#now they’re policing our hair

[sbrown82]

So, let me get this straight: if I straighten my hair or get a silk press, I’m trynna be white, but if I wear my hair naturally or in braids, I’m ugly & “nappy-headed”?! I swear, Black women can’t win

[bitchinbarzal]

Disappear | S Reid

summary: how does a child, the daughter of a federal agent go missing from a police station.

-

Spencer took his eye off her for five minutes, just to help deliver the profile.

When he got back to the room, Violet was gone. Spencer was checking everywhere for her screaming her name repeatedly, praying she was just playing games.

Everyone was searching for her, until the woman from the front desk walked in holding a letter

“Someone just dropped this off for Doctor Reid?”

He grabbed it, a little too roughly but understandable for the moment.

“Reid, what does it say?” Hotch asked from across the room.

Spencer shakily held up a pink bow, the one Violet was wearing only an hour ago “He has her”

“Who?”

“The unsub”

Spencer didn’t want to call you, it somehow made it more real. You’d left her with him for an afternoon while you were in court, it was only supposed to be a couple hours.

“How do you think Y/N is going to-“

“You lost my daughter?!” Derek was interrupted by your screaming from the bullpen, hopping off his chair

“I think that answers my question”

The team stepped out of the board room to find you storming over to Spencer’s desk, pounding on his chest, sobbing

“Spence, you better be lying! She better be in there and this is some twisted prank! I can’t lose her, we can’t lose our babygirl-“

He shoves your face into his chest, hushing you “I know, I know I’m so sorry we’re gonna get this guy”

You whimper as you pull back “Why would he take her, what does he want with her?”

He strokes your hair as he whispers “I’m gonna find out”

Days turned over as the team worked the case, constantly hitting brick walls. They couldn’t find this guy.

The team, Spencer specifically had been chasing him for days on end. Constantly showing up to locations just to be let down.

Neither yourself nor Spencer had slept since the day Violet disappeared and with everyday the two of you began to turn against one another.

“We see this with every couple who lose a child, they’re not different because they work with these cases often” Rossi explained as Garcia spilled her worries to the group.

She pouted “they’re so perfect though and, and I don’t want them to fight because we’re going to find Vi, right?”

The team all shared a silent look around the room and Penelope asked again “right?”

JJ sighed and rubbed Penelope’s arm “the first twenty four hours are the most crucial in child kidnappings. They know that. We’re on day three, it’s not unlikely they’re losing hope”

“But, but Violet was the only child-“

Before Garcia could say anything else, your shouting interrupted her. The team looked out the conference room window to find the two of you standing around your desk fighting.

“You lost her! You had one job Spencer!”

“She shouldn’t have even been there, if you had just planned your day instead of tossing her around like a toy like a real mom-“

“Oh so now I’m a bad mom?” You growled, arms crossed over your chest.

Spencer sighed “I didn’t say that, but-“

“But what Spence? But you were supposed to be watching our daughter, but he only took her because of you! He said in his note this was revenge because you shot his girlfriend!” You shouted, now prodding at his chest with every point “This is all you-“

The door to the BAU room swung open, a very disheveled intern from the front desk holding a phone up “Reid?”

“Yes?” Both of you said in unison, ultimately confusing the poor kid.

“Um there’s a little girl on the phone, she says she’s looking for her mommy at the BAU… I don’t know if it’s a prank or-“

He couldn’t finish the sentence before you grabbed the phone “Vi?”

“Mommy…” she whimpered “I got the phone”

You smiled through your tears, so relieved she was alive “You did baby, you did what we told you to. You’re such a good girl”

From a young age you’d both instilled in her what were to happen if she was taken by a stranger - morbid to some but you two had seen your fair share of horrors. Being Liaison you’d seen the countless children in your files.

You’d made her rehearse the number and to ask for the BAU. Her brain similar to her father’s made ingraining this into her somewhat easy.

Behind the phone Spencer was pulling you to the conference room and instructing Penelope to trace the call.

You put her on speaker “Violet, baby we’re all here looking for you sweetheart”

“Why hasn’t daddy found me yet? Is he coming?” She sounded so tired, so defeated.

“I’m here sweetheart, I promise I’m coming to get you” he jumped in, his voice full of emotion.

Spencer stepped back from the table, taking a second to collect himself. His little girl sounded so hurt, so sure he wasn’t coming to save her.

“Auntie Penelope is finding where you are right now baby, don’t hang up” you added, bringing to conversation back to her.

“But what if he comes back? ‘Nelope be quick”

“Don’t hang up sunshine, don’t hang up I’m working as quick as I can” she says, her eyes also full of tears. You’d always wondered why she did this job, everything getting to her.

“I can hear him” she mumbles “I gotta go”

“No!” You all yell at once, before you add “Vi baby, hide the phone but do not hang up!”

Her voice trembled “Mommy I’m scared, please-“

The line ended, the beeping sound of the disconnected call pounding in your ears.

“Got it!” Penelope’s exclamation has your knees weak, you can’t even hear the address she recites. You just follow everyone out the room and to the car.

You don’t end up in with Spencer as usual, instead you’re beside Emily as she drives.

Your knee is jerking up and down, your anxiety tick.

“We’re almost there, we are like three minutes out” she reassured you.

You bit your lip “I just want my babygirl back, I- If I lose her I lose Reid and -“

“That is not going to happen” she assured, voice stern “We heard her, she’s smart you guys have taught her well!”

By the time you had arrived the rest of the team had already entered the house, you could hear the yelling before gunshots.

You gasped, moving faster into the house. You guys found them in the basement, Reid desperately kicking in doors and yelling out Violets name.

You turned to the other corridor, the basement resembling a prison and began doing the same

“Violet?!”

Behind the second door you burst through you heard her before you saw her “Mommy!”

She was laying in the arms of a woman, the latest victim prior to Violet. She had Violet shielded from the door.

Violet threw herself across the room into your arms “You came for me!”

“I did baby, we did. We told you we’d come find you” you held her head in the crook of your neck.

She pulled back to look at the woman, now being helped by Emily “I told you they’d find us, they’re so good”

She smiled softly at Violet, even though she was visibly in pain “You’re a lucky girl”

With Violet’s head nestled in your neck again you mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the woman, a silent way of saying I know you protected my baby

Carrying Violet out into the hallway you saw Spencer, heading towards you stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Violet in your arms.

“Vi, look” you whispered, her head lifting to look at him. She smiled widely, as tired as she was.

“Daddy! You came to save me!” Spencer enclosed his arms around you both, peppering kisses all over Violets face “We’ll always come save you Angel”

There was a mutual look of relief between you both when you looked at him, finally holding your girl again.

On route to the hospital to get Violet checked out she wouldn’t stop babbling “And I wasn’t even scared!”

“You’re so strong sweet girl!” You exclaim, hand gripping her leg from the passenger seat. Your subconscious not wanting to let her go.

When she was taken into the doctors bay to be checked out, you were asked to wait outside; so she could answer some questions without parental pressure.

The second you were alone you looked at Spencer and began to cry, tears running down his cheeks already.

“I thought we lost her” he mumbled “It was all my fault”

“No! No, spence I didn’t mean that-“

“No it was! I was supposed to care for her-“ you stopped him by putting your hand over his mouth

“We’ve got our girl, we’re good parents Spence! We taught her everything she needs to know in these situations. I love you, I love Violet. We’ve got this”

You were basking in the silence together for one moment before you heard Violet yelling “Mommy come find me again!”

You chuckled “coming babygirl! As funny as this moment is with her, she’s gonna need therapy”

Spencer, so seriously replied “oh definitely I’ve already called someone”

[princessbrunette]

hyperfem! reader w jj pleaseee

writing them in lil bullet points cos it’s easier to format hehehee 🎀

• swatching makeup on his arm in the store when you’re tryna find the right shade and he’s just all like “baby. how do you know i’m not like — super allergic to the ingredients in this thing. do you know how many chemicals go into makeu- infact, lemme see- no i’ll give it back i just wanna read what it says— trust me! i saw this video on instagram reels—” and he’s fighting the foundation bottle out of your hand so he can read the small print on the back listing the ingredients even though he has no idea what he’s talking about.

• he’s got beef with the plushies on your bed. unfortunately. “so this is the guy you get all cozy with when i’m not here?” he’s laying on his back on your pink frilly bedsheets tossing the plushie between his hands like a football. “guy? jayje that’s obviously hello kitty.” you pout, kneeling on the bed to take her away. when you place her back on the sheets he catches your wrists and pulls you down so that you fall on top of him with a quiet yelp. “agh, there you are. get in here.” he’s grinning, wriggling to make space for you.

• enticing you into joining the group on their wild pogue adventures. “babe, i literally got you a pink life jacket so you can come out with us on the boat— don’t make that face at me.” he standing on the pier clutching the neon pink life jacket in one hand, the rest of the pogues waiting on the boat, staring at you happy as clams with hopeful grins. “jj i don’t need a life jacket.” you frown, letting him help you up onto the pier by the hand. “uh— yes y’do. i’m dragging you into our shit, i’m gonna make sure you’re safe alright? now come here.” he’s manhandling you in that thoughtless jj way so he can fasten your life jacket on you even though no one else is wearing one. princess treatment, of course.

• when you and the pogues inevitably get yourself into shit, running from sirens down a street of a town you’ve never visit before, jj is constantly pulling you along and making sure you don’t fall behind. “come on baby, move your ass!” he yells, and you rip yourself free of his grasp when you come across a puddle— the rest of the groups continuing through, splashing across to the other side. “jj, these are my favourite shoes!” you whine. he slams to a halt, opening his mouth to argue but seeing the police car round the corner before he can. he simply grabs you and either throws you over his shoulder and carries on running (hes a strong boy) or straight up yanks the shoes off his feet and puts them on your feet as fast as humanely possible.

• forever fascinated by the lengths you go to in your beauty routines. enjoys watching you carefully apply a face mask in the mirror whilst he sits on your bed, eyes jumping around to the girly decor in your room. you’re nothing like him, and he wonders sometimes what you even see in him. his hands are rough from ropes and climbing things he shouldn’t, his hair is often matted and unclean from the ocean, whilst you were soft all over and always smelling like a bakery. that not to say you didn’t try and involve him, atleast smearing spf on his face whilst sat on the boat together, batting away his fussy hands. “jj, you’re in the sun just unprotected all day… y’gonna age like milk.” you mutter, rubbing it into his cheek as he squints one eye closed. “i’m white n’blonde. you can’t fight the inevitable, babe.” he moves his face away, wiping his cheek on the back of his hand.

• sometimes lets you paint his nails if he’s bored and wants an excuse to watch you close up, all cute and concentrated, his smile growing even when you tsk at him, lips pouted and brows creased. “you moved!” you accuse quietly, grabbing his hand and holding it still. he’s not looking at his nails, hell— he couldn’t even tell you what colour they’re being painted, staring at your pretty face instead. “my bad, gorgeous.” he smirks, watching the way your eyes flick up to his, blinking away the flustered feeling.

• like i said, princess treatment. makes you cream around his fingers, hand stuffed into the waistband of your delicate pink panties whilst he paws greedily at your tit. “whats a pretty girl like you doin’ with me huh? jesus, you cum so much baby. fuckin’ love it.” he whispers, dick hard against your thigh as you whine.

• loves when you initiate, watching JJ sat at a table, maps and other crumpled up artefacts you didn’t understand scattered about as he spins his cap around to face backwards, concentrated and serious as he reads. you know it’s important to him, but he’s been at it all day and there comes a point where you just want his attention again. which of course, is how you end up straddling one of his thighs, panting and whimpering into his neck as he tries to concentrate on the maps and not your grinding on him. “jayge, just miss you…” you mewl nonsensically, tired and infuriatingly horny on his lap. he cups your lower back, pressing a distracted kiss to your temple (with a raging hard on) “doin’ good, baby. lemme finish this up n’im all yours, needy girl.”

• thinks you look adorable leaving lipstick/lipgloss prints on his cock. he strokes your head with a lazy smirk, watching your brows furrow slightly as you bury your kissy face against his shaft, pulling back to admire your work. “pretty.” you mumble to yourself and he chuckles. “you’re damn right.”

• notices when there’s something new about you. new hairstyle? he’s approaching you and holding you gently by the face so he can get a proper look at you. new dress? best believe you’re hearing “alright, do a spin for papa J, that’s it pretty lady.” with that shit eating grin of his. he’s just that attentive.

[sl-newsie]

I Spy (Dr. Spencer Reid x Childhood Best Friend)

Request! Could you do a Spencer x childhood best friend? Basically, a mrdr happens to someone close to the bff and when the bau team comes to help she realizes she still has feelings for what she thought was just a childhood crush and Reid realizes the same. Ta-da!

Wrongful death. Such a wrongful death.

“Ma’am, can you please look at me?” The police officer asks again. “I know you’re still coming out of shock. There are some people here who are going to help you out, okay? They’re going to ask you some questions.”

Such a wrongful death. How can something this gruesome ever happen at a law firm? I mean, the most danger I’d face was an angry client throwing staplers at me. But this? A homicidal stabbing? Right in front of me?

“Ma’am? Are you Jackie Selenski?” A deeper voice asks.

I look up from where I’m sitting on the edge of the ambulance. The twilight sun sinks below the horizon, casting shadows on the tall man in front of me. I immediately can tell he’s a government agent, and a leader too. 

“Are you Jackie Selenski?” He asks again.

I give a shaky nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Agent Hotchner, FBI.” He holds up a badge. “I’m from the BAU. We’re here to investigate the murder of Maggie Hoffman. We were told you witnessed the crime?”

Maggie. Poor Maggie. Not even a year into the job and she got to deal with a psychopathic client. 

“Y-Yes, sir. My desk is next to hers. She- She was handling a client when they- they… Uh!”

My chest squeezes up again as the memory of the splattering blood plays through my mind once more. I gasp for breath and clench my fists again. Maggie… She never stood a chance…

“Excuse me! Coming through!”

That’s not…? It can’t be-

“Jackie!” A familiar voice gasps and suddenly I spy an anxious pair of curious brown eyes.

“Spencer?” My shaking jaw drops and I look him over to make sure it’s him. “You’re here too?”

It is him! That other guy said BAU, so of course the best profiler I know is going to be here. Good ‘ol Dr. Reid, my oldest friend since college. Of course he was graduating by the time I started but that didn’t stop us from being friendly. And now he’s here… to ask me about a murder.

“You’re alright, Jackie?” The lanky agent asks softly and examines me for injuries.

“I- I’m fine, Spencer.” I attempt to form a smile. “It- It’s good to see you.”

Spencer sees I’m trying to hide the mental pain and grips my shoulders for a small hug. “I’m so happy it wasn’t you that got hurt. When we took the case and the victim had no name yet I feared the worst.”

Aw, Spencer. I know he doesn’t like physical contact. He doesn’t have to do this just for me-

“Hey, brainiac! You know this one?” A new voice calls from across the parking lot.

Spencer stiffens and we both look over at the smirking agent, who’s being approached by two female agents.

“Shut up, Morgan!” A dark-haired one hisses.

“Let’s go!” The blonde one orders and starts tugging him away.

Oh thank God I’m not being questioned by anyone new. My family’s over three hours away and I really need someone I know. Thank God for Spencer.

“Sorry about him,” the geek apologizes. “I’m just not usually overly involved with trauma victims.”

I nod repeatedly, still relying on Spencer’s warm embrace to keep my thoughts together. If only our long-awaited reunion wasn’t on such dark matters. He looks good… Really good. Another kick at my dumb decision to stay behind while he pursued a career out East. 

“What questions did Hotch already ask you?”

I shake away my gripping nostalgia. “Huh?”

“Oh, I mean, Agent Hotchner?”

“Right. Um… He asked about how I knew Maggie. What I saw…” I shutter. “Is there anything I can say that will help you catch him?”

Spencer pulls back but still keeps his hands grounded on me. “Deep breath Jackie, in and out. I want you to think back to that moment and try to remember if you saw anything out of the ordinary. Keep calm, I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

Deep breathes. Close my eyes. Um… I’m holding the paperwork for next week’s trial. I’m walking back from the break room… Maggie’s talking to someone. She’s wearing a pink cardigan. There’s her Looney Toons mug on the desk. The client- It’s a man. Wearing gray pants and a sweatshirt. A short, skinny man with pale skin and-

“Tattoo,” I mutter distantly. “He has a black tattoo on his neck. A symbol of sorts. A sword.”

“Very good, Jackie,” Spencer praises. “Can you see anything else?”

I’m almost to my desk. Maggie’s stopped talking. Why does she look scared? Is that a-?!

“Uh!” I inhale sharply and squeeze Spencer’s hand again. “Blood! He- He had a knife! Not a kitchen knife- A- A bigger knife! With a white handle!”

My body starts shaking again and Spencer rests my head on his chest. “Okay, okay. Very good, Jackie. Breathe with me, okay? In and out. We’re going to catch him, I promise.”

“It- It could’ve been me,” I whisper through a few raining tears. “It should have been me. Maggie didn’t deserve-”

“Jackie,” Spencer cuts me off and cups my face to make me look at him. “Jackie, don’t blame yourself. There’s nothing anyone could have done. Don’t wish death on yourself. Please.”

Another rush of grief and nostalgia tugs at my chest and throughout these conflicting emotions I’m reminded of how good it feels to have Spencer here again. He still wears the same cologne. Still the same good soul I remember. The same man I still love.

“Excuse me?” A paramedic walks up and looks at the heart monitor I’m connected to. “How are you feeling?”

Spencer doesn’t move when I answer. “I’m not injured. Just… A little shocked. I’m alright, I swear.”

The paramedic enters some notes into his iPad and removes the heart device. “Medically you should be set to go. As for the authorities…?” He looks at Spencer.

“She’s all done,” the agent assures.

“Excellent. Now, if you experience anything abnormal in the next few days please call us.” The paramedic hands me a card. “Here is a list of numbers for trauma and therapy centers. You may not think you need them but I highly recommend it.”

“As do I,” Spencer agrees and gives me a determined stare.

“Fine,” I reply quickly and exit the ambulance, allowing the paramedic to pack up and leave.

