteries on the map." Garcia was typing away on the computer.

"Like a poacher." Reid whispered, staring at the screen.

"Reid?" Hotch looked at him, eyes pleading for an answer.

"That's what Y/N said in the first video. 'I won't let you hunt them like a poacher.'" He said it louder, more excited than before.

"Garcia, any reports of poaching in the area?" Hotch asked, the idea of finding you causing hope to erupt in his chest.

"Yes, at Marshall Parrish... and there's a cemetery on the grounds." She gave them the address, watching as they ran out to the SUVs.

"I'm sorry." Tobias said it so softly, you were almost certain you didn't hear it at all.

"Wh- why?" Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, trying to make sense of it.

"He'll win. In the end, he always does." He rose from the crouched position, slowly injecting you with more drugs.

"Hotch!" You screamed, feeling arms restraining you from behind.

You watched as he went into the hostage situation, unarmed and without a vest.

"Derek. Let me go!" You struggled in his grasp, straining to get free.

"There's nothing you can do, he's already inside." He stated the truth, although it did little to calm your nerves.

You settled down, throat tight with worry. You bit your lip, eyes flitting between the door and windows. You just needed a sign, anything to say he was alright.

The sound of a gun firing stunned you. You were frozen in place, fear consuming you. You had just told him you loved him for the first time this morning. What if you never get to say it again? What if that's all the time you got.

You stared in horror as everyone ran toward the house, only to freeze when a voice shouted everything was fine.

"It's fine." He huffed, carrying the small child out of the house toward a waiting EMT. "Baxter is dead."

"Aaron..." You whispered the name, realizing how powerless you felt when he was in danger. The two of you made eye contact across the yard, a reassuring look in his eye.

"Aaron..." You whispered, blinking rapidly as you slowly came to.

"What about Aaron." Charles. Tobias's dad was back.

"I couldn't stop him. I couldn't keep him safe." You muttered to yourself, not fully understanding the situation.

"Is that a confession?" He asked, voice hard.

"Yes." It was more of a breath of air than a word, but it was all he needed to condemn you.

He unlocked your handcuffs, forcing a shovel into your newly freed arms before dragging you outside.

"Dig." he instructed plainly, watching over you as stray tears wet the ground beneath you.

"Clear." Morgan called from one side of the shed.

"Clear" Hotch replied from the other. With the whole team in the small space, it wasn't exactly necessary but it was habit.

Hotch could feel his nerves picking up again as he realized this meant you were still with Tobias. He paced back and forth, feeling powerless.

"Spread out. They have to be on foot." He left without waiting for a response, turning left with JJ to look for you.

You did your best to stall, but Charles wasn't the most patient.

"Dig faster."

"I'm trying. I'm trying." You whimpered, movements speeding up ever so slightly. The massive knife in his hands causing your own to shake.

"You're weak. Move." He huffed, throwing his jacket to the ground before ripping the shovel from your hands.

A flash of light in the trees caught your eye. Flashlights. Your team. Aaron.

Your eyes flickered between the man in front of you and the trees, causing him to turn.

You took the split second he wasn't looking to grab the gun from his jacket, swiftly aiming it as he turned back to you knife raised.

"Only one bullet in that gun." He lunged for you, falling backwards after you pulled the trigger.

You dropped the gun, quickly tossing the knife away.

"Tobias?" You cried, moving back toward him.

"You killed me." He seemed surprised, but grateful at the same time.

You felt the tears pouring down your face as you apologized.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." You grabbed his hand, watching the light fade from his eyes as he asked one final question.

"You think I'll get to see my mom again?"

You barely registered the arms around you, pulling you to your feet. You couldn't take your eyes off of Tobias. He wasn't the one who hurt you. He helped you, or at least tried.

"I killed him." Your breathing picked up, vision blurring.

"Y/N, look at me." You turned to the voice, blinking rapidly to stop the tears.

"Aaron?" You took a stuttering breath, trying to make sure this was real.

"I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now." His words were just as reassuring to himself as they were to you. You caught JJ's eye over Hotch's shoulder, quickly moving to hug her.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never should've-" You cut her off.

