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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 1 day

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Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 5)

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 11,739

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mention of cannibalism, manipulation, mention of violence,

Summary: Jonathan's been having more trouble with Batman than ever and Y/n wants to help out in a way.

A/N: Holy shit, did this take a very long time to write a part 5 for! My poor baby has been sidelined because of so many request coming through (I swear, everytime I post a fic or something, I get another 2 requests, I have 7 right now that I haven't started on 💀) and also Uni been keeping me from my baby :c (I have had so many assignments, I wanna die)

Sorry, this took so long to come out, but I hope you like this part 💚

Y/n's life seemed to be getting better with each day that passed. University days flowed smoothly, she found herself engaging with new friends, and evenings spent in the comfort of home with Jonathan felt like a haven from the world's chaos. She had made progress in managing her dependency on Jonathan. While she still felt a twinge of concern upon waking up without him, it no longer spiraled into full-blown panic.

But for Jonathan, life was a rough sea, each wave threatening to capsize him. Despite his alliance with the Riddler, his adventures as Scarecrow had become a problem. The ongoing vendetta with Two-Face and the Penguin haunted his every move. He protected Y/n from the grim details, keeping the nature of the conflict veiled in secrecy. And the relentless pursuit of Batman added further weight to his burden, his shadow looming over Jonathan's every scheme. Each thwarted plan, each narrow escape, chipped away at his will, leaving him weary and disheartened.

Jonathan's weariness seemed to seep into the very air as he sank onto the couch beside Y/n, the weight of his troubles evident in every crease of his blazer.

Y/n's heart ached at the sight of him, her concern tender and palpable. "Rough night?" she murmured, her voice a soft in the dimly lit room.

"Isn't it always..." Jonathan's response carried the weight of struggles.

Sensing his need for solace, Y/n drew closer, her touch a soothing caress against his troubled brow. "Who was it this time?" she inquired, her voice laced with sympathy.

"Penguin and Two-Face," Jonathan's tone was tight, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"And was Eddie there?" Y/n probed gently.

"Yeah," Jonathan confirmed, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Y/n sighed, concern etched across her features. "Did he manage to escape safely?"

"Yeah, though he left me high and dry halfway through," Jonathan's words dripped with bitterness.

Y/n furrowed her brows in thought. "Hmm... as much as I appreciate Eddie's…intelect, maybe it's time you consider aligning with someone more intimidating than the Riddler," she suggested.

"That's easier said than done," Jonathan replied, his tone heavy with the weight of his predicament.

"You literally work at Arkham, I’m sure you can find someone," Y/n scoffed, playfully.

Jonathan ignored her suggestion, his attention moving to the clock on the wall. "You should be heading to bed. You've got uni in the morning," he remarked.

Y/n chuckled, amused by his bullshit distraction. "So do you!"

"Yeah, well, I'm your professor. I don’t want you to doze off during one of my own lectures," Jonathan retorted.

Y/n rose from the couch, a plea in her voice. "At least come to bed with me... please," she pouted.

Jonathan didn’t move, his gaze lingering on her. Y/n sighed, frustration evident, and grabbed his arm. "Let's go!" she tugged, pulling him off the couch.

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute. I'll be up in ten," Jonathan said, rising from his seat and making his way to his work desk.

"You better!" Y/n called after him, running the stairs to their bedroom.

As Y/n settled into bed, she couldn't shake off the worry that lingered from Jonathan's troubled demeanor. She knew his burdens weighed heavily on him, but she also understood the importance of his work and the dangers it entailed. One slip up and he’d be sent off to Arkham, and not as a doctor.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as she waited for Jonathan to join her. Eventually, the metallic creak of the stairs echoed through the warehouse, signaling Jonathan's arrival, his expression still etched with weariness.

"Finally," Y/n teased, patting the empty space beside her on the bed. “You said 10 minutes, that was like 3 hours!”

“It was only half and hour,” Jonathan chuckled as he slipped under the covers, his tired frame sinking into the mattress.

“Still!” Y/n wrapped her arms around him, offering comfort.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

Y/n brushed her fingers through his hair soothingly. "There's nothing to apologize for. Just get some rest now," she reassured him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.

With Y/n's warmth enveloping him, Jonathan finally allowed himself to succumb to the embrace of sleep, grateful for the solace she provided in his hectic world.