“I’ll take you back to your apartment,” Spencer offers. “Or would you feel safer at the police station?”

Safer. Why would I need to be in a safe spot? Maggie was the victim and there’s no reason for the killer to come after me. If anything, being surrounded by a police environment will just make my stress worse.

“No, no. My place is fine,” I murmur as we head towards a parked police SUV. “I’m renting a house now.”

“You moved up in the world, huh?” Spencer jokes lightly as we climb in.

A smile escapes me. “Looks like you did too, brainiac.”

He rolls his eyes and starts driving. “Oh no, not you too!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll stick to Spencer,” I tease, starting to let go of the weight pushing on my chest as the office gets further away. “Are you going to be in town for a while?”

“It depends on how long it takes to catch the unsub. I think we’re planning on staying at a hotel not too far from here, actually.”

“If you want you’re more than welcome to stay in my spare bedroom.”

Who whoa, slow down Jackie! You just got back in touch with your best friend crush! Don’t get overexcited.

“Or at least come over for breakfast tomorrow,” I add nonchalantly. “I’d like to think you owe me some stories after four years of you gallivanting off on FBI adventures while I’m stuck in an office.”

Spencer cracks a smile and turns onto my street. “It’s a date- deal!” He re-words quickly. “It’s a deal. You won’t mind if I stay?”

I look over the fact that he said ‘date’ and immediately reject his cautiousness about imposing.

“Of course not. There’s plenty of blankets to go around. And… I don’t think I can be alone tonight. This one’s me.”

We pull into the driveway in front of my house and Spencer reaches over for my small hand.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll try therapy. Something. Anything. I know you, Jackie. I know you think it’s a waste of time.”

“Yes. Because why would I tell a complete stranger about how I just had to watch my sweet coworker die? That may seem fine to some but not to me, Spencer.” I give a deep sigh. “But, I will do it for you. One month only.”

“That’s all I’ll ask for,” he pleads.

I wish I could talk to him instead. But he has his own job to worry over instead of acting as my therapist. I’m lucky enough to have him back for a few days.

“Come on in,” I gesture as I open the front door. “It’s not much but it’s better than my old apartment.”

“It’s nice!” Spencer compliments as he takes in the small kitchen connected to the cozy living room. “You still have the Star Wars posters I gave you.”

Still as much of a nerd as I am. As I dig out more blankets and prepare the spare bed I can’t help but ponder the thought of Spencer having a girlfriend. He’d tell me if he did… Wouldn’t he? He obviously still cares for our friendship and trusts me enough to sleep at my place. Surely relationship news shouldn’t be off the table. So… Does he have anyone?

“Here you go.” I hand over the blankets. “Bathroom’s down the hall, my bedroom’s that door over there if you need anything. My cat Angelica’s hiding around here somewhere in case you hear any weird noises.” I take a quick moment to give him one last hug. “It’s been a blessing having you here, Spencer. Out of all the cops I could’ve talked to, I'm glad it was you. Are you sure your boss won’t mind you being here?”

He waves it off. “No. Hotch won’t mind if it’s related to the case. Plus it means there’s one less person to room with at the hotel. Morgan should like that.”

The recollection of the snickering agent makes me smile. “He seemed… outspoken.”

Spencer groans and sits down on the bed. “You have no idea.”

I give a small wave. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jackie.”

I really must be in shock. Or grieving. Either way I cannot stop thinking about poor Maggie. It’s already been an hour and I’m no closer to sleeping at all. After another half hour of tossing and turning it’s time to give up. Maybe a little distraction is called for. In ten minutes I am joined by Angelica and have set up my laptop at the kitchen table. So these files go to Dorothy’s department, and these one’s to Scott-

“I spy with my little eye…” Spencer’s quiet voice rings out. “Someone who should be sleeping.”

He steps out of the shadows and I can’t hide my sheepish smile. Of course he figured I’d be awake. Also how is it he still remembers our running joke of I Spy?

“It’s been years since we played that game,” I chuckle and close my laptop. “Couldn’t sleep. Had to get away from it all. I’ve got files to look over.”

Spencer walks over and takes a seat next to me. Even in his sleep clothes he still manages to look adorably smart. He reaches for my hand, a gesture that seems to be becoming a routine for him.

“You’re grieving, Jackie. You should rest. Take some time off of work.”

“Work is how I get away from it all. Pathetic, right?”

His brow furrows. “You never make plans?”

“How can I?” I gush and gesture to the mountain of paperwork. “This job keeps me busy enough. Besides, who'd want to put up with this?”

Spencer pushes my chair away from the table so I’m completely facing him. “Jackie, I know what it’s like to have work be your only outlet. Please, let me help. I- I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other but I do still care for you. I don’t like seeing you stressed out like this.” 

Oh, bless this sweet man. It feels like a pinch of fate that it was his team that came to investigate the murder. But that’s just the thing. He’s here for work. If Maggie hadn’t been killed then I’d still be by myself tonight drinking wine and watching TV with Angelica.

“I spy with my little eye, someone who worries too much.” I tease lightly and slide my hand back. “You have more important things-”

“No.” Spencer reaches for my hand again. “You’re my dearest friend, Jackie. Maybe even more than that. Of course I worry about you.”

This time I don’t ignore his specific wording. “More?”

The brown-eyed geek tightens his grip, looking away and licking his lips as he tries to think of what to say. He’s still awkward around his personal life.

“I- I love you, Jackie. I’ve loved you even before I left for Quantico. I didn’t think you felt the same but-” His speech pattern changes and he starts rambling. “You don’t have a boyfriend, do you? I never profiled you did-”

“No, no,” I clarify and that shuts him up. “Spencer, I love you too. I thought you’d be the one to move on and find a special girl.”

His jaw drops and he shakes his head. “You are my special girl, Jackie. I just wish we could have reconnected sooner, without- um-” 

“Without the recent events,” I finish softly. 

How have we gotten so close? It doesn’t matter. The small amount of butterflies in my stomach is triumphed by the joy of admitting my feelings. And Spencer looks just as happy!

“You know, people who have gone through a grieving process have shown to share a strong, bonding relationship for the rest of their lives.”

Spencer’s gentle words bring comfort but what assures me most is when he finally leans in and I feel his lips against mine. At long last, dear friend. Seeing him is the only therapy I need.

“Maybe,” I reply when we break apart. “But I think we already had one.”

Spencer smiles and pulls me in for another hug. “You're right.”

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part Two)

Ledger! Joker x f! reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of violence

Words: 5.6k

Chapter Summary: Your second session with the Joker, and as you try and make sense of his mind, you can't help but feel a pull to him

previous part: Part 1 | next part: part 3

Notes: Here's the next part! Just an fyi, this fic will def veer far from actual Dark Knight canon, but that means more surprises >:) Also, as much as this is a Harley-esque story, dont worry cuz I'm not gonna make their relationship physically abusive or anything, my Joker ain't gonna throw you out a window or anything lol. Just wanted to clarify. Anyways, hope you enjoy this one! It was fun to write. Watched a lot of Arkham games gameplay while working on this, good times lol.

You wake up with a message that your rent is rising.

You grumble, taking the piece of paper someone had slid beneath your door and crumpling it. They didn’t even have the decency to call? The rent has gone up a hefty amount, and you aren’t even sure how you’re gonna support yourself this month. You might have to fall back into taking shifts at a local diner, working nights, as much as that kills you. But you have no other option. 

That, and you’ve only just started working on the Joker, so no raises quite yet.

Speaking of the Joker, you're exhausted from reading up on all his schemes, not one but two nights in a row, but you feel a bit more confident about dealing with him now. Last time, you went in pretty blind. This time, you have at least a hint of what you’re dealing with. Article after article about his crazy antics with Batman, some that you lived through, others you only caught glimpses of on the news. One thing is for sure, he is much more messed up than you thought, which, considering what you already do know about him, is saying a lot. His antics are on a scale larger than you’ve ever seen before. Everyone else seemed to wonder the same things as you, with all the articles trying to dive to explain the cause behind the crimes, some hint of who Joker really is. All of them bringing up theory after theory of who he may have been before his life of crime. You’ve compiled them all together to try and get a sense of it all. 

You hope that’ll be enough for now.

Before you leave for work, you throw on the news, quickly stuffing a piece of toast in your mouth, watching as the host rambles on and on about how Batman hasn’t been spotted since the death of Harvey Dent. Since the Bat killed multiple people. The police have been looking for him for days, and yet there’s been no sign, and you don’t think there ever will be. Not soon. If he’s smart, he’ll stay hidden. Especially with the climate outside, with all the vigils for Dent, people in the streets crying out for Batman or against him. The newscaster looks almost upset over Batman being gone but you snort. If he killed multiple people, was he really as good a guy as people thought he was? 

You shake your head and turn the TV off. Nope. Batman wasn’t anything special. If he wanted to save the people of Gotham, then you’d be right there waiting.

What was it that Joker had said? Nobody does things because they’re selfless. Batman wanted to be a hero and, well, he had failed.

Nobody was coming to save Gotham. Nobody was coming to save you.

————————————————-

Work is bustling as soon as you get there, with your fellow psychiatrists moving in and out of the break room, the smell of coffee wafting through the halls. Everyone tends to just ignore you, shuffling past you without even a second glance, sometimes bumping into you, causing you to nearly fall on your ass. You huff, quickly grabbing a cup of coffee and a few of your things before you go see the Joker. As you sip idly, two other psychiatrists you’ve never learned the name of come up to you, smiling at one another. “Hey,” says one of them, a girl with curly red hair. “Is it true you’re working with Joker?”

The other, a man with chestnut hair and a matching beard nods. “Yeah, we heard how Joker���s here now, and that Dale put you on the case.”

You stiffen, not liking any of this unwanted attention. Whenever people come up to you, it’s usually just to lecture you, you’re not used to people wanting to hear about your patients. You should’ve expected this, especially considering how infamous the Joker has become. But of course, people are only coming up to you for something they need, entertainment in this case, not for you. “Yeah,” you answer curtly. “I am.”

They look at one another with wide eyes. “Woah!” the curly haired girl gasps. “I saw all the other people they sent in to try and deal with him. They were all messed up in the head after.” She laughs, even though you don’t find it funny. “Is he really as wild as they say?”

“He’s mentally unwell, and I’m trying to help him,” you say. If they want some kind of crazy story, they’re not gonna get one. “Joker isn’t some kind of nut case for you to all gossip over, he’s a patient.”

The two psychiatrists’ excitement fades away as they just stand there and look at you. “Geez,” the bearded guy mutters. “Someone’s protective over him.”

Protective? Over Joker? Please. “I’m not protective. But we need to take every patient seriously, no matter how… over the top they are.”

Curly haired girl scoffs. “He’s more than just that, he fought Batman.”

“Because Batman is any better?”

“Someone’s defensive.” She snorts. “All I’m saying is that this guy is so much more than any of us have ever dealt with. The other people they sent in were some of the strongest people. Joker doesn’t just break things, he breaks people. He’s evil.” Her serious tone is immediately broken by a smile. “Who knows though. If you’ve lasted until another session, maybe he likes you.”

Like is far too kind of a word. Even then, you know they’re just teasing, and you hate it. You glare at the two of the psychiatrists. “You guys aren’t dealing with him, and until you are, then don’t try and analyze him.” Ducking your head, you rush between them, and they whisper but you don’t care as you try and find a corner to isolate yourself in. As you’re walking away, you smack straight into something, gasping as you stumble backwards. 

You look up to see Mr. Dale, who sneers and dusts off his suit. “Miss l/n, good to see you again,” he says drily.

Screw my life. “Good morning, Mr. Dale,” you mumble. “I am so sorry-“

He cuts you off by shoving something into your hands. A rolled up newspaper. You open it up and see the headline. Batman Still Not Found After Five Dead At His Hand! “I assume you’ve seen all this news?” 

“Who hasn’t?”

“Joker, that’s who.” He snatches the newspaper back from you, tossing it into a nearby trash can. “You haven’t mentioned anything about Batman to him, have you?”

You shake your head. “No… I- I assumed he already knew-“

“Well, he doesn’t. I should’ve told you last time, but I thought Batman may have been found innocent by now. Reversed his claims. I was wrong.” Dale coughs. “Joker doesn’t know a single thing about what’s happening out in the world. And we intend to keep it that way.”

“Mr. Dale, doesn’t he have the right to know-“

“Know what? That Batman is in hiding? That Dent is dead? That’ll only motivate him further. He’ll think he won! He’ll think that it's up to him to drive Batman out of hiding!” As people turn to look at you two, Dale drops his voice. “You’re not to let him know anything past the day he was brought in, got it?”

The more you think about it, the more you realize Mr. Dale is probably right. If Joker did find out that Batman went into hiding, it might offer motivation. For what, you’re not sure. Still, there’s something that feels wrong about leaving Joker in the dark, especially when the person he was trying to stop had been a murderer all along. “Got it.”

He smiles, and it’s anything but friendly. “Good. Now, I believe your session starts soon, wouldn't want to leave the Harlequin of Hate waiting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

——————————————-

After another round of checkpoint after checkpoint, you walk into the room with the Joker, who looks the same as the other day you saw him, still without makeup, still tucked away in a straitjacket. Even though you saw him once before, after days of searching him up, seeing the photos of him with his greasepaint on, you still get a lump in your throat as you see this other side of him. Seeing him like this feels strange, and you may as well be one of the only people to have ever seen him without his signature mask. Scars and all. 

As you walk in and take your seat, he smiles, showing off his yellowing teeth. “Well, hello, doll face. I’ve been lookin’ forward to this.”

You settle into your chair, taking out your clipboard, which holds all your notes from the past two nights. Joker’s words could be sweet, but he’s basically been placed on this Earth to mess with people, so you don’t read too much into it. “Oh, really?”

“Oh yeah, doll. They, ah, never let me talk to anyone anymore. Got me locked up at all times. Ain’t that sad?” He giggles. “Don’t see anyone these days but the guards. And they just like to yell at me.”

You haven’t actually seen the way they treat the Joker. Once you’re done with a session, you’re quickly filed out and headed into the break room until your next session with another patient. But you’re sure it isn’t pretty. If they treat other, less taxing patients horrible enough, you can only imagine what they do to the Joker. “Well, rest assured, I won’t be yelling at you. Now, we have a full session today, so I really do want to get started. So,” you lean in and smile, “where should we begin? Most people would like to focus on the past, but I think maybe we should work our way back. How are you feeling right now?”

He licks his lips. “Oh, ya know, as good as a guy can be rotting away in this shithole.” He sways his head from side to side, clearly antsy, and you can tell that if he had his hands out, he’d be gesturing wildly with them. “But I’d say I’m much happier now that you’re here, doc.”

Joker was a master of many weapons. It seemed he wielded charm with the same mastery. You ignore his attempts at getting to you. “You’ve been in Arkham for a few days now. Have you been reflecting on yourself?”

Joker’s mouth smacks together. “Reflection? I’ve certainly been thinkin’, that’s for sure. Nothin’ else to do.”

You scribble that down, perking up. “Really? And what have you been thinking about?”

“All the things I’m gonna blow up when I get out of here.”

Immediately, you deflate, and Joker erupts into thunderous laughter. Of course. What the hell were you expecting? But it’s only the second day, of course he’s not exactly gonna be a changed man. “That’s all you’ve been thinking about? Is there anything in particular you’re excited to get back to?” You’re pretty sure Joker has absolutely nothing to lose, but you ask anyway. “No friends? Family? A lover?”

At the last bit, he guffaws loudly. “Why do you ask, sweetheart? Jealous?” He licks the inside of his cheeks. “Don’t worry, doll face, I’m definitely, ah, available.”

Now you wish you didn’t ask. If it were anyone else, you’d probably groan and give them a good look at your middle finger, but there’s something about the way that Joker says it that nearly makes you blush. It’s incredibly inappropriate, but you can’t deny he has a way of saying things that make you, well, react. Just another one of his deceptions, another skill he’s mastered. You know better than to give in. “I wasn’t asking for that,” you clarify harshly. “So, no family. Obviously, you don’t want to stay cooped up in here forever. There’s got to be something you want to go back out there for, and I feel like that same thing you’re eager to get back to might be the same reason you’re stuck in here. So, what is it?” 

He groans. “Are you trying to get me to talk about the Bat?”

“No.” It’s not a full lie. You’re trying to get deeper into his motivation, into the way he thinks. What’s he in this all for? “But why don’t we talk about that?”

“Ah, Batsy, the Dork Knight, the savior, if you will. He’s crazy, you know.”

“Who? Batman?”

“No, Santa Claus.” He rolls his eyes. “Of course Batman! Interesting fella, he is. Thinks he’s all high and mighty for instilling order around here that he doesn’t even realize that he’s just as bad as the rest of them. He can keep trying but he’ll never amount to anything.”

You don’t disagree. It feels weird to agree with the Joker. But he makes good points. Who knew a villain would be so agreeable with? Batman did fail the city if he wanted to uphold the law, disappearing with a damn body count. If Joker only knew… “So, was your point to prove that you’re better than him?”

“Better? Oh no, doll. We’re the same. All I wanted to prove was that anyone can be broken. That all it takes is one little flick of the domino and the facade comes crumblin down!” He hollers and hoots as he scooches closer, the chair scraping across the floor until his chest is right up against the table. “We’re all messed up inside, doll, behind these masks we put up.”

All messed up. In a way, maybe. “So, all those stunts were to try and break him?”

“Those stunts were works of art,” he says, emphasizing the t. “Now, I do these things because, well, it’s funny. But it’s also about sending a message.”

“About chaos? Well, then there has to be some sort of thing that happened to you that started this obsession with chaos.”

As you begin to try and delve further into his past, you can see his barriers go up, his face more guarded. “Why don’t we just focus on the here and now, doll?” he hisses through gritted teeth. “My past is anything but a fun story. The fun part starts when the Batman and I finally start facing off.”

So he won’t let you know anything further past when he first came into Gotham’s limelight, got it. That’s fine. You need to work towards deeper topics with your other patients too. This is nothing new. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So, can we talk more about these illegal…stunts of yours?”

“Sure thing.”