"None of this was your fault. It was my idea to split up. I'm so sorry." You cried into her shoulder, knowing how guilty she must've felt.

She hugged you back, tears brimming her own eyes at seeing you alive again.

She lead you to the EMT, not commenting on the look you threw over your shoulder at Aaron. He quickly followed you to the ambulance. JJ left you to talk to Hotch, who stayed beside you the entire time the medics looked you over.

"I didn't mean it." You said when you were finally alone, sitting between the open doors of the ambulance.

"What?" Aaron questioned, his mind not following your own train of thought.

"When... When I had to choose. I didn't mean any of it." You could feel the tears coming, but this time you did nothing to hold them back.

"I know. I knew the whole time." You brushed your tears away, looking you in the eye. "I love you so much." He whispered, his own eyes feeling watery.

"I love you too." You leaned into him, relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. You couldn't help but look over at the team, all of whom quickly pretended not to be watching. You huffed a laugh.

"Yeah, I think they're going to have some questions." Hotch smiled, glad to see you happy even if just for a second.

"After this case, right?" You looked back at him, confirming you still wanted to share your relationship with the team.

"Deal." He smiled, arm tightening around your shoulders to pull you closer.

You couldn't help but bring it up on the jet ride home.

"So, who had money on four months ago?" You questioned, tucked into Aaron's side on the couch.

"What?" Emily raised a brow at your sudden statement.

"That's when we started dating." You grinned at her shocked expression.

"Dammit Reid." Morgan huffed, handing over the money.

"Don't forget Rossi!" Reid high fived the older man, the two grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Looks like we were both right." Hotch smiled into your hair, trying to hide his laugh.

"Yeah. We make a pretty good team." You smiled, leaning into his touch.

"I love you." He murmured, face still in your hair. You turned your face into his chest before responding.

"I love you too."

Permanent taglist:

@averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @madewithsebstan

#aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch xy/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #hotch fic #hotch fluff #hotch one shot #hotch angst

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spookydrreid · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter Nine: Restitution

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer x fem!reader

Content warnings: murder, implications of CSA, in depth talk of CSA (reader), victim blaming, letting an assailant walk free, thoughts of past suicide, warped sense of reality

PLEASE READ THESE WARNINGS CAREFULLY. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF WHILE READING THIS CHAPTER. I UNDERSTAND IF YOU CANT READ IT. THERE WILL BE A NON-TRIGGERING RECAP AT THAT START OF CHAPTER TEN. AGAIN… READ THOSE WARNINGS CAREFULLY, THEY ARE THERE FOR A REASON!

Word Count: 1.2k

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…

Bang

The echos of the gun rings in my ears and makes me smile. I watch his body hit the ground with a loud thud. If I could spit on him I would’ve. Fucker ruined my life in more ways than I would care to admit. This time, as I pulled the trigger, my hands didn’t shake and the sound of the gun didn’t make me close my eyes.

There was no fear, no hesitation, no reservations. He got what he deserved.

“How did that feel?” Spencer asks me once we’re sure he’s dead. He being the man who took away my innocence. The man who walked free after I provided ample amount of evidence to the courts of what he did to me.

I stared at him for a moment longer before answering, admiring my work and knowing he’d never harm anyone else again. I could see why Spencer enjoyed killing. The high was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. And I didn’t want to end.

“So fucking good.” He takes the gun from me and his fingers on mine feel like electricity. I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

He smiles at me as he puts it in the holster. It’s then that I realize that I’m panting and unbelievably turned on. If I was honest, I would say I was a little afraid of just how much I enjoyed these feelings. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he knows.

“I can tell.” He looks down at the body spilling blood beside us “fucking asshole.” I follow his gaze, the bullet hole in the center of his forehead making me smile.

“I see why you like this … feels good.” He starts wrapping up the body, collecting any and all incriminating evidence possible.

He nods “of course it feels good. Now he isn’t on the street hurting other people. He’s gone. He cant hurt you any more.” He pulls me in and kisses me softly.

…

Three days earlier

The shaking wasn’t stopping, no matter how many deep breaths I took. I was doing everything I could to not wake the man sleeping beside me. But it was to no avail.

