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buttercandy16 · 2 days ago

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Asylum

Chapter Three: Tangled Webs

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

A/N: Getting impatient so I've written the chapters a little bit longer this time, lol. 💜💚

The asylum corridors stretched endlessly, the hum of fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow against the pale walls. You walked with purpose—or as much as you could muster with the guards escorting you back from another monotonous group therapy session. The others had shuffled out, their faces blank or twitching with nervous energy, but you had lingered, reluctant to return to the silence of your cell.

Still, something about this day felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were closing in.

You let your eyes wander to the narrow windows set high in the walls. They offered no view of the outside world, just streaks of faint sunlight blotted by grime. You hadn’t breathed fresh air since the courtyard incident two days ago—the day both Agatha and Rio had laid their first unmistakable claims on you.

Since then, things had only gotten worse.

Agatha was growing more possessive, though she cloaked it under the guise of "help." Her nightly visits were no longer requests—they were commands.

"How are you feeling today?" she would begin, pulling her chair closer to the foot of your bed, her body radiating professional detachment. But her eyes betrayed her, glinting with something far darker.

The questions always began the same. Innocuous. Gentle. But as her visits stretched longer, her inquiries became probing, almost intimate.

"Tell me about your dreams," she asked one night, her voice a low hum that wrapped around you like a coil.

"Why does it matter?" you countered, trying to erect barriers against her quiet, predatory intensity.

"Dreams are where the mind reveals itself, darling," she replied, the endearment slipping from her lips with a slow, deliberate precision.

She leaned closer, her face framed by the cold fluorescent glow. Her eyes, sharp and bottomless, felt as though they could see everything you wanted to keep hidden.

“Is someone here making you... uncomfortable?” Agatha pressed, her tone soft but edged with deadly purpose. “Rio, perhaps?”

Your stomach twisted. Agatha had developed a habit of bringing up Rio unprompted, usually just before slipping in warnings: She’s dangerous. You mustn’t trust her. Tell me if she bothers you.

And then there were Rio’s games.

Unlike Agatha’s cold calculation, Rio’s attention burned. Her obsession wasn’t hidden behind masks of professionalism—it was raw, wild, and impossible to ignore.

She found you in the common areas, corners of hallways, even the cafeteria line. Wherever you tried to blend into the background, she pulled you out, commanding your attention like it belonged solely to her.

“Eat with me,” she demanded one afternoon, her tray thudding down beside yours without hesitation.

You opened your mouth to argue, but Rio was already pulling your chair closer to hers with one long arm, the metal scraping loudly. The eyes of the other patients turned briefly toward you both before averting just as quickly—no one dared cross Rio Vidal.

“Look at you, sitting all stiff like someone’s about to shank you,” she said, biting into an apple, her teeth slicing through the flesh with a sharp crack. “Relax. I don’t bite.”

The sharpness in her grin told you that was a lie.

You focused on your food, ignoring the prickling heat of her gaze as it roamed over you.

“Bet it drives Agatha crazy,” Rio mused suddenly, her voice dropping low. She shifted closer, her breath brushing the side of your face. “The way I keep talking to you. She watches, you know. She always watches.”

“I—what?” you stammered, glancing toward her.

Rio chuckled, leaning back and tossing her apple core carelessly onto her tray. “Sweetheart, don’t play dumb. She’s obsessed with you.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, but her smile quickly turned predatory. “Not that I blame her. You're special. Different from all the broken toys here.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to process her words. Rio was lying—or was she?

“She wants to own you,” Rio continued, her voice dropping lower, dangerously intimate. “Just like I do.”

Her words were like a slap, and your hand trembled as you set down your fork.

“I don’t belong here,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Rio’s expression shifted for a split second, something unreadable flickering behind her confidence. Then, she reached across the table, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mi amor.” Her grin turned wicked. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”

When Agatha appeared in your doorway that night, you weren’t surprised. The light in the hallway framed her figure, tall and commanding as ever, though there was something different in her expression—a tightness in her jaw, an edge to her gaze.