“I told you before, Joker, that you’re a showman. I’d like to pull back the curtain, if you will. You caused quite a lot of damage before you were caught. Wanna tell me about that?”

He shrugs. “What’s there to tell? I assume you’ve been, ah, watchin’ the news? Did you see the hospital I blew up? I’ve shut down a few streets, scared off a few crooks.”

He has a talent for understatement. “You forced Gothamites into ships, criminals and regular civilians, and tried to get them to blow up one another,” you add, deadpanned. 

At that, his excited demeanor drops a bit, and he bares his teeth like some wild animal. “Right.”

“Now, I’m no mastermind, but I know there’s a method to your madness. From what I’ve gathered, as much as you say this is all to humor you, you also get enjoyment over upturning social order and showing people what they truly are, which you believe is evil. And yet, neither boat chose to blow up the other. Why do you think that is?”

He sits there silently, but you can tell the gears in his mind are turning. He has a thinking face, subtle, but his brows furrow a bit and he presses his lips hard together. “I guess,” he finally says, after a beat, “not everyone was, ah, ready to have such a weight put on their shoulders.”

“That experience proved that people, no matter how messed up our world can be, people can be good, did it not?”

“Nah ah ah, doll. I think those people just think too fondly of themselves. It was never about not wanting to cause harm, it was about wanting to be able to sleep well at night, to be able to continue thinking of themselves as good people.” He breathes in deeply. “I know the true nature of society. I’ve seen how people will treat you when you’ve got nothing left to give them. People like to think they have morals, makes them feel secure. But those morals fly out the window one way or another. You’re just all so blind and forced into this little box that nobody wants to stand up and do somethin’!”

You sit there, trying to scribble everything down but slowly your pen just slows to a halt, as you take everything in. The worst part about his words is that he makes sense to you. Every single thing feels like the truth, and you don’t know if he’s just twisting his words to make you agree or if you really just believe it all. You’re not like him. He’s taking things to the extreme. “So that’s what you’re doing. Taking a stand against all this? That’s what the large spectacles are for?” 

“Read it however you want, doll face. Just don’t think I’m in it for any gain.”

You blink. Joker’s chaos mainly stemmed from his code and amusement. But you had found it seriously hard to believe he wasn’t getting any gain out of it. It didn’t even have to be money, but was amusement and pushing a message really all there was to it? “That’s a first. Most of the other criminals are in it for money. Power. Notoriety.”

“I’m not like those fools.”

“Maybe not, but all these big, grand gestures? These stem from wanting something. And not just sending a message.”

“And what would that be?”

It’s hard, really, to comprehend how the Joker thinks because he’s truthful about the fact that he does things because he can. He is pure chaos, and as much as he plans his stunts, as much as he follows his belief strictly, he can also go completely against all this. There’s no rhyme or reason to him, so you’re grasping at straws to try and piece him together. But you think there’s more to it all, something he’s keeping locked up. “Do you think maybe you do all this because you just want to be seen? Want to be heard?” You tap your pen against your chin. “Are you lonely?”

As if it’s a fucking joke, Joker begins to snicker. He thinks everything I say is a joke. His body is almost thrashing violently, and god, he’s not settling down. “Oh, you are too funny! Lonely? Lonely? Doll. I chose this.”

Humans aren’t meant to be alone. “Your crazy antics, constantly trying to outdo yourself. This might just be a plea for something. Validation?” Love?

“Why would I keep people around when at any chance they’d get they’d just turn on me?” He smirks. “I don't have time for those shenanigans.”

The way he thinks, someone, multiple people, must have wronged him, and in your core you feel something like empathy. The world has kicked you down too. People have been cruel to you all your life. In a way, fuck it’s true, you and the Joker aren’t too different.

But that’s not something you’d like to dwell on.

“So, you don’t believe in loyalty?”

“Oh, I think people can be loyal. But you gotta buy that loyalty, loyalty never comes for free.”

You don’t agree, but that’s besides the point. “Maybe what you really need is company. A proper way to vent your feelings. By talking to someone. We’re not meant to be alone, Mr. J. Trust me, I’d know.”

He straightens a bit. “Oh, I see now, you’re a loner like me. See! Then you’d know how much people will take and take and take and then just discard you.” His voice drops to a whisper, a loud whisper. “And I have a feeling those bosses and guards out there would discard you the second they can.”

Again, you really hate how he seems to be right about everything. You wriggle in your seat a bit, shifting uncomfortably as he stares you dead on. Your coworkers don’t like you. Your landlord doesn’t like you. Your boss is already threatening to kick you to the curb if Joker doesn’t get better, and speaking of which, that helps kick your thoughts back into place. “It is kinda lonely out there, isn’t it?”

“You deserve a lot better than that, doll.”

You stop. Fuck him. He was just messing with you. He had to be messing with you. Joker didn’t feel bad for anyone. Didn’t care for anyone. The way he said those words though made it almost sound like he cared. And nobody had ever said something even close to that to you before so you soften. “Thanks,” you finally choke out. “But you don’t know me.”

“I already told you, doll, I’ll get to the bottom of you before you ever even get a glimpse into me.”

“For the last time, I’m not here to talk about myself.”

“And for the last time, I wanna know more about you,” he says, wetting his lips. “Hows about a deal? Everytime you tell me something personal about yourself, I’ll tell you something about me.”

A deal. No, this is the Joker, this is more like a game. A sick, twisted game. If it means answers, though, you’re willing to play. “Fine. What would you like to know about me?”

Joker shakes his head. “Ah ah ah, not like that, doll. We won’t be asking. Share something lighthearted about yourself, I’ll share something lighthearted about me. Share something a bit deeper?” He grins. “Then maybe I’ll be inclined to share something a bit more personal.” His eye twitches before his voice drops to a whisper. “And trust me, I’ll know if you lie to me.”

Ah, so he really wants to pick at your core. He’s baiting you, wanting to know your deepest darkest secrets because he’ll know you’ll do anything to get even just one small story out of him. He’s trying to break you. The game might be one sided, might be tipped in Joker’s favor, but it also might not be. He can lie. You can lie. Or maybe you can both tell the truth. The game is in both your hands. If Joker wants to play, you’ll play. “Fine. Deal.”

He brightens. “Ah, I knew I’d get ya!”

“In fact, why don’t we start off easy?” You think of a small detail about yourself, something that wouldn’t matter to anyone. “I’ve always been more of a cat person than a dog person.” 

Joker smiles. “Mmm, seems we disagree on something.” He clucks his tongue. “Dogs have always been my favorite pet. Loyal creatures at a cost. But also deadly creatures.”

“Cats are so independent, like they don’t need anyone. But I like caring for them because of that. I like trying to help, no matter how much they hiss or push me away.”

“You’re, ah, a strange one, doll face.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” With that, you feel a weight come off your shoulders. You don’t feel quite as nervous as you did before. There’s a level of comfort now. You share something, he shares something back. And things won’t get deep unless you initiate it. You’ll have to figure out how to get there. It’s a good start. “You know, you could have a dog and a place of your own once you’re out of here.”

You expect him to groan or yell, but instead he just rests his cheek against his shoulder. “Guards say I’ll only get out if I’m a good boy. And, ah, maybe I will be good, just not in this piss pot.”

You put your pen down on the clip board and sigh. “Mr. J, I think we can really make progress with you, so long as we work on it together. You help me, and I’ll help you. And I really do wanna help.” 

“Get me out of here.” There’s an edge of humor to his voice, but it doesn’t sound like a joke.

“Can’t.” Unless you can get better. Please, get better. Please. “Besides, I’ve never been very good at picking locks.”

Joker raises an eyebrow. “Was that a joke?”

“Yes. Well, and no. I really can’t pick locks.”

“I could teach ya. Maybe. I, uh, don’t really have my hands right now.” 

You’re sure he can, and for a second you wonder what his hands might look like, beneath the gloves you’ve seen him wear on TV, but you quickly snap out of that. You clear your throat. “This has been a very heavy session. So why don’t we close off with something more lighthearted?” You lean in close, putting your chin on your first. “Since I’m no good at jokes, why don’t you tell me one?”

Joker perks up. “Oh! Oh! I’ve written a few jokes since getting locked up! Well, not writing them, they won’t even let me hold a crayon, but I’ve been thinking some up.”

“Alright, tell me?”

He nods his head eagerly, like a little kid agreeing to something. “Alright, uh, how about this, whaddya call a dog with no legs?”

“I don’t know. What?”

“Why’s it matter? He can’t come running to you anyways!” He can hardly even make it through the punchline before he bursts into manic laughter, his shoulders shaking. It takes a minute for the joke to settle in before you gasp and then, despite yourself, you laugh. At your laughter, Joker perks up even more. “Was that a laugh, doll face? Didn’t think ya had it in ya. Specially not for one of my jokes.”

Quickly, you regain your composure, biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling. It’s not because you think he’s funny. It’s not. It’s just stupid. “You have a very dark sense of humor.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like it.”

Maybe you did. It was a little frightening. You weren’t used to having a conversation with someone that made you feel sort of… happy. Especially not with a patient. It felt wrong. It felt right. You were a little confused. “You’re horrible,” you laugh.

“Clearly, you’re just as horrible.” You watch as he runs his tongue over his lips and your stomach starts doing flips. It’s because he’s intimidating, that’s probably why. “I like it.”

You shake your head as if you can ignore him, even though you can’t. “I think it’s about time I get going.”

“Doll, won’t you come back tomorrow? I, ah, really do enjoy our chats.”

“Joker, this is only our second talk.”

“Oh, I know, I know, but I just get so lonely. Besides, I’m sure seeing me more often would, ah, really help my mental state.”

At first, you open your mouth to protest, but quickly clamp it shut. More sessions with the Joker didn’t sound… too bad. In fact, they would be good. The more sessions you got in, the more progress could be made with Joker. Then, you’d have that raise in no time. Yes, extra sessions would be good. Great, even. And it certainly wasn’t because for once you actually might be enjoying talking to someone. “Okay, I’ll see if I can adjust some meetings I have for tomorrow and try and get you in.”

“I’ll be waiting eagerly, doll face.” He smiles at you, and this time it’s not one of those scary, wolf-like smiles with bared teeth, not a sinister grin, but something… warm? Warm seems the wrong way to put it, nothing is warm about the Joker. But whatever this is, it’s close enough, and you feel heat pooling in your stomach. It’s strange. You don’t understand it. “Don’t forget about me.”

You take the remote from your bag and push on the green button, smiling back at him. “I could never.”

————————-

When you finally manage to go to the shared staff space, Mr. Dale is there eagerly waiting for you, alongside his business partner Henry Walsh. He’s a taller, thin man with curly black hair and a thin mustache. Dale waves you over, and you head over, offering a polite wave despite how he treated you earlier. “Hello again, Mr. Dale.”

“Hello, Doctor l/n,” he responds. “Tell me, how did things go with the Joker this time?”

You don’t really know how to put it all into words. “Well, I’ve only just started working on him. It’s going to take him a bit of time to open up. But I think we did well today. I’m trying to get to the root of his thinking. If I can see why he thinks the way he thinks, I can try and see what we can do to get him to push this more violent way of thinking towards something… well, less violent.” You cross your arms. “Speaking of which, I want him out of that straitjacket.”

Beside Mr. Dale, Walsh scoffs. “That psycho could lunge at anyone anytime he wants if we got him out of that thing.”

“If you want him to get better, you have to show a level of trust towards him too. You trust him, he’ll trust you.” He won’t trust them, not even at all, but you really think getting him out of that straitjacket will be good. “Please. I promise this will help.”

Walsh’s scowl would make the other psychiatrists crumble, and maybe you too, but after a session with the Joker, you, if only for a moment, feel like you can handle anything. When you don’t waver, he groans. “Fine. However he will be handcuffed. You hear me? Legs and wrists bound.” He tugs at the tie around his neck. “You’re crazy to even want this, Miss l/n.”

“Maybe you should lock me up in here too, huh?” When nobody laughs, you stiffen. “Sorry, joking. I really do believe this well help. Shove someone in a straitjacket and of course they’re going to go a little off the rocker. Treat someone like a human, they'll act like a human, no?”

The two men blink, because what do they know about treating people like humans? You’re one of the only people in this god forsaken facility who actually takes the patients seriously. You’ve got a good record of getting people out of there, and still, the two men before you see you as crazy because where they see lunatics you see people. “I’m no doctor, so I trust you,” Mr. Dale says with a small shrug. He looks over at Mr. Walsh and the two begin to laugh and gossip as if you’re not even standing there. “Crazy girl,” you hear one of them whisper, and you turn away from them, stalking out of the room.

You’re not crazy. You’re not.

———————————

Joker sighs wistfully as you walk off.

He fucking hates Arkham asylum. He spends every day locked up in a small cell, his arms restrained beneath the straitjacket, with guards constantly coming in to yell at him, or doctors trying to force pills in his mouth to fix him right up. He doesn’t remember what the sun feels like, or even how the moonlight would bathe his purple suit in a silver glow. All he knows now is flickering, ugly yellow fluorescent lights. The smell of urine and metal. The screams and cries of crazies in their cells. 

It should be hilarious, really, but it just pisses him off.

But not you. He didn’t expect you. The first psychiatrists were all boring, rigid bums who were spooked off after only a few minutes of speaking to him. But not you. You stayed. You were different. You were just as miserable as the Joker, just as alone. Yet, your mind isn’t as strong as you think it is. You want something more than your dull life has in store, Joker sees this clearly.

What fun you two will have together.

——————————-

As you walk home, you think of the Joker.

You can’t help it, especially since the very apartment you’re heading to hinges on this stupid raise. Not just your apartment, but your livelihood. You stuff your hands in your pockets, and think about all the stuff he said, about how people were all messed up inside. You’d like to think he’s wrong but while trying to help Joker you can’t help but feel this pull towards him. You know that’s the whole point, he’s trying to get all buddy buddy, disarm you so you’ll forget what you’re in there for. But there’s this other pull towards him, one outside of your want (and need) to help him. Oh well, so long as you make progress with him, you can quickly forget any of it ever happened, and it makes you feel kind of selfish. For a moment, you wonder if he’d sympathize with you, but instead you know he’d laugh in your face. He’d be actively making sure he wouldn’t get better so you could learn your lesson.

That damn clown.

—————-

Edit: I’m gonna make a tag list for this so if anyone would like to be on it, lmk!!

[ohbabydollie]

Mutual Breakup HC

Female reader gets a call from the school about her son being involved in a fight with another student

Schlatt follows her and they both learned that their son was being bullied for not having a dad because his parents aren't married

You walk into the office, schlatt and your son sitting at a table. across was a woman and her son, you recognized him as being on the same baseball team as your son, he looked as he always did. except with a busted lip and black eye, hair messy and shirt stretched at the collar.

you sit down next to your son, whispering “what the hell did you do now?”

before your son can speak the woman starts screaming “He beat the shit out of my poor son over here! GOD YOU WALK IN ALL INNOCENT, I BET YOU TAUGHT HIM THAT CRAP!”

she stands up and before she can continue the principal tells her to calm down

“look, ma’am, understand you’re frustrated but that doesn’t mean you can scream at other parents” he says calmly as she sits back down

“they’re lucky we don’t get the police involved. i need your son to apologize to my poor, innocent baby boy and we can all drop this” she demands as the kid has a shit eating grin on his face

“fuck no” schlatt says crossing his arms “my son doesn’t have to apologize for shit, suspend him, do whatever, but he’s not fuckin’ apologizing”

“jay! what are you doing!” you ask him “im so sorry, matt, apologize to the boy please” you say turning to your son before schlatt shakes his head no

“we’re not apologizin’ he can spend however long at my place but we. ain’t. sorry.” he says

“im not sorry n i never will be” your son replies, schlatt giving a confirming nod

you let out a groan

“look, we’ve been at this for well over an hour” the principal says rubbing his temples “we got two options, both parties apologize and they get back to class or 3 day suspension”

“we’ll take the suspension” “Schlatt! matty, please just apologize to the kid” you say turning to the woman

“look, im really sorry, normally my son doesn’t act out like th-” “it’s probably your slutty behavior teaching him like this!” she says as your mouth opens in shock

“excuse me?!” you say getting up

“oh what like everyone doesn’t know already? you and your, whatever the fuck he is,” she says gesturing to schlatt “weren’t together and haven’t been together his entire life. no wonder he’s acting out so bad, he’s upset for being cursed with a whore as a mom”

you suck your teeth before standing up “what happens in our home is no one’s business besides our own and you can forget about that apology! c’mon matty, we’re going for ice cream” you say standing up, grabbing your purse “we’ll take the suspension, it won’t matter when her kid is living at home in his 30’s”

your son quickly gets up, as you walk out and schlatt takes a quick candy off the bowl on the table as he walks out with a grin.

“meet us at the ice cream place down the street, i’m taking matt” you say walking to your car as schlatt nods.

“matt, what did you do?” you groan once you’re in the car “the pta moms are iffy about me already and once they find out my son beat up some kid? fuckkkk” you say rubbing your face

“im sorry mom” he says softly “it’s-” “just, please, can you save it so we can talk with your dad?” you ask as he nods

“im really sorry mom” he says looking up at you as you exhale and sit up

“you know what? you’re already suspended, it’s all in the past and it doesn’t matter anymore, it’s okay” you say starting up the car and driving off to the ice cream place, trailing after schlatt’s car.

once all of you arrive and are happily eating your ice cream that’s when you speak up “so, what even started the fight?”

you see your son’s mood change from what was calm to pissed off before he lets out a sigh “he was making funna me” he says upset “he called you a whore and i remember dad saying if they ever say anything bad about your mom, let them make sure they know you’re her son” he admits as you look to schlatt

“are you serious? why would you tell him to fight kids for me?” you ask

“mom, this isn’t the first time” matt says as you look to him “they make fun of me ‘cause the two of you aren’t together anymore and this was the first time they called you a name and-and i wasn’t gonna let them!” he says angrily

you look to schlatt as he nods in affirmation, “they make fun of him and say that i probably ran off to get milk and other shit”

you look to your son in sadness and shock “r-really?” you ask, he nods and that’s all you need as you start tearing up “i-i’m so sorry baby” you say hugging him

“you don’t gotta apologize ma” he says as you press a kiss to his forehead

“no, i honestly, im sorry honey” you say softly “i almost made you apologize to that asshole kid! how about we go out today for dinner?” you ask, matt nods

“can dad come?”