“Pup? What’s the matter sweetheart?” My heavy breathing making it hard for me to answer him. But I try.

“I-I had a b-bad dream.” I didn’t want to talk about it, but I knew he was going to make me. He always did. He claimed that it made things easier and less scary.

Spencer sits behind me, pulling me into his chest and holding me tight. “Shhh, I’m here. You’re okay. No one can hurt you, my pet.” His hands soothingly play with my hair and I can feel my heart rate slow the longer I breath him in.

“H-he can. He told me he can always get to me.” I pull him tighter, needing him to ground me before I fall back into a panic attack.

“What? Who, baby? No one can get to you with me around. I promise.” I shake my head. He wasn’t invincible and no one cared then.

“Forget it. L-lets go back to sleep…” But he doesn’t take that for an answer.

“Not till you tell me what that dream was about.” Again, him always making me talk about what was happening so I could possibly over come it.

I grip him and hold him close, my ear at pressed to his chest so I can hear his beating heart. Grounding myself. “I was fifteen and he was my fathers best friend.” I take a shaky breath and try hard to keep my voice steady. “I always thought that he was creepy. He just gave me a bad feeling. But he and my dad was so close that I didn’t think anything of it.”

Spencer rubs my back and kisses my head.

“Sometimes I think my mother had a feeling. She used to ask me to cover up when he was around. I couldn’t wear shorts when he was there, or shirts that showed too much cleavage.” I swallow hard but keep going. “So I did. I wasn’t allowed to swim in our pool when he was around, which was a lot. And then, three fucking days before my sixteenth birthday, he acted on his urges.”

Spencer grips my tighter, “did you tell anyone?”

I nod furiously, “I told my mother the next morning. We were close, you know. She was my best friend.” I cant stop the smile that spreads at the memory of my mother. But it doesn’t stay long.

“We went to the police the same day. I felt like I was violated all over again. I told that story so many times that day.”

He plays with my hair slowly, “I know. That’s really hard and I’m very proud of you for saying something.” Obviously I loved when Spencer was proud of me. I spent most of our time together making sure I made him proud. But this was different. He could be proud of me all he wanted, but it didn’t make my heart flutter like it usually does.

“They had so much evidence. Photographs were taken, DNA from … everywhere. They had him. And then when it came to court? No one believed me. Know why?”

I’m sure he had an idea but he just shakes his head. I can feel his anger radiating off of him.

“Because my best friend took a photo of me on my 16th birthday with a fucking smile on my face. My parents bought me a car, one I really wanted. It was a moment in time. A fucking moment where I didn’t feel like I wanted to rip off my skin. And it was used against me.”

He sighs, “that’s not fair.”

I scoff, not angry with him, “no fucking shit, Spence. They let him walk… all because of that fucking picture. They said if I was really a victim, I wouldn’t be smiling ever. It was like I couldn’t be excited about my birthday. Truth be told? I wasn’t excited for it. I felt disgusting and i just wanted to die. And after that?” I shutter.

He holds me tighter, his heart pounding in his chest as he listens to me. If there was one thing that I loved the most about Spencer, was his ability to listen to me. Like really listen to me.

“After the verdict, I sincerely never wanted to be more dead than that day. He told everyone I ruined his life, that I was a liar. I wasn’t a liar, Spencer. But… money talks. He had more money than we did. And I lost. And I’ve lived with that for so long. I dream about that night so often. I hate it.”

“You deserve to be believed. And I believe you, sweetheart.” It takes him a moment before he murmurs, “we can make him pay.”

I look up at him and I can tell he’s serious, “you would do that for me?”

He laughs but I can tell its slightly humorless, “yes of course. You deserve justice. Do you know where he is now?”

I nod, “is it bad that I do? When I moved so did he. He followed me and told everyone I ended up meeting about what I did. He’s divorced living in DC.”

“Good… were going to find him then.”