"May I come in?" she asked, though you knew it wasn’t a question.

You nodded reluctantly, retreating to the far corner of the room as she stepped inside.

Agatha closed the door with deliberate care before turning her full attention to you. She didn’t sit this time, instead choosing to hover close, her presence suffocating in the small space.

"Rio speaks to you often," she said abruptly, skipping all pretense.

You froze, panic fluttering in your chest. How much did she know?

"She's dangerous," Agatha continued, her tone as cold as the steel walls surrounding you. "Impulsive. Unstable. You must be careful."

“She’s...” You paused, uncertain whether to defend Rio or stay silent. “She hasn’t hurt me.”

Agatha tilted her head, her dark hair catching the faint glow of the overhead light. For a moment, you saw something flicker in her expression—a mix of disappointment and... jealousy?

“Not yet,” she said finally. Her voice softened as she took a step closer. “But she will, darling. That’s what she does. She destroys everything she touches.”

Her hand reached out, brushing against your arm. You tried not to flinch, but your discomfort must have shown because Agatha’s lips curved into a smile, one that was meant to soothe but only made your skin crawl.

“You’re fragile,” she said softly, almost to herself. “You need someone to protect you.”

She didn’t need to finish the thought for you to know who she meant.

Hours later, when sleep evaded you, the sounds of the asylum echoed eerily in the darkness: the distant murmur of a night guard’s radio, the soft cries of another patient two rooms down, the clanging of a metal tray.

And beneath it all, a faint whisper—one growing louder.

When your door creaked open, panic shot through your veins. Your breath caught in your throat as Rio’s familiar silhouette slid into the room, her movements fluid and silent as a cat’s.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hissed, heart hammering against your ribs.

Rio smirked, leaning back against the wall as she crossed her arms. “Relax, sweetheart. Just thought you might want some company.”

She stepped closer, the dim light from the hallway casting shadows across her face. “She’s got her hooks in you, doesn’t she?” Rio asked, her voice soft yet charged. “Agatha. She’ll convince you that she’s the hero in this little story, but let me tell you something.”

Her hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her burning gaze.

“Heroes don’t exist in here,” Rio whispered. “Only survivors.”

Her lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes before she turned and slipped back into the shadows.

But her parting words stayed with you, an ominous echo of the tangled web ensnaring you.

The days in the asylum passed in a haze of monotony and growing dread, the line between reality and nightmare fraying at the edges. Every corner of the facility seemed to hum with a tension that you couldn’t shake, leaving your skin perpetually prickling as though you were being watched. And in truth, you always were.

Rio’s smoldering presence and Agatha’s calculated grip formed a prison within the asylum itself—a labyrinth with no way out.

But something new had begun to take root within you. Fear, yes, but also something more potent. A gnawing awareness of how deeply entangled you were in their obsession, like prey ensnared in a web woven by two hunters.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stay sane.

The nightmares began subtly—flashes of Rio’s gaze boring into you, Agatha’s hand brushing yours with possessive care, rooms filled with distorted laughter or walls closing in. But they grew sharper over time.

One night, you startled awake, heart pounding, after dreaming of Agatha standing over you, her hands ghosting down your arms like you were a fragile doll she was piecing back together. Her whisper echoed in your ears even as you sat in the dark, wide awake.

“You’ll always belong to me.”

Even hours after waking, the weight of her imagined touch lingered, sending chills down your spine.

Waking hours weren’t much better. The asylum was never loud, but recently, every sound seemed sharper—every scrape of shoes on the tile, every hushed conversation. Were they talking about you? Watching you?

Rio and Agatha’s presence had grown suffocatingly frequent.

Rio slipped notes beneath your tray at breakfast, always crude but strangely charged: You looked lonely last night, or You don’t want her; you want me.

Then there was Agatha. She circled your mind like a vulture, appearing during therapy sessions, during nighttime "check-ins," and sometimes in your peripheral vision when you least expected her.