“of course honey” you say happily as the three of you finish your ice cream “we’ll do it in reverse, dessert first and dinner last”

the day goes by, then somehow schlatt ends up back at your apartment, carrying matt up to bed before coming back down to you.

“you okay sweetheart?” he asks as you snap out of your thoughts and look at him

“yeah, yeah” you say walking over to him “you think we’ve played this little game long enough?” you question, running your fingers through his hair

“what game?”

“the lets pretend like me and my ex aren’t still in love, like we don’t still want each other and we haven’t wanted each other in years” you say softly “i think im tired of it”

“i am too” he admits, wrapping an arm around your waist

“let’s get married then” you say leaning into his touch “legally, we can move in together and stuff, matt can have his family together without going from house to house”

“that would be nice” schlatt whispers softly as you grin

“okay big guy, let’s get married” you say smiling

schlatt bends down to kiss you “god, ya don’t know how long i’ve been waitin’ to hear those words” he lets out a chuckle “i guess we also did this in reverse”

i feel like they’d get married before she gets pregnant tbh, but do everything privately and wouldn’t publicly announce anything until y/n is very visibly pregnant

[zmediaoutlet]

for @wincestwednesdays: performance

Dean’s heel won’t stop bouncing. He’s tried to cut it out a few times now but his head won’t stop bouncing, either, brain jerking around to ten different things like a car fishtailing on a gravel highway, and when he gets back to this universe again—there’s his damn knee, jogging like he’s had a triple red-eye and maybe some under the table adderall, too, just as a fun chaser. He leans forward, sets his palms heavy on his knees. Breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. His heart thudding sick in his throat. Eight months to go.

Motel door opens. “They were out of El Sol but I got the other one,” Sam says, six pack under his arm and plastic bag dangling from his fingers and fumbling with keys, heeling the door closed behind himself, shaking night rain out of his hair. “And, yes, I got the jerky.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Sammy,” Dean says. Big grin. Sam rolls his eyes and doesn’t seem to notice how Dean jumped like a frickin b-horror starlet when he came in. His heart racing harder even though—god, what’s wrong with him. It’s Sam.

Sam, pulling a beer and tossing it to Dean, tapping his open laptop to see if there’s been any update to the police scanner since he left. Like Dean wouldn’t have noticed, and said. Although, given the fishtail— “Nothing,” Sam sighs, and okay. Okay, good. Or, not good, because they’re waiting for an update, so they can figure out who’s been killing random dudes, so they can kill that thing, so they can get out of this town and do something else, anything, except there’s nothing that really counts as doing anything because they can’t, because if they do Sam will—and then all of Dean’s whole life will mean exactly jack squat, all his purpose and hope and love drained out of him like blood pouring from a bullethole, and he already had that happen once, and he’s not doing it again. Sam will just have to live, and Dean will—he’ll—

“Dude, what’s with the fidgeting,” Sam says. He tips his beercan toward Dean’s jumpy fuckin’ knee. “You can go pee, I can watch the scanner.”

“Ha.” Dean stretches out his heels, ignores his racing heart. Smiles at Sam with everything he’s got. “Just bored. Don’t think our ghost’s gonna kill again tonight.”

“The ghoul, you mean?” Sam says, and Dean silently mouths the ghoul? with his most irritating face, and Sam—incredibly—doesn’t go for the same argument they’ve been having for three days, but maybe he’s bored, too, because instead he says, “Yeah, maybe not.”

Raining louder outside, some last hurrah of late-summer weather. Covers up traffic noise and the thudding in Dean’s ears, makes the motel room seem smaller. Maybe safer. Shelter, at least. Dean licks the point of his canine and gulps beer, washing bitter cold to the back of his throat, and Sam watches him do it across the dingy grey-brown carpet, thumbing the aluminum rim of his own can. Some expression in his eye Dean can’t quite pin down. He lowers his beer and Sam’s still looking at him, and then Sam’s face changes, the corner of his mouth curving down, and Dean’s whole chest seizes up because—no, they are not talking about—

“Turn up the scanner,” Dean says. Sam frowns, jarred, but he thumbs the volume on the laptop so they’re getting radio crackle. “Okay. So we won’t miss anything.”

“Why would we miss—” Sam starts, but Dean’s already gotten off the bed and rolled onto his knees between Sam’s spread legs and is grinning up at him before he can ask the dumb question. And, yeah, he gets another eyeroll, and he gets a scoff, but Sam’s legs spread out to accommodate his shoulders and he’s not exactly getting up, is he. “Dude, really?”

“What?” He knows just the right amount to lean into it—how to tip the grin filthy, how to look up under his eyelashes. “I’m bored, you’re bored. I know how we could change that.”

“Pretty sure of yourself?” Sam says, but he says it with red rising in the hollow of his cheeks, his thighs spreading lazily. Dean drags his hands up the soft-warm denim and touches his tongue to the gap between his teeth, the way that’s always worked, and sure enough sees Sam’s lips part and his eyes drop and—yeah, another tick in the win column. It’s so easy.

Sam drags his thumb over Dean’s lower lip, drags down to his chin. “Always am, little brother,” Dean says. He sits up higher on his knees and Sam’s hand drags down his throat, fingers tangling in the amulet he gave all those years ago. Will the hellhounds tear it from his shredded body, Dean wonders, and licks his lips wet and smiles wider. Makes Sam watch his mouth and not whatever might be in his eyes. “Want me to prove it?”

“Knock yourself out,” Sam says, wide open for whatever Dean wants to do, and Dean grips him by the front of that ugly bacon-stripe shirt and pulls him down for a kiss—wet, biting. The hundred dollar treatment, if Dean says so himself. Sam gets those huge hands on either side of Dean’s head and curls forward, knocking Dean’s mouth open and taking what’s on offer to distract them both from the night, and Dean’s heart sounds like the thunder rattling the motel walls. Eight months to go.

[sailforvalinor]

Imagine you’re a young boy. Your parents died very recently, which has left you and your two younger siblings on your own, and to provide for them, you resort to thievery. One day, you break into a pretty big house, and while you’re sneaking about trying to find something worth stealing, you stumble across a gorgeous book. You study it, intrigued—but as you never learned to read, you can’t understand a word of it. While you’re distracted, though, you’re discovered by the owner of the house—but instead of reacting like a normal person would upon being robbed, he sits down and starts teaching you how to read the book, doesn’t turn you in to the police, and then adopts you and your siblings.

Years pass. When you hit high school, your adopted dad enrolls you in a pretty prestigious private school, and you do very well—you’re very intelligent and do very well in your classes, and you make great friends who don’t judge you for your past. There are three things you’re known for in this school: 1) that you’re more than a bookworm, you’re a book dragon, 2) you can make a mean panini, and 3) your friendly-boy swag. You’re the class’ resident cinnamon roll, and everyone loves you. There are some odd things about this school, of course—your teacher is a new hire, and she doesn’t seem that much older than you? And it turns out, the class president is an irl celebrity.

But all in all, you’re having a good year. Until your adoptive dad gets convicted of planning to murder your principal and is killed resisting arrest? You’re obviously devastated, half in-shock that your dad could ever do such a thing, half-convinced that he must have been framed or been being used, but what can you do about it? You’re just a teenager.

The year goes on, and you’re doing alright, but other odd things keep happening. There’s a lot of political unrest, a lot rumors flying about (the class president has a crush on our teacher? No way, that has to be fake), but you try to keep your head down and mind your own business. You make more friends, you do well in school.

And then, at the end of the school year, after a very odd field trip, a girl from one of the other classes publicly announces that she’s planning to murder your principal (was she involved with your dad’s death???) and vanishes, and then your teacher dies in a freak accident.

A few more years pass. You’re doing alright—you’ve got custody of your younger siblings now, but you’re responsible, and they’re doing just fine. One day, you remember that you made a heat-of-the-moment promise to attend your high school reunion, and while you’re not sure whether anyone will attend, a promise is a promise. So, you leave your siblings with a babysitter and head off towards your school.

Upon arrival, surprise, you find that everyone came—including your former teacher, very alive (and having dyed her hair), and your former class president, who you find out is now a serial killer. And still came to the reunion.

All of this to say, Fire Emblem: Three Houses from Ashe Duran’s perspective is wild.

[adrienneleclerc]

Don Refri

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N has been the police records clerk for a few months. He’s known as Detective Grumpy to everyone in the district, but she’s the only one who calls him Don Refri. Walter gets jealous when there is a new detective around.

A/N: Walter Marshall is probably my favorite Henry Cavill character to read about, I need more content of him. I’ve also been watching a telenovela and the way Alexander has been acting with Lola when they were fighting, I thought “what if Walter was like this?” So here it is. Also, LATIN PRESENTATION FOR HENRY CAVILL!

For all intent and purposes, this one shot is very humorous, sort of like a sitcom, Walter doesn’t follow canon AT ALL, but I did try to “research” what happens in a precinct.

Y/N was entering the district with a thermos in hand, all bundled up.

“Ay, hace un pinche frío, why the fuck did I move to Minnesota, it’s so cold.” Y/N said as she took off her coat and Matthew started laughing. “Don’t laugh like that, I’m not meant for cold weather.”

“Just start working on something before detective grumpy comes in and starts yelling.” Matthew said, taking Y/N’s coat, folding it.

“I’m not scared of Don Refri, but I will start working because i have to make the case files of whatever criminal is out now so Don Refri and detective Dickerman Can catch them as soon as possible.” Y/N said and she started sipping hot chocolate from her thermos. As she was working, Walter came in. “Good morning, Don Refri.” Walter rolled his eyes at her.

“Morning, Y/N.” Walter mumbled and went to his office. Matthew, Glasgow, and Rachel stared at Y/N. Y/N looked at them.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“You call him Don Refri to his face and he does nothing, but we almost get written up when he overheard us reference him as Detective Grumpy. How is that possible?” Glasgow asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m happy about it, not gonna lie.” Y/N said. She began working on the computer, smiling to herself. No one but her bestie knows about her crush on the grumpy detective.

“I think he has a soft spot for you, what do you think?” Rachel asks.

“Maybe he does.” Y/N replied.

A few moments after creating the case files, Y/N heard Walter yell “Fuck” from his office.

“I wonder what’s got him worked up. Y/N, go check on him.” Matthew said.

“Fine. Now I know how my brother felt when I sent him to ask our mom something.” Y/N said. She got up from her desk and went to Walter’s office, saw that he threw his stuff off his desk and is now running his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Walter asked.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood, Don Refri?” Y/N asked.

“First; you keep calling me that.” Walter started and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I told you, start being open about your feelings and then I’ll stop calling you don refri, Don Refri.” Y/N replied and Walter rolled his eyes. “What’s the other thing that got you in a bad mood?”

“They’re transferring another detective here.” Walter massaged his temples.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Y/N asked.

“Not if the detective is a fucking pain in the ass. He hits on anything with skirt.” Walter commented. “He has a womanizer, player kind of reputation and I don’t want that guy in this district.”

“Why is he getting transferred?” Y/N asked.

“Don’t know. Hopefully I have time before this fucker gets here.” Walter starts picking up the stuff he threw and Y/N helped him until they heard a voice.

“Isn’t anyone going to welcome me?” The man sounded arrogant.

“Too late. Let’s go.” Walter said, after putting everything back on his desk and him and Y/N went to the front of the district, Y/N went back to her desk. “Team, this is…what’s your name again?” Walter asked.

“Ha ha, nice to see you haven’t changed. I’m Detective Tyler Delgado, I just transferred here.” Tyler introduced himself.

“Well this is my team, Matthew and Glasgow are technicians, Rachel is a profiler and psychologist, and Y/N here is our records clerk.” Walter introduced them to Tyler.

“Nice to meet you guys.” Tyler said, “Especially you.” Tyler said, looking at Y/N before winking.

“Well, Let’s get back to work.” Walter said, leaving with Tyler.

The day went on Walter and Y/N were the only ones left in the district, she was finishing up the police logs.

“Ugh, i can’t wait to sleep.” Y/N said.

“What did you think of Delgado?” Walter asked.

“I Don’t have much of an opinion of him, he doesn’t look like a fuckboy though.” Y/N commented.

“I never said he was a fuckboy, I said he had the reputation of one, big difference.” Walter said.

“Yeah, whatever. If you’re worried about Rachel going out with him, I don’t think she would fall for any of his ‘tricks’ because of her psychology background.” Y/N commented as she took a sip of soda.

“It’s not Rachel I’m worried about.” Walter replied, looking at Y/N. Y/N looked at Walter with wide eyes and she put her soda down.

“Me? You’re worried about me? Why are you worried?” Y/N asked, please say it’s because you like me she said in her head.

“I just don’t want you to get taken advantage of.” Walter said.

“Do I look easy to you, Walter? I know I’m a few years younger than you but I’m not naive, I know when someone has other intentions, there’s a reason why I wanted to be an FBI profiler.” Y/N said.

“I’m just saying, I saw you and Delgado flirting when he was giving you some files.” Walter said.

“I was being friendly! Por Dios, uno ya no puede ser amable o que?” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

“What does that mean?” Walter asked.

“It means I can’t be nice to someone without being accused of trying to sleep with them.” Y/N said in a huff, packing her bag.

“When did I accuse you that?” Walter asked while raising his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, don refri, I finished, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/N said and she left without kissing Walter on the cheek or hugging him.

The next day, Walter was running late because he was talking to Angie about Faye. When he entered the district, he saw Y/N and Tyler talking, as he got closer, he heard part of their conversation.

“It’s a date, I’ll pick you up tonight at 8.” Tyler said, winking at Y/N and walked away. Y/N smiled slightly until she heard Walter.

“What was that about?” Walter asked behind Y/N, scaring her and she put her hand in her chest.

“No me asustes así!” Y/N exclaimed as she hit his arm. Of course it didn’t hurt since Walter works out a lot, but he still winces because that’s how he is with Y/N.

“You’re going out with Delgado? After telling me I shouldn’t worry about you? Are you kidding me, Y/N?” Walter questioned.

“Sabes algo, Don Refri? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Y/N said. Hold up, is he jealous? That HAS to mean he likes me, oh please don’t be such a don refri and tell me you like me, PLEASE! Y/N thought to herself

“I’m looking out for you just like I would look out for Faye and Rachel, I am protective over the women who are close to me, especially with this job. I’ll talk to you later.” Walter said and walked away.

Y/N sat at her desk, very confused over what just happened with the grumpy detective.

A week went by and Walter observed Y/N and Tyler. Whenever they would be together during their lunch break or just together in general, Walter scowled. But one day he was walking by Tyler’s office and he heard something suspicious.

“I’m still at work…yes, I’m going to be late again…I’m sorry, the captain is tougher than at the last precinct…I’ll see you at home, love you, baby.” And Tyler hung up the phone. Walter walked in his office.

“Who were you on the phone with, Delgado?” Walter asked.

“My niece, it’s her birthday today.” Tyler lied, Walter could tell. This wasn’t the first time Walter heard a suspicious phone call like this but it’s the first he confronted Tyler.

“Well then, see you later.” Walter said as he walked out of Tyler’s office. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge, heated it up, and walked back to his office where he would do a background check on Tyler Delgado. “I’m not jealous, Y/N is like a sister to me, I just want to make sure she’s safe.” Walter said to himself as he was checking all the information that he managed to pull up about Tyler.

For what seemed like an eternity to Walter, he found out that Tyler Delgado is married! He took a photo of what he found on the computer, he went into the break room to look for Y/N and he found Tyler leaning in to kiss Y/N so he did what any man would do when they see a married man try to kiss their crush, I mean, their “friend”, and punch them in the face. Walter punched Tyler so hard that Tyler got knocked out and was on the floor, out cold.

Y/N was in shock. “Are you insane?!? Que te pasa?!?” Y/N yelled. “You killed him, you fucking killed him.”

“Oh please, how am i going to kill a man with a single punch, Y/N? Seriously, think.” Walter said.

“Well I don’t know, you work out a lot, you clearly have a lot more muscle than Tyler, you probably killed him.” Y/N said.

“You look at my muscles a lot?” Walter said with a little smirk.

“Don’t change the subject.” Y/N said firmly. Rachel was entering the break room with a box,

“Hey, Matthew brought doughnuts, you guys want some? What the fuck happened here?” Rachel asked when she saw Tyler on the floor and she place the box on the table, closing the break room door.

“Oh well what happened was Don Refri here came in and just punched Tyler for no fucking reason. You’re a psychologist, is this an act of jealousy?” Y/N asked.

“First of all, it wasn’t for no fucking reason, he’s scum, did you know that he’s married?” Walter yelled.

“What?” Both Y/N and Rachel asked,

“Yeah, He’s married, and He’s been married for 4 years.” Walter said

“Ugh, stop lying, Don Refri, and just admit that killed him because you’re jealous and that’s it!” Y/N yelled.

“Jealous? You think I’m jealous, really? Of course I’m not jealous.” Walter said, stepping closer to Y/N, resulting in getting closer to Tyler’s unconscious body.

“Careful, you’re gonna kill him again.” Y/N said.

“How am I gonna kill him again if he’s already dead?” Walter teased Y/N.

“Well, He’s not dead, he’s still breathing.” Rachel said, looking a Tyler, seeing his chest rise and fall.

“Whatever, Rachel, why would you think I’m jealous? Do you really think I’m jealous, Y/N? Please.” Walter asked.

“Mm hmm, sure, and your fits just has a mind of its own? Ah! I cant even speak, I’m so mad, your fist, fist!” Y/N shouted the last part of her sentence.

“I can’t understand what you’re trying to say, speak clearly.” Walter said in a fed up tone.

“I am speaking clearly! Fist, fist, fist! You know what? Say whatever the hell you want, to me, this was a crime of passion, you can’t tell me different.” Y/N said and Rachel just observed their argument while eating a doughnut and drinking her coffee thinking to herself that these two people totally love each other, are at the very least shave feelings for each other.