The lecture had finished and two of them found themselves in Jonathan’s office. As Y/n lounged on Jonathan's couch, she let her mind wander, thinking about potential alliances, hoping to help the relentless pressure weighing on Jonathan.

"How about... Catwoman? You know her?" Y/n proposed, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

Jonathan, engrossed in his work, spared a moment to entertain her suggestion. "Catwoman? Just a cat burglar. No use. Besides, everyone knows Batman and her have a thing."

Y/n's brows furrowed in thought as she considered his response. "Hmm, true," she murmured, mentally crossing out Catwoman from her list.

Her eyes lit up with a new idea. "How about Mad Hatter?" she asked, her tone tinged with excitement.

Jonathan paused, briefly considering the possibility. "Jervis... You think Jervis will intimidate people?" he scoffed, a note of judgement coloring his voice.

"Well... maybe not, but can't he like... mind control and stuff?" Y/n persisted, her enthusiasm undeterred.

Jonathan nodded, acknowledging the potential usefulness of Mad Hatter's abilities. "Yeah, he can, but the likelihood of him teaming up with me is not high."

Undeterred by his negativity, Y/n continued to brainstorm. "Hmm, Bane's pretty scary. Wait, wait, wait! Killer Croc!" she exclaimed, a spark of excitement igniting in her eyes.

Jonathan's expression morphed into one of disbelief as he regarded her. "...Did you… did you use your brain before saying that?" he teased, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

Y/n's smile never faltered. "Think about it! He's huge! Scary! And probably indestructible."

"Yeah, you forget the part where he's not too fond of people, especially not us doctors," Jonathan pointed out, his tone laced with amusement at her enthusiasm.

"Well, maybe you just need to try being more likable," Y/n suggested with a casual shrug.

Jonathan stood up from his desk, his strides purposeful as he approached Y/n. "You don’t think I’m likable?" he asked, gently lifting her chin with his finger.

Y/n's eyes met his, a soft smile gracing her lips. "You're plenty likable to me, but everyone else thinks you're scary," she replied. "And it's not my opinion that matters, it's Croc's."

Jonathan took a seat beside her, Y/n instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. "And if you can’t get anyone to like you, well then you’re just stuck with Eddie," she concluded, a playful tone coloring her words.

Jonathan sighed, his expression tired. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Y/n flashed him a smile and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good boy,” she teased gently as she rose from the couch. “Well! You have fun. I have lectures and tutorials to attend.”

“I have somewhere to be this afternoon, so I’ll get Edward to pick you up,” Jonathan informed her.

“Okay, see you tonight then,” Y/n said, exiting his office with a wave.

As Y/n stepped out of the university building, the evening breeze carried with it a sense of relief, a welcome rest from the academic hustle and bustle. Her tired eyes scanned the dimly lit street, and she fumbled for her phone as it buzzed with an unknown caller. With a sigh, she answered, expecting Edward's familiar voice.

“Hiya, Eddie,” Y/n said.

“Good evening,” Edward's usual ominous tone greeted her, but the news he had was less than convenient. “I’m afraid it's a rain check tonight. Tell your lover boy I can’t come pick you up, I’m rather… preoccupied,” he explained, his voice tinged with apology.

Y/n couldn't suppress a soft chuckle at his choice of words. “No problem, but Jonathan won't be too pleased. You're becoming quite unreliable in his eyes,” she remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

Edward sighed lightly. “Well, perhaps if he stuck to our original plan, I wouldn’t need to leave him hanging. My apologies, nonetheless,” he replied, his tone sincere.

“It’s alright. Goodbye,” Y/n bid farewell, ending the call with a click.

With a quick swipe, she dialed Jonathan's number, anticipating his immediate concern. “Y/n? Is everything alright?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“I’m good, just a change of plans. Edward can’t make it,” Y/n reassured him, sensing his unease.

There was a muttered curse from Jonathan's end, a testament to his frustration. “I’ll try to make it as quickly as possible then,” he promised, his determination evident.

“I can manage. I’ll catch the bus and walk the rest of the way,” Y/n suggested, knowing she could handle the short journey.

“No, I don’t want you to do that,” Jonathan insisted, his protective instincts kicking in.

Y/n adjusted her bag on her shoulder, already making her way to the bus stop. "Well, I'll be waiting outside either way. Campus is closing up, so I can't stick around indoors," she informed Jonathan.