…

And find him we did

…

@moondustmemories @muffin-cup @onlyhereforthefanfics @jasontoddthezombie @will-on-the-internet @x2moonlight2x-blog @big-galaxy-chaos @slut-for-mothman @mikewizkalifa @dr-spencerr-reidd @reidsconverse @ssaalexisreid @thisiscalm-andits-doctor @starryeyedvirgosworld @thevirgofangirl @spencersawkward @nova3312 @spencerreidat3am@xoxospencerreid @pancake2603 @spenxerslut @freakyhood96 @mochionly @nichmeddar @measure-in-pain @oh-what-a-cutie @withasideofmeg @totallyclearwitch @flipperpenguins @manuosorioh @reliefplease @rosienie @luvofyourlifeliv @doctorspenceryeet @darlingisntit @ilovespencerreidmarryme@mikhailogallavich @sassymoon

#Revenge series #spencer reid prison #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #Spencer Reid

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spencestyles · 3 years ago

Text

I’d do anything

summary: spencer is in love with y/n and y/n is in an abusice relationship. will spencer be able to save y/n? love her when she needs him most?

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

warnings: ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP DO NOT READ IF NOT COMFORTABLE READING THIS CONTENT, normal case violence

words: 4k+

please do not read if you are uncomfortable with the content of it abuse is a trigger. be mindful of this.

enjoy!!

SPENCER'S POV

"Guys this is my boyfriend, Owen," y/n said to the team on a night out.

For the longest time she and I have been best friends, nothing more. I have been in love with her for a while now, but I have always been too afraid to tell her. Now that she had a boyfriend, I knew I had lost my chances.

"Oh my gosh!" Penelope yelled. "It is so nice to finally meet you! y/n has told us so much about you!"

Owen smiled and gave y/n a side hug, "Hopefully all good things."

"Yes," JJ quickly said. "She makes you seem amazing. Hopefully you can live up to the expectations."

"Hopefully I do not disappoint," Owen replied.

The night continued with the team asking Owen questions. I had met Owen before and he truly was a nice guy. That was the worst part. However as the night continued, y/n acted strange and almost seemed afraid of Owen. She was acting timid, something she has never done, not even in front of an unsub.

Owen went to get y/n a drink so I decided it would be the perfect time to ask y/n, "Are you okay? You've been acting strange, is Owen hurting you?"

"What?" y/n laughed. "Spencer are you okay? Of course not. Owen and I are perfectly fine."

I sighed, "Okay, just checking. Are we still on for Dr Who tomorrow night?"

"When have I ever not showed up for Dr Who?" y/n retorted. "I will obviously come. Nothing can ever come between us and Dr Who."

Owen suddenly came up behind y/n, "Wait, you're hanging with Spencer tomorrow?" Owen asked aggressively. "I thought we were going to do something?"

y/n laughed, "I told you I can't ever hang on certain Fridays because I watch Dr Who with Spencer. I also never agreed to doing something together, I would have never forgotten a Dr Who watch party."

Owen glared at me. Obviously he was angry I was hanging out with y/n.

"I think it's time for us to leave," Owen said, grabbing y/n's arm very hard. "Say goodbye to your friends." Owen walked over to the table with y/n and put on a fake smile. As they walked out the door, I noticed y/n look back at me, tears in her eyes. Something was wrong.

The whole team was sitting at the table talking about something random when I decided to speak up, "How did you guys like Owen?"

A mix of complements were thrown by the girls, but the guys, they didn't seem too impressed. JJ, Emily, and Penelope, all went to get drinks while Rossi, Hotch, Derek, and I stayed at the table.

"What did you guys think of him?" I asked.

"I hated him," Derek said simply. "I saw the way y/n acted around him, much profilers the girls are. She's acting just like someone who has been manipulated and abused."

Hotch nodded, "I agree with Derek. I know we aren't supposed to profile team members, but the girls obviously don't see anything wrong."

"Are you guys sure?" Rossi asked. "I mean he seems very nice and maybe you all just think he is not good because you all wish y/n and Spencer were together."

The guys looked at me as I began to blush profusely, "I don't want to be with y/n that much anymore." They looked at me in disagreement. "Guys I'm serious, she has a boyfriend."

"Yeah and you don't like her," Rossi argued. "Just admit that you still have a crush on her and then if something really happens I will believe you."

"Fine," I sighed. "I still like y/n."

YOUR POV

"What the hell y/n," Owen screamed at you. "What the fuck is Dr Who night? You know I don't like him."