“Y/N, you can’t possibly be acting this way?” Walter questioned.

“Acting what way, hm?” Y/N asked.

“Like this!” Walter said, gesturing to her with his hands. That’s when Tyler started to come to and he sat up.

“What happened?” Tyler said groggily.

“Shut up!” Walter said, punching him AGAIN. Rachel’s eyes were wide as plates, and so were Y/N’s.

“What’s wrong with you?!?” Both women yelled.

“What? I Don’t like being interrupted while I’m speaking.” Walter stated

“Oh my god, You’re crazy, i need to get out of here.” Y/N said. She left the break room with Walter following her. Walter grabbed her wrist and they walked to an empty interrogation room. “What are you doing, Don Refri?”

“Fuck it.” Walter whispered before kissing Y/N passionately in the interrogation room, only lasting when they were out of breath. Y/N pulled away first.

“What was that, Walter?” Y/N asked. The first time she called him by his first name.

“You wanted me to admit I was jealous, right? Well, here I am admitting that I was jealous of you and Tyler. But i am not lying about him having a wife, I did a background check on him before knocking him out, look.” Walter said, showing Y/N his phone. Y/N grabbed his phone, seeing it was true. “I’ve had feelings for you since you started working here but I am very bad of expressing my feelings, as you point out to me daily.” Walter admitted.

“I have liked you since I started working here too. Does this mean we’re together now?” Y/N asked. Walter chuckled, taking Y/N’s hands in his.

“It means I’m going to take you on a date after our shift is over. Hopefully Tyler doesn’t report me.” Walter said and Y/N laughed.

“You’re probably going to be suspended but you can worry about that later, i have reports to write up.” Y/N said and Walter opened the door for her so they could leave the interrogation room. The first time since becoming a detective, Walter had a smile on his face. It was small, but it was there.

The End

Thank you for reading my very first Walter Marshall fanfic, hope you liked it

[cookie-crumblr]

GN!READER x 3 YANDERE OC’s

thinking about how Enix, Lucy and Issac would be the first three of my OC’s to cut our legs off if we disobeyed them or tried to run away an i MMMMMMMMMM

CW: GN! Reader, no body descriptions for reader, dismemberment of reader, reader referred to as they/them, murder, drugging, vomit(non descriptive dw), spoilers for lucky, permanent body mutilation, non con, p in whatever hole you have, somno(in Enix’s part), reader has hair in lucy’s part mentioned (not described) Not proof read!

!!MINORS DNI!!

Enix~

When you first awoke in shackles, you couldn’t imagine staying! this guy that you had once thought was just a shy nerd, turning out to be a psychopath to this extent!? You can’t!

You think of a plan to escape as soon as you can.

He let you loose after a while. you promised you’d be good, schmoozed up to him too, pretending nothing had changed. And he believed you.

You ran the first chance you got. A neighbor saw you running in your underwear and hurried you inside. You asked to call the police, she rushed to find her phone.

But too soon after, Enix busts through her front door.

He has a pair of hedge trimmers in his hand… You tried to run but you were frozen solid watching him beat the old woman to death with them. You tried to tear yourself away from the gorey scene unfolding, you tried to run, but he caught you.

“Butterflyyyy~ Looks like Ill have to rip off your wings after all…” He holds you tightly in his grasp, his tall body fully encasing you. “I really didn’t want to”

He injects you with something as he’s holding you, and you feel your body grow suddenly so heavy and your vision fades.

Now he’s looking over your precious, sleeping form, you are even easier to watch and protect! and he can’t help but love how dependent you’ll be on him from now on.

His dick throbs.

You’re so perfect, even just sleeping under anesthesia. He lifts your stumps and gently feels his work… He shouldn’t. He stops himself. Not yet anyway, he wouldn’t want to injure you while you’re in a serious recovery phase.

But soon, he’ll definitely put you back under to fully enjoy what he’s done.

Upon waking you feel terrified… Something is so very wrong! you can’t move your legs! You shoot up into a sitting position, and see the reason…

You vomit over the edge of the bed.

Your legs are gone.

(He definitely mounts them on the wall in the bedroom with a little plaque and everything like they’re one of his prized specimens)

Lucy~

You’ve disobeyed her too many times recently, you’ve ran and hid yourself inside the forbidden red doored room.

You didn’t anticipate how obsessed with you she turned out to be.

The room is completely filled in every corner with something that has to do with you. Pictures and posters of you cover the walls, they look professionally taken. The shelves are filled with photo albums, journals detailing your days and old documents. Some have your thrown out med bottles, vials of what you can only assume is cum in some and blood in the others…. You shiver. You don’t want to keep looking, but it’s all around you.

There’s what looks like some kind of Alter at the front and center of the room.

You find it hard to breathe in here…

You think you might get sick if you stay too long.

There are two windows that don’t have screens on either side of the alter. You dash to one of them and try it, luckily, it slides right open.

“Where are they!?” She screeches. You hear her heels clicking against the wood down the hall. “Find them.”

You escape down a trellis covered in blue morning glories, and run into the gardens.

All too soon you’re being tackled to the grass, as one of Lucy’s guards finds you.

Lucy walks out next, taking her time to get to you, building up even more of your tremendous anxiety. Your heart is thumping in your throat, you can see each beat pulsing in your vision. You’ve never seen her so mad!

The guard holds you down obediently.

She’s got an axe.

“You don’t need both of your legs, right Y/N?” She stands over you.

“Wh-what??”

“Hold them still.” She says to the guard.

“Lu-Lucy!?”

She brings down the axe onto your thigh, a harsh, heavy pain bursts through you and you scream out. Your bone definitely snapped but she wasn’t strong enough to take off your leg in one clean hit….

She brings it down a second time, missing the same spot and just causing you more blinding pain, you scream until you’re coughing and almost vomiting.

“LUCY!!! STOP!!!!” You beg and plead but she looks wildly ecstatic as she brutally mutilates your body.

Again the axe comes down finally separating your leg from your body. the pain is immense and your blood soaks the garden bed. You’re so dizzy and you feel sick, you’re writhing and sobbing just glad the worst is over.

“Call the doctor. And a taxidermist.” She licks your blood off of the axe before she throws it and picks up her dress instead, and steps over you. Her body falls over yours, cradling your face in her arms as she now sits on your midsection. You’re fading in and out of consciousness and weakly try to do anything, but the pain is overwhelming.

“Aw… You’re so cute Y/N, I can’t stay mad at you~!” She pets you and wipes some sweat slicked hair off of your forehead.

Her soft lips come down to yours, you barely register the sensation. As you’re fading you feel her rocking her hips on you.

(She def keeps them in her worship room)

Issac~

“This is necessary, Y/N!”

“NO ISSAC PLEASE!!!!!” You threaten to rip your vocal cords with how loud you’re screaming!

He brings the hacksaw to your thigh, right under your cheek. You feel the rough metal touch you and flail wildly.

You’re on your stomach so you thankfully don’t have to watch…

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!” You repeat over and over, snot and tears staining your face.

“I hate to do this to you i swear! But you’ve made me! we told you not to run!!”

“I WONT I WONT I SWEAR I WONT!!!”

“We already gave you that chance.” He states coldly.

The metal touches your flesh once more, but this time he slides it across with pressure enough to cut right down to your bone. You feel the vibrations against the solid part of your body and shiver. The pain is intense and you don’t recognize the voice coming out of you anymore.

You writhe and curl into yourself against the concrete while he pushes the saw back over you, and then again.

The pain doesn’t stop when he stops cutting.

It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever felt.

You’re biting your lip and groaning and wailing when he puts it in you.

“What!!” You cant wrap your head around what’s happening! He’s entering you, while your bleeding out from your thigh!

He spreads your legs wider, you hear him sloshing around in the puddle of your blood.

He fully shoves himself inside you without regard, he can’t help himself every time that you’re completely at his mercy.

You’re all out of wailing at this point, you’re throat is too dry and torn. Your vision is filling with black spots and you feel terrified. All you feel is the throbbing numbness of where your leg used to be, and his huge dick slowly stroking your insides.

You feel the familiar sweat inducing sensation of a saw blade against your other thigh now, You can’t even scream anymore or beg him to stop, you just feel your skin start to be torn open all over again and pass out.

He cums inside you and it spills out around his length mixing into your blood puddle.

[vynegar]

vyn 5th birthday ssr, part three

third part.

same disclaimers from part one (note the extra one from usual, regarding story content)

youtube link to ShiroNaya’s video of the card story

links to other parts: one two

more tot stuff here

do not repost

[PART THREE]

[23:58] Rooftop

The sun had mostly set below the horizon, dragging out long, inky shadows that snaked and twisted on the ground. Vyn stood at that boundary of light and dark. The ferocious wind ruffled his silver hair, but he gave no reaction whatsoever to Zheng Yan’s condemnations. I, on the other hand, grew tense as Zheng Yan approached us, but didn’t dare to do anything in case it provoked him.

Zheng Yan: Look at what you’ve done to me! And you won’t even admit that you did this?!

Vyn: If I were really the cold-hearted, fame-hungry person that you say I am, do you think that threatening your own life would affect me?

Vyn sighed quietly, as if Zheng Yan were not worth the trouble.

Vyn: If you were to actually die, how would you get your revenge?

Zheng Yan: I’m not looking for revenge. Without Xiao Zhuo, I have nothing left to live for… I just want justice. I want Xiao Zhuo to know his dad didn’t let him down again.

Vyn subtly started to approach him, but Zheng Yan noticed right away.

Zheng Yan: D-don’t come over here.

MC: Mr. Zheng, please calm down. I’m a lawyer from Themis Law Firm, and I’m here to help you. If there was any unlawful coercion during that interrogation, I can help you make sure they’re held liable for their actions. Dying won’t do anything – don’t you want the person who hurt you to pay?

Zheng Yan: That person is right next to you! You can help me sue him right now!

MC: The law values evidence, Mr. Zheng. We can leave and then take our time discussing this. There’s nothing that can’t discussed.

Zheng Yan: Evidence?! They didn’t have any evidence when they locked me up for years, so why care about it now?

Suddenly, Zheng Yan became enraged. Without any warning, he took a kitchen knife out from his pocket.

Vyn: Watch out!

There was a flash of silver. As the closest one to Zheng Yan, Vyn rushed forward without hesitation.

Vyn: James!

When Vyn inadvertently used Zheng Yan’s previous name, Zheng Yan froze. Taking advantage of that moment, Vyn wrested the knife away from him. As it fell to the ground with a clatter, several policemen rushed over and forced Zheng Yan to the ground.

Zheng Yan: Aaaggghh!!!

Vyn: …

Everything had happened so fast. Only when I heard Vyn’s nearly imperceptible groan did I realize there was blood dripping from between his fingers – he must have been injured in his haste to seize the knife from Zheng Yan. Vyn glanced at me and shook his head, as if to reassure me. Then he walked over to where Zheng Yan was pinned to the ground and kneeled down to look him in the eye.

Vyn: Considering how deep your grievance runs, dying like this will only bring pain to your loved ones and joy to your enemies.

Zheng Yan: That’s easy for you to say, but my loved ones are all dead!

Vyn: Even more reason for you to live a good life. Death is the path of a coward.

Vyn took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood on his hand, but some drops still fell to the ground. As those scarlet droplets bloomed, Zheng Yan fell silent, lost in his own thoughts.

[26:39] Home

Although we had stopped Zheng Yan’s attempt to livestream his suicide, to some extent it still had a harmful impact on society, and he had therefore been taken to the police station. Under Vyn’s continued insistence, we went directly home instead of to the hospital.

MC: You go ahead and get changed. I’ll grab the first aid kit.

Vyn’s precious white coat, originally clean as new, was now stained with dust and dirt. I also wanted to do something to distract myself instead of just sitting still.

Vyn: All right.

Vyn nodded and soon returned in a new set of clothes. He sat down on the sofa and, without my prompting, held his hand out to me. It was no longer bleeding since he had wiped his hand with his handkerchief. Only some dried up spots of blood remained.

Vyn: Ow…

MC: Are you okay? I’ll be gentler.

Vyn nodded. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. Vyn glanced at the notifications inundating the screen, then muted his phone with irritation. I knew without asking that as the situation with Zheng Yan exacerbated, there were countless eyes on Vyn. Questioning him, testing him, concerned for him… both sincere and not. And this was only the beginning.

Vyn: Zheng Yan…

Vyn murmured to himself. From the start, he had been quite conscious of the name.

MC: Do you have any suspicions about his name, Vyn?

Vyn: Names represent a recognition of one’s identity. Although my use of the name “James” was subconscious… Zheng Yan simply found it strange. It was as if he had never heard the name before. Even if he rejects the name because it elicits painful memories for him, he should have reacted with anger, not apathy.

I vividly remembered Zheng Yan’s reaction. It was precisely because he reacted that way that made it possible for Vyn to stop a tragedy from happening.

Vyn: Did I…

MC: What is it? Did you think of something?

Vyn: The first time I met James, I conducted a cursory psychological evaluation of him. The trick I used to obtain his testimony and solve the case was based on those conclusions. Looking at his condition now, however, it seems his situation is more complicated than I thought. Did I… miss something back then?

It was a period of time that I wasn’t a part of, and Vyn’s current doubts seemed like the best key to unlocking those dusty memories of the past.

MC: Do you want to tell me what happened back then, Vyn? No matter who was at fault, first we have to figure out where the problem truly lies.

Vyn hesitated, then shifted to a more comfortable position.

Vyn: It happened when I was about to graduate with my doctorate…

As he spoke, his soft voice surrounded us like sudden rain in the night, swirling in atmosphere and washing us away.

[flashback]

[28:55] File Room

The rain had continued for several days now. Even though Vyn had left early, he still barely made it on time to the police station. With his umbrella still dripping, he rushed inside without stopping to shake the rainwater off it.

Professor Ferenc: You’re right on time, Vilhelm.

As requested by his teacher, Vyn stopped by the file room to discuss his plan before entering the interrogation room. Professor Ferenc, who was leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand, calmly took a sip then sized Vyn up in a teasing manner. Vyn directly sat down without resting his back against the chair, ignoring his professor’s actions.

Professor Ferenc: Muddy shoes and wet pants, is this really how you’re going to walk into your first solo psychology consult?

Vyn: The knowledge is stored in my head, Professor. My appearance is irrelevant. Moreover, I saw in the dossier that the suspect shows clear signs of NPD. An unkempt appearance may have the effect of lowering his guard.

Ferenc was always like this, so Vyn was well-accustomed to responding.

Professor Ferenc: Lack of empathy, extreme self-confidence, as well as extreme arrogance… He does seem to fit the signs of narcissistic personality disorder. Detective Jack asked me just now if it was too risky to let you handle this case alone, but I told him to have a little faith.

Vyn: He is not wrong to worry. You have much more experience, Professor, and the suspect’s custody limit is about to expire… If I fail, you may not even be able to salvage the situation afterwards. His escape is a real possibility.

Professor Ferenc: Hey, what happened to that calm logic from before? Suddenly you’ve lost confidence in yourself! This man James is from Stellis, and you’re basically half from Stellis too, so starting from that common ground is bound to help.

It was a stretch, but Vyn didn’t say anything. He already had his doctorate, but he was still uncertain about his future path. The Church of Svart was unequivocal in its opposition toward the aristocracy studying psychology. Vyn’s current actions could still be considered inconsequential, but his journey was far from over.

If he continued down this path, he would face obstacles in the form of his father, his family, and the Church. Was he truly prepared for that? Presumably, his professor hoped that this experience could give Vyn some kind of inspiration. The decision was gradually approaching, and he couldn’t ignore it forever.

Vyn: I am simply stating the facts.

Ferenc shook his head; this was typical behavior from his precious student, and he was accustomed to it as well.

Professor Ferenc: Vilhelm, you tend to view things objectively, which is a valuable trait for psychology research. But when it comes to your personal life, it can seem a little… distant?

It was not the first time Ferenc had said this. Vyn merely furrowed his brow slightly, refraining from a response.

Professor Ferenc: I have full confidence in you, but Detective Jack wants an idea of what your plan is.

Vyn: I do not have one.

Professor Ferenc: Eh?

Vyn’s words often left people flabbergasted, but the blunt honesty of this answer made Ferenc’s jaw drop in shock.

Vyn: Murderers are commonly diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder, which often manifests as impulsive homicide (1). This suspect, however, clearly premeditated this. Aside from the vagueness of his alibi, it could be considered the perfect crime. You can tell from the recordings that he has meticulously deduced what the police would question him about, leaving no holes in his statement. My thinking is that instead of searching for those holes that may not even exist, we may as well not plan anything in advance. For someone with NPD, there is nothing more infuriating… than having a perfect murder they take so much pride in be crudely discredited as an impulsive homicide.

As Vyn spoke calmly and assuredly, Ferenc listened in silence save for his sips of coffee. Vyn stopped him as he was about to refill his cup.

Vyn: Oh, maybe you should stop drinking. I heard that the suspect wanted coffee – I can bring him the rest of this.

Vyn nodded at his professor then checked his watch again. After pouring a cup of coffee, he turned to leave, the hem of his white coat fluttering with the motion. As Ferenc watched him, he dimly recalled the first time he met Vyn. Vyn was still young and inexperienced at the time, yet his golden eyes were strikingly bright. The path he was on was a rough one, but finally he was off to further his journey.

[32:52] Outside the Interrogation Room

When Vyn grasped the doorknob to the investigation room, the cold touch of metal made him subconsciously tighten his grip on the glass cup he was holding. He had laid out everything so systematically with Ferenc, but now that it was the moment of truth, his heartbeat involuntarily quickened. This is probably from nervousness, he thought to himself as he opened the door and entered.

Vyn: Hello, James. Here is your coffee.

[33:12] Interrogation Room

Thunder roared in the distance, but the atmosphere in the room was stagnant. Based on his precise psychological profile of him, Vyn intentionally interrupted James over and over and mischaracterized his perfect plan as shoddy. It was exactly what James found unbearable, and finally he lost his composure.