"Are you feeling better today?" she asked one morning as she approached your table, her voice dripping with concern but her gaze cool, calculating.

You stammered a reply, but her next words cut through your panic like a scalpel.

"I saw Rio talking to you again," Agatha said, her tone conversational but her meaning clear.

"She’s not dangerous," you found yourself saying before you realized it, almost defensively.

Agatha tilted her head, and something flashed in her expression—a flicker of annoyance, quickly replaced by calm control. She crouched beside you, her long fingers curling lightly around your wrist.

"I understand why you might think that," she murmured, her voice almost hypnotic. "But people like her... they thrive on breaking things. On breaking people."

Your pulse thudded beneath her touch, not from fear this time, but from a growing sense of suffocation.

“I don’t want you speaking with her anymore,” Agatha said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

But that wasn’t something you could promise. Rio wasn’t someone you could simply avoid. She found you wherever you went—pulling you into corners, whispering dangerous secrets in your ear.

One afternoon, she cornered you in the hallway leading to your cell, her smile sharp as she twirled a thread from her sleeve.

“You’re looking... jittery,” she teased, her tone half-amused but tinged with something darker. “Let me guess—Agatha’s been filling your head with her usual crap about me?”

You glared at her but didn’t answer, pushing past her, only for her hand to shoot out and snag your wrist.

“Hey, chica, I’m trying to help you,” she said, her tone dropping as she tugged you back, her eyes boring into yours. “Agatha’s got a nice little fantasy running in her head, and trust me—you don’t want to star in it.”

“What do you want, Rio?” you snapped, the weight of your fear and anger finally pushing words past your lips.

Her expression shifted then, her confidence faltering just slightly. “I don’t want her to own you,” Rio said softly. “I’m not lying when I say you’re special. Too special to let her twist you into something you’re not.”

Her hand loosened, and she stepped back, giving you space to move. But you hesitated, the words she left hanging in the air sinking deeper into your mind.

"Think about it, mi amor. You're not crazy. But staying here? It’ll make you crazy. Trust me—I know."

The cracks in your psyche widened that night, your head spinning as you tried to unpack everything that had been said to you. Agatha’s reassurances, Rio’s cryptic warnings—both felt like chains dragging you deeper into the asylum’s abyss.

But their words weren’t the worst of it.

What terrified you most was the growing sense that they were both right—and both wrong—at the same time.

You pressed yourself against the cold wall of your cell, desperate to reclaim the person you used to be before this nightmare. Your fingers traced the faint scratch marks etched into the walls, left by previous tenants whose desperation had taken different forms.

Would that be you someday?

When a sharp knock broke through the thick silence, you flinched violently.

Agatha entered a second later, her presence commanding as she shut the door behind her.

"You look tired," she said softly, her piercing eyes taking you in as though cataloging every crack in your facade. "Are the nightmares worse?"

You hesitated, and she took your silence as a confession.

“We’ll get through this, darling,” she murmured, sitting beside you on the narrow cot. The bed dipped under her weight, her closeness sending ripples of unease through you.

“You and I?” Agatha continued, her voice quiet but resolute. “We’re going to fix what they broke in you.”

You froze, realizing she didn’t see you as the person you were—but as something she wanted to mold, something broken that she could claim.

When morning came, you expected Agatha’s grip on you to relent, but instead, you found Rio waiting by your cell door, her wild grin sharper than usual.

“Morning, beautiful,” she said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Let’s skip breakfast, yeah?”

You shook your head. “I can’t—”

But before you could protest further, she grabbed your arm and pulled you down the hallway, her pace quick and assured.

“Rio, where are we going?” you hissed, panicking as you glanced around for guards.

She stopped abruptly, spinning to face you and gripping your shoulders with alarming intensity.

“Out.”

The way her eyes burned sent your head spinning.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

Her words, combined with Agatha’s controlling presence, twisted into a knot deep inside your chest. Was escape even possible? Was it what you wanted?

One thing was clear as Rio and Agatha loomed larger in your mind:

You were losing yourself.

_-_-_

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