You choked a sob, "Owen it isn't like that. I don't like him, he's my best friend. Please don't hurt me."

"He obviously has something for you and you have something for him," He yelled.

"I d-don't lik-ke him Owen," I whispered. "I promise."

This had become your normal routine. Spencer or some other male would say something and Owen would go crazy. Especially about Spencer. Owen would yell at you and sometimes things would escalate. That unfortunately is how it went tonight.

It started with a push, then a slap. Sometimes it progressed more, but that was rare.

"We are going somewhere," Owen said.

You were being dragged out of the house, "Owen, what?"

"Well since you can't be obedient, I'm going to have to teach you somehow y/n."

And like that you were knocked out unconscious.

SPENCER'S POV

I walked into work carrying a coffee for both y/n and I. I decided to get her a coffee to apologize for last night's irrational decisions. I had come to the conclusion that Owen wasn't actually abusive, I was just jealous.

Derek and Hotch though, not so much.

"Baby girl, that guy is a grade A asshole," Derek said to Garcia. "Can you please just do one background check?"

Penelope sighed, "I can't do that Derek, I promised y/n I wouldn't look into him."

I decided to ignore the conversation and wait for y/n to come in for work. After about thirty minutes of waiting I decided to ask Hotch.

"Hey, is y/n coming in today?" I asked.

"Um, no," he said, pulling out his phone. "I got this strange text though, can you look through it."

"Yeah let me see," I said, walking over to where he set his phone down.

"Agent Hotchner, I will not be able to come into work tomorrow for the case. I have an issue with my tonsils. I am sorry." I recited. "I don't think y/n typed this, maybe we should send someone to her house and to Owen's house."

Hotch groaned, "I'll send Derek and JJ, I am hoping our next case doesn't become y/n. Please continue to look over the text and I'll have Garcia look into Owen."

I nodded and put the text onto the white board so I would be able to write on it.

"Hotch, look at this," I said, Hotch walking over to me. "First, y/n hasn't called you agent Hotchner since her first day here, she usually calls you Hotch or Aaron. Also, y/n got her tonsils removed when she was 7."

"Garcia, have you looked into Owen at all," Hotch asked.

"Yeah a little, but it's all normal," Garcia answered.

Hotch glared at her, "Not enough, do a full deep dive. I don't care what y/n told you not to do, he is hiding something and so is she."

Garcia nodded and went straight to work as Hotch's phone began to ring.

"Morgan, you're on speaker."

"Okay so y/n's apartment was spotless," Morgan said. "But it was also locked, so I don't think she went home to her apartment last night."

JJ began to add on, "Owen's apartment on the other hand, was a mess. Like it looked like there was a robbery of some form. Also, y/n's purse was there."

"Garcia what do you have on Owen?" Hotch asked.

"Owen Winters, he is 42 and from Southern California," Garcia began. "As a child CPS was contacted many times and it looks like his dad killed himself when he was 8. It looks like he has an extensive amount of charges for abuse and harassment, all from his ex-girlfriends."

"Do any of them live near?" I asked.

"Yes, boy wonder, 25 year-old Vanessa Montgomery works in a coffee shop near the white house," Penelope explained.

"What is the coffee shop?" I questioned.

"The Starbucks over on Pennsylvania Ave. near the White House," she answered. "Why?"

"I know her, she is the barista that always gets our order perfect," I replied.

"Morgan and JJ pick her up on your way back," Hotch ordered. "Owen Winters is our new unsub and y/n y/l/n is our newest victim."

I sighed as I began to prepare the questions for Vanessa. I looked over at y/n's desk and decided to start looking through it for any details.

As I walked over to the desk, I looked at the coffee on y/n's desk. I wanted to apologize for something that I was right about. Why didn't she tell me? was the only thing going through my head.

At her desk I noticed some things that I guess I hadn't seen before. On her desk she has four framed pictures. One of her, Hotch and Rossi. Another that was her and the girls. One that was of her, Derek and me, from one of the first cases we had together . The last one however, was the one I had never seen. It was a picture of y/n and me from when she took me to Colorado to ski and hike.