James: Shut up! Hah, you have no idea what you’re talking about. How could I use a knife? Only a fool would think of method like that… The real murder weapon was an icicle that I custom-made. It didn’t have to be that sharp, just enough to slowly pierce the skin… I bet you’ve never heard the unique sound of ice rubbing against flesh before. It’s marvelous.

He closed his eyes, as if savoring that scraping sound. His lips curled in satisfaction.

James: No one could imagine it, and no one could find it. Even the puddle it’s melted into has long since merged with the rain.

It was an exquisite design. He had created a locked room, but opened the window to utilize the storm as a way to destroy much of the evidence.

Vyn: But it is all over now. You are correct – I did not know your plan, and I was unable to guess what the murder weapon was exactly. What we did know was the murderer, so… Thank you for telling us the truth. You are indeed smarter than we are.

James: You?!

James’s outburst was unexpected. He suddenly grabbed the coffee cup from the table and threw it. A rumble of thunder coincided with the “crash” of the cup, and the glass shattered on impact, glittering coldly in the dark room.

[34:54 card art]

James: Hahahaha…

His chilling laughter sounded even more eerie against the backdrop of thunder and lightning. James realized he had fallen into their trap.

James: So all of that was intentional. Everything you did was to provoke me…

Detective Jack: Get him under control! Now!

Alarmed by the sudden noise, the detectives filed in and almost immediately subdued James as he was about fly into a rage.

Detective Jack: Is your face okay?

It wasn’t until Detective Jack began to walk over to check his injury did Vyn realize groggily, as if waking from a dream, that his cheek had been grazed. Everything had happened too fast, and he was simply inexperienced. Arrogance made one foolish; that held true for both Zheng Yan and him.

Vyn: Ow…

Vyn had been so focused on provoking James to break down his mental defenses, but he hadn’t foreseen how dangerous that was. He had almost been stabbed in the eye by a shard of glass from the coffee cup he himself brought in. The coffee splattered across the white fabric of his coat, but the sorry sight didn’t affect Vyn’s composure in the slightest.

Vyn: Just confess. Do you think that hiding your insecurities behind self-assurance will prevent people from seeing your weakness and paranoia?

With his hands propped against the table, Vyn looked down at James in contempt as he ruthlessly exposed his inner weakness.

Vyn: Inability to tolerate any criticism is the quintessential sign of a lack of self-confidence.

James: And you’re so confident that you’ll never doubt yourself? Don’t criticize others like you’re above us all!

Vyn: At the very least, I will always analyze myself honestly.

James was still shouting, but Vyn had completely lost interest in him. With his chest still heaving and adrenaline still pumping through his veins, his head was clearer than it had ever been. This was not anxiety, but excitement; at that moment, he was honestly analyzing what he truly wanted. Humanity was such a complex and multifaceted art – he could spend his entire lifetime studying it and still not understand it in its entirety. How could he stop now?

Vyn: …

The ventilators cast shadows that spanned the walls, horizontal, then turning, slicing apart and reuniting the light over and over again. A dossier drifted down to the table, and Vyn heaved a long sigh. Finally, it was all over. But it was also the beginning of something new, something that he would never stop.

[END PART THREE]

[PART FOUR]

(1) “Antisocial personality disorder” Big Data Lab entry (under Academia>Psychology): A personality disorder that is characterized by frequent transgression of social norms and disregard for, or even violation of, the rights of others. People with antisocial personality disorder lack a sense of responsibility, have little regard for morals, and do not feel shame or remorse. Their behavior is unplanned and driven by impulse, and individuals easily become irritated or restless, having difficulty enduring the monotony of day-to-day life.

[hvnnibvni]

Together again II pt 3

Pairings: Jungkook/Reader

Genre: Mature themes. Romance. Angst. Arranged marriage AU. Childhood best friends to lovers AU.

Warnings: cheating, reader is a rope bunny (ALLEGEDLY), hard!dom JK, switch!reader, reader likes to be slutted out, drunken sex, unplanned pregnancy(this is in the end dw😅), cunnilingus, oral (both receiving), fighting (talk shit get hit) daddy!kink, praise!kink, dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling. Just all around nasty y’all.

Authors note: Hey! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long. Life hit me like a damn bullet trait and I fell into a spiral. I’m okay now and ready to get back into writing. I actually have another project I was working on before I fell off, so I’m looking forward to finishing that because it’s been a long time since it’s been requested. I HAVEN’T FORGOT ABOUT YOU GIRL!! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!! ILL MAKE IT A SERIES IF YOU WANT!! IM SO SORRY!! Okay but that’s all enjoy!

——————————————————————

“Hey what are you still doin up here? the guests are arriving.” You look back to see Jungkook and your brother Teahyung standing in the doorway to you bedroom.

“Oh hey, I'm considering auctioning off my old house in a couple of days.” Your brother looks at you confused. He doesn’t know the full story of why you left your previous relationship, but he gets the gist of it. No good friend, low down dirty ex-boyfriend. He gets it.

“Why? I mean, it's your house, right?” Your brother asks still lost. ‘Oh my sweet semi-slow big brother’ you thought as you looked back down at your computer. “Yes, but I don’t wanna go back to that house where they’ve probably fucked on all surfaces.” Your face scrunched in disgust.

“Ah I see, Kook what do you think?” He asks looking at his friend.

“I think you should send it now and auction it off tomorrow under your family name. Who wouldn’t want a house that used to belong to designer royalty?” He explains, nonchalantly. “ you sure there’s no other reason?” Tae pushs teasingly.

“Once we’re married my wife shouldn’t have anything in the world to worry about.. and on top of that I want all of her undivided attention.” He explains to his friend while making eye contact with you.

You were unsure whether to blush or cringe at his corny explanation, so you laughed it off. “Okay, I sent it out. If they’re not out by tomorrow they will be trespassing, and the police can deal with them,” you say with a wicked smile.

“wow, I never knew you could be so petty y/n,” your brother says jokingly.

“Aha petty my ass,” you say back rolling your eyes and smiling. “Anyway let’s go before mom sends Mrs. Sanchez up to get us,” you say leading them out of your room.

“Oh yeah if she has to come get us we won’t hear the end of it. I don’t like when she yells at us in Spanish I can’t understand her when she speaks so fast.” Taehyung responds pouting.

“Well I do and I’m not trying to hear it,” you say laughing.

Mrs. Sanchez is a friend of your late grandmother, she’d always watch you and Tae when your parents were away on business. They thought it’d be better to be kept by family rather than a nanny. She taught you both Spanish when you were little. She says it because she doesn’t like nosy people listening to her conversations.

You sigh. “Alright let’s go before we really do get in trouble,” you say as you shut your bedroom door.

————————————————————

“Ah! Y/n, your mother said you were back. How was the common world?” a distant cousin asks.

‘ whats her name again? Renee?’ Although it seemed like a dig, you paid it no mind.

“It was enjoyable to run my own business, acquire property, and build personal assets,” you reply honestly. ‘This girl is from the collateral family line. She doesn't know what it takes to be a part of the direct line. Let's not waste our time,’

Honestly, for a nepo baby, it'd be easy for you to acquire all of this through your family. Everyone was aware of it, so when you decided to leave, it shocked the entire extended family.

“ I mean, all of those things will be shared with your fiance when you guys get married no? So what was the point of “going out to get your own” when you really didn't need to? Haha just admit you were outside playing house and got way too over your head,” she laughs.

You laugh at her audacity “I'll admit that you admitted to sleeping with your psychology professor, Mr. Crenshaw was it? I'm sure your parents would love to know you got your degree by bouncing on a man twice your dads age, and I'm positive his wife would want to know how he spent his weekend evenings as well. Hm?” you bite back, with the sweetest smile.

“ Miss Y/N, your mother requires your presence.”

“It seems something more important has come up. Oh! I saw you over at the hors d'oeuvres table earlier making sweet love to the sweetish meatballs, maybe try the canapés next?” Before she could further embarrass herself, you excuse yourself from the uninteresting conversation.

As you make your way to your mom, you run into Jungkook who seems to also have been summoned by your mother. “Hello Y/N, you look even more beautiful than when I saw you just a few moments ago.”

“ please stop with the formalities, people will think we aren’t close,” you respond slightly cringing.

“I cannot,”

“And… why is that?” you ask confused

“We are yet to be married, therefore I shall speak formally to show my respect to my fiance.” Jungkook answers courteously.

“ Tight ass..” you mumble under your breath

As you said that Jungkook leans closer to you, so that only you could hear. “Don’t forget, this time next week you’ll be my wife. And there’ll be no need for formality, verbal or,” he pulls you closer, sliding his hand down your back.“physical,” he smirks and continues his way to your mother.

‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ you stand there momentarily before you also continue on your way.

“Y/N! My darling, You look wonderful!” Your mother is the most excited to see you.. as always. “Yeah- where's dad?” you as looking around.

“He took Jungkook to talk business, you know your father,” she says rolling her eyes.

“Anyway we need to discuss your wedding,” … ‘mm- Mother really never misses a beat does she’ you look over at your brother, who conveniently turns away sipping his drink.

“Mommy.. Can't that wait until everyone leaves?” you plead. “No, we have to get this done quickly. We need to work it into everyone's schedule. But you know, if you never would have left, we would've had more time. It's going to be a little uncomfortable for the next week, so just go with the flow. Okay, darling?” she's still holding a grudge for you leaving. Though you have to admit it's nice to be around family again.

“Anyway, I need you early tomorrow morning. I've composed a list of priorities that you and Jungkook need to go through. The date is already set, so you don't need to worry about that. I need you and Jungkook to meet your father and me in the courtyard no later than 5 am.” you look at her with wide eyes. “Mom, it's already 10:00 pm and I've been driving all day, and the party's still going. Can't we push it back to 8 am? That's not too bad, right?”

“Nope. Were on a tight schedule,”

“But-”

“No. Tu obéis s’il te plaît.”

“Dont scold me like a child,” you mumble under your breath.

“Quoi?”

“Nothing…. Okay but can I at least leave to go to be now then?” You ask. Honestly, you didn't even want to come out. You knew it would be just a bunch of wealthy, posh friends of your parents and extended family. They all got on your nerves, so why should you even entertain them? Well... you did want their engagement gifts, so it's a win-win. That and your mother and Mrs. Sanchez would tear into you after.

“I suppose,” your mother sighs. “But you have to say goodnight to you grandfather before you leave,” you sigh thinking she would've made some outlandish request. “And escort Jungkook to his quarters.” there it is… you spoke too soon.

You sigh and nod, giving her a kiss on the cheek before excusing yourself from your family. You make your way over to where your grandfather, father, and Jungkook are having a conversation. Jungkook looks bored but has a fake smile plastered on his face. You know that look all too well. You saw it all the time growing up. He always did it when he was getting lectured, which you overhear your father giving him a talk on what married life will be like.

“Dad you're scaring him, you want me to be left alone at the altar that bad?” your father chuckles

“I'm just letting him know what Auclair women are like-” “And what are we like” your mother pops up out of nowhere, scaring the fuck out of you and your father.

“Very kind, very mindful, very demure-” “That's what I thought,” your mother nods holding your father's arm. “Well, goodnight Grandpa, goodnight Mom and Dad. Jungkook and I are going to excuse ourselves for the evening.”

“goodnight darling, don't forget to show jungkook to his quarters.“ You nod grabbing jungkooks arm who looks more than happy to finally leave this event.

“I thought we'd never get to leave,” you sigh, plopping down on the couch in jungkooks room. “Tell me about it I had to listen to Aunt Magnolia talk about how if I don't marry soon I'll become ‘fruitless’….” Tae comes in after you and Jungkook “Please- what she should be talking about is her son's infidelity and how ‘fruitful” he is… with five other women who aren't his wife,” you all laugh. You missed talking shit about your family with your brother.

“Just tell her you're gay and she'll shut up,” Jungkook laughs “oooh yeah, then she'll splash holy water on me every time she sees me,” everyone nods in agreement, aunt magnolia so conservative Christian that she makes David Green seem liberal. “Anyway I'm gonna head to be. ‘Got a packed day tomorrow morning,” “we have to meet Mom and Dad in the courtyard at 5 am sharp,” you say turning to Junkook “Don't be late or it's our asses,” as you turn to leave Jungkook grabs you by the hand and kissed the back. “Goodnight beautiful.” “Y-yeah… dito. I mean- yeah. Goodnight ...”

Jungkook sighs not letting go of you hand. “What is it?” he doesn't say anything and just pulls you closer, slipping his free hand around your waist. “I thought I could hold back at least a week,” the way he's looking at you makes you feel like you're going to suffocate. Your stomach fills with butterflies as he pulls you closer “But the formalities you said-” “Fuck formalities,” he says smashing his lips into yours.

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 15: Siri… play Metalingus by Alter Bridge

Flashback February 3rd, 2025

The florescent lights buzzed overhead as Detective Samuel Hart stepped into the Pensacola Police Department. His leather shoes clicked against the tiled floor, and a folder rested under his arm. The officers at the front desk barely glanced up; they’d been expecting him.

“Detective Hart from Stamford,” he introduced himself, flashing his badge.

“Right this way,” an officer said, leading him down a sterile hallway to the interrogation room.

Inside, Matthew Addams sat handcuffed to a steel table, his head slightly tilted back, a smug grin plastered on his face. The years of manipulation and violence seemed etched into his features, yet he looked oddly composed. Hart stepped in, placing the folder on the table with a heavy thud.

“Mr. Addams,” Hart said coolly, taking a seat across from him. “Long trip for me, so let’s skip the pleasantries.”

He pulled three photos from the folder and spread them across the table: one of Damian Priest, his face bruised and battered, posing for injury documentation; another of Jon and Trinity’s cars, nothing but charred metal husks; and the last, a grainy CCTV image of a figure in a police uniform outside the gas station where Liv and Dom had sought out help.

Matthew’s smirk widened as his eyes scanned the photos. “Nice collage. What’s the occasion?”

Hart leaned forward, tapping on the image of the unidentified man. “Three incidents. All in a 24-hour window. We know you didn’t act alone. So, who’s this? He’s not one of ours, and I’m guessing he’s not just playing dress-up.”

Matthew chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Detective, you do realize I’m already facing trial for attempted murder for my wife’s friend, right? Why would I help you now?”

Hart didn’t flinch. “Because you’re not as untouchable as you think. And let’s get one thing clear—your ex-wife is no longer ‘Mrs. Addams.’ She’s well on her way to becoming Mrs. Fatu.”

At the mention of Rhea’s impending new life, Matthew’s smirk faltered. In a flash, he lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the restraints. The chains rattled as Hart remained unfazed, a slight smirk of his own forming.

“That hit a nerve?” Hart taunted. “You must hate that she’s moving on while you rot in here.”

Matthew leaned back, regaining his composure. “You think I’m stupid?” he said, his voice low and taunting. “I’m not giving you anything, Hart. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Hart tapped on the table, his gaze sharp. “You’ve got partners, Matt. You talk, and we work out a deal. Keep quiet, and you’ll take the fall alone.”

Matthew leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t get it, do you? They’re always watching.”

Hart’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s ‘they,’ Matt?”

Matthew chuckled darkly. “Ask Demi.”

Hart froze, his expression momentarily cracking. “What does Demi have to do with this?”

Matthew smiled, his voice dripping with malice. “She’s a murderer you know..”

Hart’s fist clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. “You’re bluffing.”

Matthew shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. “You’re out of your depth, detective. Demi’s past is far more interesting than you realize.”

—

October 13th, 2017 - Flashback

Liv practically bounced down the hall, her excitement contagious and inviting. She’d been looking forward to this night for weeks, and her energy was infectious. Reaching a familiar door, she gave it a rapid knock.

The door swung open, revealing Tegan Nox. She smiled but shook her head. “The birthday girl can’t decide what to wear,” she said, exasperated.

Liv sighed dramatically, stepping inside. “Rhea, come on! We don’t have all night!”

Rhea stood in the middle of the room, her hair freshly styled, staring at the two outfits laid out on the bed. One was a sleek black mini-dress with leather accents, the other a more casual but equally bold crop top and ripped jeans combo.

“I don’t know!” Rhea groaned, crossing her arms. “Do I go full badass or chill but hot?”

Liv exchanged a look with Tegan, then marched over. “Rhea, it’s your 21st birthday. We’re going out to drink, dance, and make bad decisions. You wear the dress.”

Rhea frowned, picking up the mini-dress. “You think?”

Tegan chimed in, “Absolutely. You’ll turn heads the second you walk in.”

Liv grinned. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll buy the first round to make up for it.”

Rhea laughed, her tension easing. “Alright, alright. Let’s do this.”

She grabbed the dress and headed to the bathroom to change. Liv plopped onto the bed, grabbing her phone to snap a quick selfie. “Tonight’s gonna be legendary,” she said, her voice giddy with anticipation.

Tegan smiled, leaning against the dresser. “You think she’s ready for the chaos we’re about to unleash?”

Liv smirked. “Rhea was born for chaos. Let’s just make sure we survive it.”

Minutes later, Rhea emerged, rocking the mini-dress with confidence. Liv let out a low whistle. “Damn, girl! You’re gonna own the night.”

Rhea laughed, grabbing her jacket. “Let’s make it a night to remember.”

Tegan grabbed her purse, and the trio headed out, ready to take on whatever the night had in store.

—

Rhea sat down at the bar, her eyes scanning the crowded club as the thumping bass of the music vibrated through the room. She spotted Liv and Tegan already hammered, laughing hysterically as they clumsily danced with each other in the center of the floor.

She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips, when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Can I make something for the birthday girl?”

Rhea turned her head and was met with the sight of a handsome man, probably in his mid-20s, leaning slightly over the bar. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his warm brown eyes locked onto hers with an easy confidence.

Rhea smirked. “Make me something nice.”

The bartender chuckled and got to work, expertly mixing a series of colorful liquids. A minute later, he placed a perfectly crafted Bahama Mama in front of her.

Rhea reached for her wallet, but before she could pull out her debit card, he gently placed a hand over hers.

“No charge for the birthday girl,” he said with a charming smile.

Rhea felt a small blush rise to her cheeks. “What’s your name, sweet cheeks?”

The bartender chuckled, a light blush coloring his own face. “Demetri,” he replied, leaning slightly on the bar.

Rhea raised her eyebrow, smirking. “Demetri, huh? Well, Demetri, you just made my night a whole lot better.”

She took a sip of the drink, the sweet and tangy flavors mixing perfectly on her tongue.

Demetri tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “So, birthday girl, how’s your night going so far?”

Rhea gestured toward Liv and Tegan, who were now attempting some ridiculous dance moves that drew laughter from the surrounding crowd. “It’s been… interesting. My friends are a disaster, but hey, it’s their job to embarrass me tonight.”

Demetri chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “Looks like they’re having a blast. What about you? You don’t seem like the type to let loose on the dance floor.”

Rhea shrugged, swirling her drink. “Depends on the mood and the company.” She shot him a playful look. “You offering to change that?”

Demetri grinned, leaning in just slightly. “Maybe. But only if the birthday girl can keep up.”

Rhea laughed, feeling the tension of the night slowly melt away. “Oh, I think I can handle you, Demetri.”

—

Rhea stood under the dim glow of the streetlights, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she watched the taxi carrying Liv and Tegan disappear down the street. Liv leaned out of the window, her voice carrying over the city’s hum.

“Let us know how fire his dick is!” Liv slurred with a mischievous laugh.

Rhea felt her cheeks flush, her thoughts interrupted by the warmth of a hand gently placed on her lower back. She gasped softly, spinning around to see Demetri standing behind her with a smirk.

“So,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “is the birthday girl up for heading to my place?”

Rhea hesitated for only a second before nodding. “I’m down,” she said, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

Demetri’s smile widened, but then he added, “I’ve gotta make a run first, though. You cool with that?”

Rhea blinked, tilting her head. “What’s a run?”

Demetri chuckled, his demeanor shifting slightly. “Rhea… maybe you should just head home, baby.”

“What?” Rhea asked, frowning in confusion. “I don’t know what a run is, but—”

“You’re too green, babygirl,” Demetri said, his tone soft but firm, like he was letting her in on some unspoken truth.

Rhea’s frustration bubbled up. “Come on! You’re really gonna leave me to spend my birthday alone?”

Demetri’s eyes softened, but he kept his distance. “It’s not like that, Rhea. You seem like a good girl, and I don’t want you getting mixed up in things you don’t understand.”

Rhea folded her arms defiantly. “I’m not a kid, Demetri. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Demetri sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about age, Rhea. It’s about the life. You don’t want this kind of trouble, trust me.”

Rhea felt a pang of disappointment, but she refused to back down. “Maybe I don’t care about the trouble. Maybe I just want to have fun tonight.”

Demetri studied her for a long moment, his gaze searching hers. Finally, he shook his head with a small smile. “You’re stubborn, huh?”

Rhea smirked. “You have no idea.”

Demetri laughed quietly, his hand lingering at her side. “Alright, fine. Let’s go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

—-

October 28th, 2018

Hunter sat behind his desk, his expression grim as Rhea walked into his office. She moved slowly, her shoulders hunched, and quietly took a seat across from him. The air was heavy with unspoken tension.

Hunter cleared his throat. “Rhea… I need you to explain what this is.” He slid a photograph across the desk toward her.

Rhea’s stomach dropped as her eyes fell on the image: her mugshot, unbelievable and undeniable. She exhaled slowly, trying to keep her composure.

“My NXT UK Women’s Champion doesn’t get arrested for Conspiracy to Distribute,” Hunter continued, his tone laced with disappointment. “So, what’s going on?”

Rhea hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she pushed the photo away. “It’s not what it looks like,” she muttered.

Hunter stood from his chair and rounded the desk, stopping directly in front of her. His sharp eyes searched her face. “Take off your jacket,” he ordered quietly.

Rhea’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “No,” she said quickly.

“Demi,” Hunter said, using her real name. His voice softened, but there was still authority in his tone. “Take off your jacket. Please.”

Rhea’s hands hesitated at the zipper, but she knew there was no getting out of this. Slowly, she peeled the jacket off her shoulders, revealing the deep bruise on her neck, faintly covered with concealer. Hunter’s jaw tightened as he took in the sight.

“Who did this?” he asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “And don’t tell me it was Liv, Tegan, or Dakota. I’m not buying it.”

Rhea’s eyes dropped to the floor, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say a word.

Hunter let out a frustrated sigh, stepping back to give her space. “Do you want me to fire you?” he asked pointedly.

Rhea’s head shot up, panic flashing across her face. “No,” she said firmly.

“Then let me help you,” Hunter said, his tone softer but still serious. “Whatever you’re caught up in, it’s not worth your career. It’s not worth you.”

Rhea blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “It’s complicated,” she whispered.

“I’m sure it is,” Hunter replied. “But you don’t have to face it alone. We can fix this, Rhea. But you’ve got to trust me.”

Rhea let a tear slide down her cheek, her voice breaking. “I deserve this,” she whispered.

Hunter felt a pang in his chest. Seeing Rhea—his fierce, unstoppable NXT UK Women’s Champion—reduced to this, broken and vulnerable, was jarring. It wasn’t like her to be anything but strong.

“Is it that boyfriend of yours?” Hunter asked cautiously.

Rhea nodded silently, her shoulders trembling. Through her tears, she managed, “I made a stupid comment about his brother… and I got corrected.”

Hunter’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He stepped closer, pulling her into a firm but gentle embrace. Rhea sank into the comfort, her sobs muffled against his shoulder. After a moment, he pulled back, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“Listen to me,” Hunter said, his tone firm but filled with care. “I can move you safely. You’ve got so much momentum right now—I could recommend you for the main roster.”

Rhea shook her head, her eyes filled with desperation. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Hunter asked, his voice tinged with frustration. “You don’t have to stay in this.”

Rhea’s voice was broken. “Because I love him so much.”

Hunter’s heart sank. She was defending him—the man who’d bruised her, who’d broken her spirit. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “Rhea,” he said carefully, “love shouldn’t hurt like this… let me call the proper authorities.”

“Don’t..” Rhea whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I know he’ll change. I just need to handle it.”

Hunter felt his resolve weakening as she pleaded with him. “Rhea,” he said gently but firmly, “I can’t ignore this. You’re asking me not to call the police, but I don’t want to get a call someday saying you’re—”

“Don’t say it,” Rhea cut him off, her voice trembling. “Please, Hunter. Let me handle it.”

Hunter stared at her, his heart breaking further. He wanted to shake her, to make her see the danger she was in. But he also knew pushing too hard might drive her further away. He sighed deeply. “Rhea… I can’t have you looking like this. Not on my roster.”

“I’ll fix it,” Rhea promised, her voice desperate. “I’ll cover it better, I’ll—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hunter interrupted, his voice stern. “I want you safe. That’s all I care about.”

Rhea nodded, but her eyes didn’t meet his. Hunter could see the battle waging inside her, and he hated that she felt trapped.

A/N I know it’s short but I have some things I have to catch up on before I write a full chapter. 👌👌

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 12/34 - empty suitcase

[Read on AO3]

His only thought as he holds her in his arms while they wait for the police to arrive, is just how much he’s failed her as a husband already. Sure, their marriage is mostly for show, but replace “husband” with “partner” and the statement still rings true.

He almost lost her. Again.

He knew something wasn’t right the moment her phone went to voicemail. He had been the one to assure her that things were okay—that the case was over. It was his fault that she let her guard down, and look what it got her.

When Pfaster’s body hit the floor, the first thing he did was take the gun from her hand and pull her away to where she couldn’t see him anymore. She was in shock, that much was obvious, and he scarcely had the time to take in the wreckage of her apartment in his haste to make sure she was okay. He cleaned the blood leaking from her nose (an unpleasant reminder of days past) and applied some cream to the burns on her wrists, and they waited.

The only thing he tells the police when they arrive is that she acted in self defense. If they want anything more than that from him, he has a shiny new ring and some spousal privileges he’s more than willing to wave around and refuse to testify. Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. It seems the police are happy to believe whatever it is that wraps things up as simply as possible—no one will miss that wretched creature of a man.

It’s well into the night by the time the detectives clear them to go, promising to follow up soon. Arrangements have been made to get her apartment back in order in the next few days, and until then…

“Excuse me,” Mulder says, giving a parting nod to the local law enforcement officers. They wave him off, returning to their various duties around the living space, cataloging every shred of evidence.

Evidence that, when he looks at it, shows how Scully had been forced to fight for her life again, all alone and hopeless.

When he turns, she wanders out of the bathroom like a specter, a white knit blanket flowing behind her in an almost ghostly form. The door to her bedroom shuts behind her unceremoniously, and his heart constricts.

Sucking in a deep breath, Mulder glances up at the ceiling, willing the angry tears forming in his eyes to go away. Scully needs him. His wife needs him. Not his self-directed anger and loathing, or thoughts of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.  

He starts toward her room, knocking lightly on the door before opening it.

“Scully?” he says, poking his head in. He finds her sitting on her bed facing the wall on the far side of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He swallows past the lump in his throat and enters. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

She doesn’t react, not that he’d expected her to. He finds an empty suitcase in her closet and splays it open on her bed, tossing in a few items he knows she’ll need. Her comfy slippers. Silk pajamas. A blanket. A few of her medical journals from her to-be-read pile.

Her Bible.

He leaves the shampoo and hair products where they are. She can use his, tonight.

“Scully,” he tries again, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder and bending to meet her eyes. She flinches, but softens at the sight of him, which is an immense relief. “They’re letting you go,” he says. “Can I take you home?”

She nods wordlessly, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. He lets her keep the blanket wrapped around her for comfort, hoisting her now packed bag into one hand while guiding her gently with the other. The officers spare him a glance and a nod as they make their escape, an odd sense of understanding and respect passing from one man to another.

He’s not sure if he’s just that obvious about it, or if it’s some innate caveman sense of duty that has activated in their brains, but either way, he’s thankful for the ability to attend to his partner without judgment or pushback. A few neighbors peek their heads out their doors at them as they pass, and it causes him to pull her closer, shielding her from their wandering stares.

She rides in silence in the passenger seat of his car, kept warm by the blanket she wears. The night is crisp and clear and way too quiet, but he’s used to that by now. Life changing events happen, and the world goes on none the wiser, that’s just how things go. The pinpricks of stars in the sky shine whether you want them to or not. It’s not like the movies (or like Kroner, Kansas). It doesn’t rain just because you’re sad, or storm because you’re upset. Sometimes the night is as beautiful as ever and you just have to face the fact that you’ll never be the same again.

He wishes it didn’t have to be that way.

When they arrive, he unlocks the door to his apartment for her, pushing open the door to number 42. The keys get tossed on the kitchen table, to be dealt with properly another time. Right now, there are more important things to take care of, like the woman standing in the middle of his entryway as if she had never stepped foot in there before.

Recognizing that she’ll need him to take the lead, Mulder guides her further into the space, wordlessly ushering her into the living room where he sits her down on the couch. He disappears into the bathroom to get things ready for her; a clean towel, a brand new toothbrush, a disposable cup for water. He gives the small room a once over to make sure none of it resembles Pfaster’s preparation of her bathtub hours earlier, and nods in approval.

“Dana,” he says tenderly, crouching in front of her at the couch. She looks up at him, and he nods toward the bathroom. “You want to get cleaned up?”

“I– yes,” she agrees, nodding feebly. He offers his hands to help her up and pulls her to her feet. 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says, sending her off on her own while trying not to hover or act too worried about her.

He hears the heavy wooden door shut behind her and lets out an exhausted sigh, his shoulders slumping. He takes a moment to gather himself before trudging into the bedroom, digging some rumpled but clean sheets out of his closet and starting the process of stripping and remaking the bed for her. He leaves a lamp on, just in case she wants it, and sets her suitcase on the bed.

Only then does he notice that there hasn’t been any sound of running water since she went in there.

“Mulder?” he hears, her voice muffled through the closed door. He nearly trips over himself in his haste to get to the bathroom, stopping halfway through shoving a fresh pillowcase on a pillow. He stands outside the doorway, his hand hesitating over the knob.

“I’m here, Scully,” he says, holding his hand up to the door. His forehead almost presses against the wood, and he listens intently for her to speak again, wondering for a moment if she even will.

But then he hears her uncertain voice come through again. 

“Can– can you come in here?”

His hand finds the doorknob and turns, the door creaking open slowly so as not to startle her. She’s wrapped in a towel and standing in front of the shower, but that seems to be as far as she’s made it. Her clothes are neatly folded on top of his sink, splatters of blood still visibly dotting the hem despite her attempt to hide them. Her feet are bare and probably freezing on the cold tile, but that isn’t what’s bothering her.

She stares at the bathtub like she’s seeing a ghost.

“What can I do?” Mulder asks. Not ‘what’s wrong?’ because he knows. That’s plain enough to see.

“Stay– stay in here?” she asks, sounding shy and ashamed, all things she doesn’t have to be. Not around him.

“Of course,” he says, because of course he will. He’ll do anything—whatever he can to make this easier for her.

She gives a shaky nod, not even casting a glance back in his direction, and takes a bold step forward.

Mulder finds a seat on the closed toilet seat lid and closes his eyes, offering her some semblance of privacy despite the circumstances.

“Talk about something,” she says, the sound of the shower coming on audibly marking her progress.

He thinks, frantically filing through a list of safe topics in his brain before finally settling on one.

“I had a dream,” he starts, picturing it in his mind as he speaks. “Skinner was holding up a piñata on a rope, shaped like an alien. And there was this kid, maybe four years old? I knew it was her birthday, and she started yelling about how the alien was the wrong color, except it was supposed to be rainbow colored, not gray. It was completely unrealistic.”

Scully doesn’t respond, but the scent of his body wash wafts through the curtain, so he knows she’s doing okay so far. 

Encouraged by this, he continues. “Suddenly she has a baseball bat—a real Louisville Slugger one, not a cheap one. And she takes this massive swing and lands one straight in Skinner’s– well, you can imagine where.” 

He smirks at this, the memory just as amusing as it had been when he woke up that morning. 

“Skinman obviously drops the rope, and Mr. Alien goes for a dive. It practically explodes on impact, and there are sunflower seeds absolutely everywhere. I’m talking way more than can feasibly fit into a piñata, Scully, not that anyone in their right mind would put seeds into a piñata.” He’s not sure why this detail is important, but it seemed like it at the time. 

In any case, it adds to the absurdity of the dream, which is the whole point of the story. Distract her from her troubles by sharing something utterly stupid and meaningless. 

“And then we all just laid down and made sunflower seed angels on the ground until I woke up.”

He lets his tale trail off there, the bathroom returning to silence save for the constant trickle of water down the drain. He can’t tell if his distraction worked or not, but he listens anyway, hoping for some sign that she’ll be okay.

And then:

“That’s ridiculous, Mulder.”

The tight squeeze of his heart loosens immediately at the sound of her voice. Her voice. Laced with the usual loveable skepticism that he’s come to expect from her. 

He’s never been so happy to be called ridiculous in his life.

“I didn’t say it was a reasonable dream, Scully,” he teases back carefully, smiling in spite of himself.

She doesn’t ask him to speak again for the rest of her shower, but the mood has lightened significantly, and for that he’s grateful.

Eventually, he hears the sound of the curtains getting pulled back, the faucet dripping now that the shower has been turned off. He’s getting tired, if he’s being honest. The sound of the water combined with the darkness of having his eyes closed for the past ten minutes has combined to form the perfect conditions for sleeping, not to mention the bone-deep exhaustion the day had leveled on him. It’s only the responsibility of looking after Scully that keeps him lucid. Otherwise, he might have conked out right there on the toilet seat before she was even done.

She asks for pajamas to borrow, the silk ones he'd packed in her bag too close to what she wore when Pfaster attacked. He gladly hands over some sweatpants and a t-shirt, helping her to roll the hem to fit her much shorter frame. It dwarfs her, but she doesn’t complain in the slightest.

“I, uh– I made up the bed,” he says, hovering awkwardly around his bedroom, fussing needlessly with the sheets. “I'll just be out there,” he adds, pointing to the living room. “If you need me.”

He starts toward the doorway, ready to collapse on his leather couch for what is sure to be a fitful night's sleep. She'll be fine, he tells himself. He'll just throw her clothes into the washer before bed, then leave her be.

“Mulder?”

He turns, worry creasing his brow. 

“I need you.”

She sits on the bed, looking so small and helpless in his oversized clothes. Even during her cancer treatments, she found it hard to admit her need for help. But things have changed since then. 

He sets her bloodied clothes aside and crosses to her, his eyes searching hers, asking what she wants him to do.

She pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed, and suddenly, he understands.

Glancing down at his own bloodied clothing, he sends her an apologetic look. “Give me a few minutes,” he says, his eyes meeting hers intently, as if she might disappear the second she's out of his sight.

Reluctantly, he tears himself away long enough to take a quick shower and slip into some comfortable sleep clothes. He wonders if this is wise, if having a man in bed beside her will trigger some kind of post traumatic stress, but she asked him, so he will gladly do it anyway. He'll just be cautious, let her take the lead. Give her as much or as little space as she needs.

He exits the bathroom, taking his clothes and hers and tossing them in the washer along with the blanket she'd worn on the ride over.

He re-enters the bedroom as quietly as possible, and can tell by the uneven rise and fall of her chest that she's still awake. With a boldness he doesn't quite feel, he slides onto the bed beside her, adjusting the sheets over his chest.

He doesn't want her to think he's uncomfortable with this, because he's not. He just worries that he'll scare her, that the unfamiliar surroundings will be too much, too soon, and she'll panic or run screaming away from him.

He stares listlessly at the ceiling for a few minutes before she speaks.

“Can I ask one more thing of you?” she says, her voice a whisper in the dark.

He turns his head toward her, staring at the back of her hair. Her shoulders are hunched in on themselves, her body stiff and unmoving.

“Anything, Scully,” is his answer. If she asks him to get lost, leave her alone because she changed her mind, he'll do it. But that's not what she does.

Instead, she turns and faces him, her expression defeated. Her request isn't spoken with words, but instead in the way she inches toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

It takes his brain a second to catch up with his body, but when it does, he circles his arms around her, burying his nose in her freshly cleaned hair, potent with the scent of his shampoo.