I smiled at the memory,

"Spencer, be careful," y/n yelled as I walked closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

I laughed, "y/n I'll be fine! Come here, let's take a picture."

"Fine! Spencer I swear if I fall, you are coming down with me."

"For you, y/n, I'd do anything."

I then began to look deeper in her desk. I felt like I was violating y/n's personal space, but this needed to be done. As I looked through her drawers, I wasn't able to find anything that could help. Until I looked in the last drawer.

In this drawer, I found papers for a restraining order that had been filed and denied. y/n was trying to get away from Owen.

"Guys, I found something," I said yelling into the conference room. The team looked at me to continue, "y/n filed a restraining order on Owen but it was denied. The date was two months ago. I was thinking back and y/n has been acting a little strange for the past five months. Owen has to have her."

"Reid, we already established Owen has her, but this ensures that he was abusive," Hotch said.

Emily sighed, "The timeline makes sense. She has been hanging out with us less and she has worn more turtlenecks in the past five months than I have seen anyone ever wear."

"Yeah," Penelope said. "y/n has ditched us for girls night for the past few months. She also got mad at me at team dinner last night when I asked why she wasn't wearing something more revealing."

"Her smiles have been fake," I added. "She smiles at us all the time to brighten our days, but they haven't been as nice, welcoming."

"Well, Reid, it looks like you were correct," Rossi said.

"What do you mean?" JJ asked.

Derek laughed, "Last night when you three went off to get drinks, Reid told us he thought Owen was acting violent with y/n and thought she was acting strange. Hotch and I immediately agreed, but Rossi didn't seem convinced. Rossi thought Reid was just jealous because he has a crush on y/n and he doesn't realize she likes him."

"Derek, not the time," I said sternly.

Emily laughed, "I can't believe you of all people couldn't see it Spencer. y/n is hopelessly in love with you and now she is dating a scumbag because she doesn't think you like her."

I sighed as I began to look over where y/n could be located, thinking about the idea of dating y/n wouldn't help us find her. We had made little progression on this, but we knew it had to be somewhere with significance to either one of them or both of them.

I decided to ask Garcia, "Garcia, have you made any progress on where y/n could be?"

"Yes 187, it looks like Owen owns a small cabin around half an hour from here," Garcia said.

"Okay let's go now," Hotch told us.

Garcia gasped, "Wait there is a live feed. I'm putting it up on the screen."

The video was horrific. y/n was tied to a chair looking almost dead. She had blood falling from above her head and looked like she had been through hell.

"Hello BAU," Owen said to the camera. "I have your dear y/n, but you wont be able to get her. y/n will never be out of my sight ever again. I will not have Dr. Spencer Reid ruin our relationship."

"It's not your fault Spence," y/n said to the camera. My heart clenched. She was in pain and I couldn't be there to help her.

"He is the one in the way of our relationship y/n," Owen yelled. "Of course it is his fault."

"Spencer isn't the issue with our relationship Owen," y/n yelled back. "You are."

Hotch started to grab his things, "She shouldn't have said that, we need to leave now. She is already in danger."

We all ran to the SUVs. I went in a car with Derek and Hotch. Derek drove and broke every traffic law imaginable, making the thirty minute car ride less than twenty. The three of us grabbed out vests and began to run to the cabin.

Suddenly, Hotch stopped me, "Spencer it isn't safe for you to be there."

"Hotch I have to go," I protested.

"Spencer, you are the reason she is there," Hotch said. "It may be Owen's fucked up mind, but you are the trigger that made him angry. y/n loves you more than him and he noticed and now we're here. Stay outside." I decided to not fight and stay outside to wait for the other team members. The other SUV pulled up quickly after us.

"Jesus Christ, that was the fastest I've ever driven," Emily complained. "Spencer what are you doing out here?"

"Morgan and Hotch already moved in, Hotch doesn't want me inside," I explained.

"I'll stay out here with you Kid," Rossi said. I nodded in thanks as I watched Emily and JJ run to the cabin. I stood staring at the cabin. Time had become slow motion. It felt like an eternity watching the movement inside.

I heard Derek yell from the cabin, "MEDIC! WE NEED A MEDIC!" I immediately ran into the cabin. I looked over and saw y/n in Derek's arms, barely breathing. I heard Owen yelling at me, but couldn't focus on anything besides y/n.

"y/n," I said, moving to where I was holding her head. "y/n, I need you to listen to me. I love you, I always have and I am so sorry I never told you."

"Sir, we need you to move," the medic said, trying to move y/n onto the stretcher. I began to move when I felt someone grab my hand. I looked down and noticed it was y/n. She gave my hand three squeezes. I Love You.

With y/n on her way to the hospital and Owen getting taken back to Quantico, Derek, JJ, and I all went to the hospital to keep tabs on y/n while the others closed the case.

I sat in my chair nervous out of my mind. Derek sat next to me trying to calm me down and JJ was across from me.

"Spencer, you need to calm down," Derek told me.

"I can't calm down Derek, y/n could die," I said frantically.

JJ began to laugh, "Did you know the other day y/n told Emily, Penelope, and I, that she wanted kids? Can you imagine that? y/n with kids?"

A tear trickled down my face, "She always told me she wanted two kids, one boy and one girl. y/n would be a great mother."

Derek laughed, "The thing that would make y/n such a great mother if her kids were also yours Pretty Boy. I have known since the beginning you two would have pretty kids." I laughed, but also glared at him.

"y/n y/l/n?" The doctor called. The three of us stood up and the doctor began to walk towards us, "y/n is out of surgery. It was touch and go for a while, but she is stable. There were many noticeable signs of abuse that were old, she has a broken harm and three broken fingers, all of which are old."

I let out a shaky breath, "When can I- we see her?"

"I can only let one person in at a time and I doubt she is awake," the doctor explained. JJ and Derek looked at me, signaling me to go to y/n's room. I followed the doctor to her room.

"It might be a little much to see, she may not look like herself. She is very, very fragile and has wires attached to her," the doctor said before opening the door for me. Walking into the room, the environment was tense. y/n was laying in the hospital bed with wires attached to her and much of her body was wrapped up from the surgery and from her injuries.

I went over and sat next to her bed, grabbing onto her hand, "y/n, you can't hear me but I am here. It's Spencer. I am so glad you are okay, but why didn't you tell me about Owen? I could have done something. WE could have done something. I am just so glad you are safe."

For the rest of the time, I sat there watching her sleep. Not in a creepy way, but to make sure she was safe. I was so pissed at myself for not realizing what Owen was doing earlier. I should have been able to see the warning signs. Some of them were subtle, when she wouldn't hang out with the team or was constantly checking her phone. But some of them should have been immediate red flags, the flinching in front of the unsub or how she always wore clothes to cover herself. I should have known. The team should have known.

I felt y/n's hand move and saw her shift, "Spencer?" she asked.

"y/n," I said breathlessly. "I am right here, but I need to go get a nurse. You are at the hospital, Owen hurt you."

I started standing up to leave, "Spence, no. Don't leave me."

I sighed, looking at her disheveled features, "y/n, I will be right back. You need to see a nurse."

Walking out of the room was painful, hearing her sobs in fear of being hurt again. It pained me to know I was leaving her when she needed me, again.

I walked over to her nurse, "Um y/n y/l/n has woken up, I thought you should know." The nurse said her thanks and walked with me to y/n's room. As we walked in, the sound of y/n's labored breaths became more noticeable.

"Miss y/l/n, we need you to calm down," the nurse said, running to y/n's bedside.

Immediately, I walked over to y/n and held her hand. "Sir, you need to exit the room," the nurse said, ushering me away from y/n. At that moment I didn't know what was worse, hearing y/n's cries or feeling so helpless in the situation.

Suddenly, I felt a presence next to me, "Reid, you need to leave, it's not good for you here."

Derek.

"Derek, I-I-I can't just leave," I stuttered. "I need to be there to help, she's all alone."

"Kid, you need to shower," Derek said.

"No, Derek you don't understand," I said angrily. "I can't just leave her here again. I didn't notice when she was hurt and I need to show that I care."

Derek sighed, "Reid, she knows. She's not going to hate you. No one knew that she was going through that. It's not your fault."

I was about to say something when I say y/n being moved out of her room by doctors, "What is going on?" I asked.