She doesn’t cry, like he might expect. But she doesn’t pull away, either. He holds her close, reveling in every second of being allowed to comfort her in this way. If this is his only opportunity to hold his wife in his arms, he’ll make the most of it. His fingers tangle in her hair, cradling her tightly to him in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. She’s safe here, he needs her to know that.

They lay there for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sound of a ticking clock and the heater kicking on. He starts to wonder if she’s fallen asleep, but then he feels her hand brush up his chest, palm flat against him. Her fingers pause over the circular object tucked beneath his t-shirt, tracing the outline of it thoughtfully.

Oh, Scully.

Though he’s loath to part with her, he leans back a little, creating some space between them. With one arm, he pulls the chain from around his neck, unclasping it and removing the ring from its hidden place.

His eyes meet hers, heavy with meaning, as she lays back on the pillow looking up at him, and he slides it on his finger, his gaze never wavering.

A single tear slips from her eye, dissolving into the fabric of the pillow.

Tonight, she doesn’t need her partner. She doesn’t need her friend.

Tonight, Dana Scully needs her husband. And that’s exactly what he’ll be.

Without a word, he scoops her back into his arms, this time pulling her so his front is curled around her back, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Her hand finds his left one, her fingers taking a moment to brush over the cool metal band before resting atop it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” he says into her shoulder, his voice straining against the emotion constricting his vocal cords.

“Why did I do it, Mulder?” she speaks, whispered like a dark secret into the night. 

He doesn’t have an answer for her beyond what he’s already said.

“Because you are good, Scully,” he says. “That kind of evil doesn’t belong in this world.”

He knows his words won’t be enough to put her mind at rest. Not yet. But he’ll keep saying them until she believes him. As many times as it takes.

“Sleep, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment falling easily from his lips. He presses a kiss to the side of her head and curls in tighter, providing much needed comfort and security to the both of them.

She does, and he follows soon after, drifting off into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

-.-.-

He wakes the next morning to the sound of his phone ringing in the living room. It’s cruel, to be forced to leave the warmth of the bed without getting to savor the last few minutes of peace while she sleeps, but he drags himself away anyway, creeping out of the room as quietly as possible. With one last glance back at her, he sees her roll into the divot he’d left in the mattress, wrapping her arm around the pillow he’d vacated.

His heart tugs painfully. Go back to her, it says.

The phone call turns out to be Skinner, asking after Scully and wanting to know how she’s doing. He’s not sure whether the Assistant Director had guessed where she was, or if the police had said something to him, but either way, it doesn’t seem to surprise him that he’d taken her home with him.

Their boss is generous, giving them a few days off to recuperate. Scully needs it, whether she’d admit to it or not. He thanks the man and hangs up the phone, contemplating how best to fill the free time they both suddenly have.

He starts some coffee brewing in the kitchen and moves their laundry into the dryer, then drifts back to the doorway leading into his bedroom, pulled like a magnet back to her side.

He hates to wake her, but it’s been hours since she’s eaten anything. He perches on the edge of the bed and tucks her hand into his, holding it gently as he sits mesmerized by the soft fluttering of her eyelashes.

“Scully,” he says softly, running his thumb over her knuckles. He repeats her name and she shifts slightly, slowly coming to consciousness.

“Mmm—Mulder?” she asks, her brows furrowing, eyes still closed.

He smiles softly. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he says. “How do you feel about breakfast?”

-.-.-

It feels dreadfully normal to be sitting across from her at his kitchen table, the newspaper open to the funny pages while they nibble on slightly rubbery scrambled eggs and steaming coffee. He’s still not used to the clink of his ring against the ceramic mug when he picks it up, but it just adds to the perfect picture of domesticity, one he’d never thought he’d experience again after Diana left him, and that was never so perfect in the first place.

Scully is doing well, this morning, all things considered. He tells her that Skinner called, a gesture he knows she’ll appreciate. Now the question is what to do with the rest of their day, and the days that follow.

He has some ideas about that. The only concern is whether she’ll be receptive to them.

The television is tuned in to a channel playing reruns of I Love Lucy when he approaches her on the couch, setting a stack of flattened cardboard boxes on the floor by the coffee table.

He can’t believe he’s about to suggest what he’s about to suggest, but he can’t deny that it makes sense. Pfaster was the final straw, the one that pushed him over the edge. Bad things happen when they’re apart. If the last seven years with her have taught him anything, it’s that.

He’d told the adoption agent he was planning to take a step back from the X-Files. The events of yesterday merely solidified his belief that it was the right decision. He’s ready if she is.

He sits beside her on the couch.

“I was thinking,” he starts, focusing his eyes on the scene playing out between Lucy and Ricky Ricardo on the screen. “It might be good if I move in before they do a home visit—hypothetically, of course. If we get approved.”

She turns to look at him, surprise—not unpleasant—lacing her features.

“I mean—” he fumbles with his words. “I have a good feeling we will get approved. So, if you want…”

“Yes,” she says simply.

He blinks, astonished that it was that easy.

The home visit ‘deadline’ is just an excuse, and both of them know it. But she still says yes, and once again he feels a thrill at all the drastic life changes they’ve made with comparatively little thought in the last several months.

It’s all worked out well so far, so why shouldn’t this too?

He fights back a grin, nodding calmly in response.

Okay.

“Uh, I figured we could start with the small stuff first,” he says, focusing intently to keep his voice from shaking. “Decide what to donate, what to keep, what to throw away…”

“Sounds fun, Mulder,” she says, a hint of the old Scully finding her way back into her speech.

Oh, yes. This is the right decision. He’s sure of it now.

Armed with packing tape, permanent markers, and bubble wrap, they take to the apartment with gusto, smiling infectiously whenever their eyes meet over the top of cardboard boxes and piles of his belongings, on their way to a new home.

~~~

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[lvndrfucks]

Could you do a a cute fall Cole fic? Your writing is so cute and there’s such a lack of wallows content on this app 😭

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆ you know, i’m such a fool for you｡˚🍂 ࣪𖤐☕️

It was that time of year again. The weather had cooled, dry leaves crunched under your feet and clouds appeared when you breathed out. Arguably, the best season ever.

But, for you, that also meant a lot of work to prepare for. You had shopped for decorations ahead of time in August and they were already up by the next day. Now that it was October, though, the decor felt more effective.

Cole walked into the kitchen one morning to the smell of cinnamon rolls. He saw you cleaning the aftermath of the kitchen counter, still in your pajamas.

“Good morning,” you greeted.

He hummed, rubbing his eyes. He moved to stand behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist as he kissed the back of your head.

“It’s so early,” Cole said. “What are you doing up?”

You glanced at the oven clock. “Baby, it’s already eleven.”

He groaned into your hair. “My point still stands.”

You laughed and turned around to face him. “Once these are done, I was hoping we could go pick out some pumpkins to decorate. Oh! And we need to figure out what to dress up as for Halloween. Eva has been bragging her and Braeden figured there’s out already.”

“Well, whatever ideas you have, I’m all ears.” Your smirk made his eyes narrow. “Am I going to regret this,” he questioned.

You kissed his cheek. “Of course not.” The oven dinged, making your face light up. “They’re done!” You slithered out of his arms to take them out.

Cole chuckled under his breath. “I’ll make the coffee.”

After breakfast, you and Cole drove out to a nearby pumpkin patch. Thankfully, there weren’t a lot of people, just a few families with their kids.

“We should do that thing where we take photos with pumpkins on our heads,” Cole suggested.

“We’ll need to find one big enough for your head,” you teased. He started poking at your sides, knowing how easily tickled you were. You slapped his hands away while laughing.

The both of you continued looking. A few feet ahead, you noticed a kid trying to lift one that was almost the size of his body. Without a second thought, you walked over to help him.

Cole waited patiently as you helped the boy carry his pumpkin to his family. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket with a faint smile on his face. The family thanked you as you waved, walking away. He admired the smile on your face and the tip of your nose growing red as you stood in front of him.

“What,” you queried.

“Nothing. Do you think these pumpkins work?” He lightly kicked the ones at your feet.

“Yeah.” You both bent down to pick up your pumpkins.

Once that was done, you had Cole stop by Spirit Halloween. You were going to do a couple’s costume, obviously, but weren’t sure what as yet. Cole was messing around with the props and accessories as you walked around the store.

“Cole, I’m not dressing up in an inflatable suit,” you stated, disregarding the costume in his hand.

He placed it back on the shelf. “Why not? I think you’d make a sexy dinosaur.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. A gasp emitted as you spotted the perfect costumes. You raced over to pick them up. You showed Cole who raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“This is what you wanna dress up as?” He examined the costume.

“Yeah. Isn’t it cute?”

“I’m gonna get called a furry,” he slightly whined.

“No, you won’t,” you defended. “Everyone loves Nick Wilde. Plus, you’ll see me in a sexy police uniform.” You turned the bag over to read what was inside. “It even comes with handcuffs.” You smirked while nudging him exaggeratedly.

“Hmm. Tempting.”

“And you kind of remind me of him. Tall, sarcastic, sexy voice.”

Cole’s jaw dropped. “Don’t compare me to an animated fox.” He saw the hopeful expression on your face and sighed. “Fine. I guess we can be furries together.”

“Yes!” You took both the costumes and placed them back, ushering him out.

“I thought we were gonna buy them,” he quizzed.

You scoffed. “We’re buying them on Amazon. At least I can return them afterwards. I just wanted to come here for ideas.”

Back at home, you and Cole started carving the pumpkins. He was excited about his idea from earlier.

“We should’ve worn gloves,” Cole said.

“I don’t know. I kind of like the feeling.” You scooped a handful of pumpkin guts onto a plate.

He side-eyed you. “You’re weird.” You glared playfully, slinging a bit of leftover guts at him. “Oh, you wanna go there?”

You started back away while laughing. “No, no, no, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I had a muscle spasm.” You had your arms out in front of you as he approached.

You squealed as Cole started chasing you around the counter. He eventually grabbed you from behind, his stained hands smearing your shirt. You squirmed as he purposely squeezed your sides, causing you to laugh louder.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! Truce!” You shouted, out of breath. Cole was laughing as well. Now, the two of you were chest to chest. He moved your hair out of your face. “Hey, don’t get pumpkin in my hair.”

“Well, guess we gotta shower.” Seeing the suggestive look on his face made you slap his shoulder gently.

He leaned in to connect his lips with yours in a steady kiss. His palms rested on your waist while you had one on his bicep and the other on the side of his neck.

The pumpkins would have to wait.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

In Dire Need

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: tw: shooting, performing surgery with a gun to your head, tw: pregnancy, tw: miscarriage, super major angst

Request by anon: Tw shooting: Hi there can I get a Spencer Reid x surgeon where the hospital goes on lockdown bc of a shooter and its like Greys Anatomy where in 6x24 reader goes through what Cristina does? And Spencer doesn’t find out until some members of the BAU point out how “brave” his s/o is to him when they saw footage of the operation room? Thank you 

Summary: Spencer drops you off at work without worrying if you're not going to make it home or not. Then, reports of a shooter in the hospital you work in come flooding in and now Spencer's whole world crashes down around him.

Square Filled: held at gunpoint for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: If you've seen the shooting episode of Grey's Anatomy, then you pretty much know what to expect with Christina and with what happened to Meredith.

x

Spencer pulls up to the hospital you work at, and you turn to him with a sweet smile.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before leaving the car.

“Remember, we have date night tonight. I have a present for you.”

“I can’t wait.”

You leave his side and walk into the hospital with tens of other people trying to either get to work or see their loved ones. Spencer notices a tall man walk in right behind you but he doesn’t think anything of it. He puts the car into drive and heads to the BAU which is only a quick twenty minutes away. Derek greets Spencer as soon as he comes in and he hands him a coffee.

“Thanks.”

“How’s Y/N doing?”

“She’s doing her best. I don’t know how she and Savannah work in hospitals. They must see more gore than we do. Plus, their hours are longer than ours.”

“I guess the same thing can be said about our jobs.”

“True,” Spencer chuckles and sips his coffee.

JJ walks into the room with a worried look on her face and she turns the news on for all to see.

“This just in. Quantico State Hospital is on complete lockdown as reports of a shooter come from within. Doctors are rushing to get patients out in an orderly fashion, but the location of the shooter is still unknown. The Quantico Police Department and SWAT have already arrived on scene, but not much is known at this stage in the investigation.”

“This just happened ten minutes ago,” JJ says as everyone gathers in the bullpen.

“No, that can’t be. I just dropped Y/N off. Everything was fine,” Spencer panics.

“The police are getting calls after calls from people inside the hospital. They’re evacuating the wings who aren’t affected as of right now. There’s no telling where this guy is going, who his target is, or how many people are affected inside.”

Spencer takes out his phone and dials you but your phone goes straight to voicemail. Spencer visually begins to panic and Derek places his hand on his shoulder to help calm him down.

“We need to go down there and help.”

“I agree,” Hotch says, “but we can’t go inside until we know the situation.”

“I don’t care. I just need to get down there.”

By the time the BAU gets to the hospital, the roads have been closed off, and a lot of patients and doctors are in the parking lot separated from less urgent to most urgent in terms of who needs to be taken care of first. First responders and doctors use what’s in ambulances to help keep some of the patients alive, but there is a great deal still left inside the hospital.

“Commander, what is going on?” Hotch asks.

“I came over with my guys as soon as I heard the calls. The dispatch center is getting calls left and right about this.”

The man plays a few recordings of calls that came into the 911 dispatch center.

“There is a shooter in the hospital! Send everyone!”

“My friend is dead. Please send help. I’m scared!”

“I don’t know what you have to do but we need help in here! The shooter is tall with blonde hair and facial hair. I don’t know where he went.”

The next call captures Spencer’s attention because it’s you.

“There is an active shooter right now, and I’m in the middle of surgery that I can’t stop. Last I heard he was in the OR wing where I am. Send help!”

“That’s my wife!” Spencer gasps.

“Yeah, it’s always someone’s wife or daughter,” the Commander sighs.

If the shooter is in the OR wing where you are, are you okay? Are you even alive?

“Why aren’t you going inside?”

“We don’t know the situation yet. We don’t know where the shooter is or how extensive the damage is. If we go in now, we could scare the shooter into killing more people.”

“This isn’t happening right now,” Spencer sighs and pulls at his hair gently. He looks at Derek and Hotch in desperation. “What if it were Savannah? Beth?”

As much as it sucks, Hotch could use a person on the inside. He knows and trusts his team to go inside and de-escalate the situation while the others find a way to get inside the safest. Hotch gives Spencer two nods and he takes off running to the entrance. Derek steps in the way of the officers that try to stop Spencer but aren’t successful.

There are a few bodies by the entrance since that is where the shooter stuck first. He strains his ears to hear where the shooter might be since the entire hospital is filled with a deafening silence. He doesn’t have time for this when you could be in danger. He prays that you’re alright as he safely and carefully runs to the OR wing.

He looks into each OR as he passes by but you’re not in any of them. That is until he reaches the last one. On the floor in the scrubber room are two doctors or nurses who jump at the sound of the door opening. They relax when they see his FBI vest, and he puts his hands up to let them know he isn’t a threat to them.

“I’m with the FBI. Who else is in here?”

“My boyfriend got shot,” one of the doctors says. “My best friend is doing surgery on him now.” 

Spencer takes a couple of steps into the scrubber room to look through the window to see what’s going on. That’s when his whole world comes crashing down around him. You’re there doing surgery on your friend’s boyfriend with another surgeon on the opposite side of you, but the shooter is inside with a gun pointed at your head. Tears are streaming down your face because you refuse to stop fixing the man on the table.

“Uh, stay down there.” Spencer takes his phone out and hands it to one of the doctors. “Call for help. Tell them Spencer Reid with the FBI is in OR 3 of the surgery wing. Tell them he says to send the team in.”

“Okay,” the doctor says and grabs his phone.

Spencer slowly walks into the OR with his gun raised. The shooter immediately moves the gun from your head to Spencer when he sees him.

“Spencer,” you cry as you work.

“Drop the gun,” Spencer orders the man.

The man moves the gun back over to you and shoves it into the side of your head. You sob loudly at the thought of leaving Earth like this in front of the man you love.

“I will shoot her if you don’t lower your gun.”

Spencer has no choice but to listen to what he says. If your life is on the line, then he’ll do anything to save it. He drops his gun to the floor and kicks it away per the shooter’s instructions.

“Let him die.” When you don’t, he presses the gun into your head again, and you sob. “Do you want me to shoot you?”

“Y/N--”

“No, I can’t stop,” you cut your husband off.

Spencer needs to get that gun away from you so he takes one step toward the shooter, and he aims the gun at Spencer instead. With the threat of the gun off you, you and the other surgeon work quickly to do as much as you can as long as you can do it.

“The person you’re holding a gun to is the woman I love.”

“The man on the table, Dr. Greystone, is responsible for killing my wife. I was justice!”

“If you kill that man then justice won’t be served. Knowing that this doctor is rotting in prison for killing your wife is justice, and I can make that happen. All you need to do is put the gun down.” Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer sees the knobless door to the OR room open. Hotch and Derek walk in with their guns raised silently so as to not alert the shooter that they’re there. “I will make sure this doctor goes away for a long time. Just drop the gun.”

Whatever he sees in Spencer seems to work because the shooter drops the gun with tears in his eyes. Hotch keeps the gun trained on him while Derek jumps into action. He grabs the man and kicks the gun away before putting handcuffs on him. You’re just about done with this surgery anyway, so you hand the stitch and needle to your coworker and run over to Spencer. 

When you feel the comfort of his arms around you, you break down crying.

As soon as the shooter is apprehended, doctors and patients are allowed back inside. Paramedics come rushing in to tend to the wounded. Your friend and her boyfriend are transferred to a room, and you’re taken outside with Spencer while the rest of the BAU help where needed.

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I had to keep going. This hospital is my family. I couldn’t let my best friend’s boyfriend die.”

“I know. I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Spencer pulls you in for a hug and you put a hand to your stomach in thought. You have a pregnancy stick waiting for Spencer at home because you’re you wanted to surprise him that you’re pregnant but after what just happened, you might not be.

x

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