"Miss y/l/n is getting taken back into surgery," the doctor said. "We don't know what happened." I began to hyperventilate. I was freaking out. y/n wasn't alright. She was going to die.

As I began to sob, Derek pulled me into a hug, "She is going to be alright man. You'll get to see her again and talk to her and finally ask her on a date. Does that sound good?"

I unconvincingly nodded my head.

"No, Spencer, don't do that," he said. "Don't doubt the doctors and think about the statistics, y/n is not a statistic."

I nodded, wiping my eyes.

"There you go," Derek smirked. "Now, go take a shower at your house so y/n wont shy away at your scent. Also, maybe get her some flowers. She likes-"

"Pink roses," I interrupted, laughing. "Pink roses are the most difficult flowers to find."

Derek laughed, "At least try to find them."

"For her," I began. "I'd do anything."

After that, I ran to the SUV to head to Quantico and get my car. The car ride felt like forever and I wasn't excited for the possibility of seeing Owen. Thankfully, I didn't see Owen between the time of dropping off the SUV and going to the parking lot to get my car. The car ride to my apartment was short, thank God. I decided to take a quick shower, just wanting to freshen up. I got dressed in my home clothes, which were in fact different from my work clothes, contrary to the belief of most of my team members.

I made it to the flower shop that was down the street from my apartment. I was usually able to find at least one pink rose here, but it was typically very difficult.

"Hello," the shop owner said. "We are close to closing Spencer. Do you need anything in specific?"

"Pink roses," I stated.

The owner laughed, "I'll have to check the back, but don't get your hopes up."

I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, but I couldn't help myself. y/n loves pink roses and I love y/n.

The owner came back, "You my kind sir, are in good luck. We had one bouquet left of pink roses in the back."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I said, pulling out my money. The owner nodded as I ran out the door to my car.

Speeding to the hospital, I made it to the waiting room. In the waiting room, I couldn't find the team. They were all there, but they weren't in the waiting room. I decided to go to y/n's room and see if they were near there.

Walking to y/n's room, I heard laughter. I looked into the room and saw the team in there along with y/n, smiling. I knocked on the door and slowly opened it.

"Spence," y/n smiled. "I missed you."

"Well I should get going," JJ began. "I need to go see my boys."

The rest of the team followed with their excuses for leaving y/n and I alone.

"H-hi y/n," I stuttered. "I brought you flowers, h-how are you?"

"I am as good as I can be," y/n laughed, obviously compensating the pain. "Thank you for the flowers Spence, I can't believe you could find them at this hour. You have always told me-"

"10 AM is the best time to buy pink roses," I interrupted. "Sorry."

"It's okay Spence, how are you?" She asked.

"Not that great," I said honestly. "Why didn't you tell us y/n?"

y/n sighed, "It was hard Spencer. I already barely had time alone with you guys and I didn't want to ruin it. Owen was also very scary- a mad man. I felt hopeless Spence, I didn't know what to do. I mean I've seen situations like this all the time in cases, but when it was actually happening I felt like there was nothing to do."

I held on to y/n's hand, giving it small kisses while she continued to talk me through her feelings, "and Spencer, I don't want to be alone tonight. Do you think you could stay?"

"Of course y/n," I answered.

"Thanks Spence, you're the best," she said. We continued to sit in a comfortable silence, watching the new episode of Dr Who on the small television in the corner of the room when y/n spoke up again, "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?" I asked, hoping she didn't mean my love confession.

y/n looked at me, knowing I was avoiding the topic, "When you said you love me Spencer. Did you mean it?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I love you too," She said.

I smiled, "Maybe once you're better Icantakeyoutodinner?"

"Spencer say it slower and I'll answer," y/n laughed. "I couldn't understand you."

"Once you're better maybe I can take you out to dinner?" I asked.

"Of course," y/n said. "But no Indian, if we are going on a date I want to go out somewhere. I want to feel pretty."

"To me, you are the most beautiful girl in the world," I said.

y/n blushed profusely, "I still can't believe you found those pink roses! I bet you had to look all over."

"I did, but for you, I'd do anything."

#spencer reid #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader

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