Jonathan let out a resigned sigh, his concern evident even through the phone. "Okay, just... keep me updated. Text me when you're on the bus, when you're off, and give me a call once you're home," he instructed, his tone protective.

Y/n couldn't help but inject a hint of humor into the situation. "Geez, even my parents weren't this paranoid," she teased lightly.

Jonathan's response was serious, his words weighed down by the reality of Gotham's dangers. "In this city, caution is necessary. Do you understand?" he reiterated, his concern radiating off the phone.

“Yes, yes, I understand. Bye bye,” Y/n reassured him before ending the call, feeling a sense of gratitude for his concern about her safety.

Tucking her phone into her pocket, Y/n stood at the bus stop, her gaze fixed on the approaching headlights. With a soft exhale, she boarded the bus without trouble, finding a seat towards the back.

Settling into her seat, she grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message to Jonathan, informing him that she got on the bus safely. The rhythmic hum of the bus's engine filled the air as she waited for a response, the unfamiliarity of the nighttime bus journey casting a subtle sense of unease over her. Yet, amidst the apprehension, there was a curious sense of peace in the solitude of the bus's dimly lit interior.

As the bus trundled along the familiar route, Y/n's mind wandered, thoughts drifting between the events of the day and the comforting presence of Jonathan awaiting her return. The soft glow of streetlights flickered through the windows, casting shifting patterns across the otherwise dim interior.

Soon, the bus came to a halt at Y/n's designated stop. Gathering her belongings, she rose from her seat and made her way towards the exit, offering a polite ‘thank you’ to the driver as she stepped off onto the sidewalk.

With a quick glance around, Y/n flicked Jonathan another text and beginning the short walk home. The city streets were quiet at this hour, a stark contrast to the bustling chaos of daytime.

As she walked, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a subtle prickle of awareness tingling at the back of her neck. Hastening her pace, she focused on the familiar landmarks that guided her path, eager to reach the safety of the warehouse.

As Y/n hurried along the deserted sidewalk, she sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle tension that set her nerves on edge. Suddenly, a group of shadowy figures emerged from the darkness, blocking her path.

"Hey, sweetheart, fancy meeting you out here all alone," one of them leered.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she instinctively took a step back, her gaze darting between the menacing strangers. "Please, I don't want any trouble," she pleaded, her voice trembling.

But the men closed in, their intentions unmistakably hostile. "Sorry, doll, but we got orders," another one sneered, stepping forward menacingly. "Two-Face sends his regards."

Y/n's blood ran cold as she realized the gravity of the situation. These men weren't just petty criminals, they were carrying out the bidding of one of Gotham's villains because of some vendetta.

Panic surged through her veins as she searched for an escape route, but the alley behind her was blocked, and the men advanced with predatory intent. Desperation spurred her into action as she braced herself for whatever came next, her mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

As the tension reached its peak and the menacing men closed in on Y/n, a sudden rush of wind swept through the alley. Before anyone could react, a shadowy figure dropped from the rooftops, landing gracefully in front of the would-be assailants.

The men faltered, their arrogance crumbling in the face of the unexpected arrival. "What the-?" one of them stammered.

The figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows cast by the flickering streetlights. As his silhouette materialized in the dimly lit alley, a hush fell over the group of men. The air seemed to thicken with tension, charged with the weight of his presence alone. Batman.

Batman's steely gaze swept over the would-be assailants, each piercing stare carrying an unspoken warning that resonated with the force of a thunderclap in the stillness of the night.

Caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Gotham's legendary protector, the men faltered, their confidence crumbling. Uncertainty flickered in their eyes, betraying their inner turmoil as they exchanged nervous glances, silently acknowledging the futility of their actions.

In the deafening silence that followed, no words were needed. The unspoken command of Batman's presence was enough to quell the impending threat, dispersing it like smoke in the wind. With hesitant steps, the men retreated into the darkness, their once-bold demeanor now replaced by a sense of defeat.

Y/n watched as Batman turned to her, his piercing gaze never softening. She sensed an air of interrogation surrounding their encounter, as if every word she’d speak would be questioned. Given her complicated situation with Jonathan, she couldn't shake the feeling she was in fact guilty.

"Thank you," Y/n offered hastily, her gaze dropping to the ground, unable to meet his eyes

As Y/n attempted to move past, the man blocked her path, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. Anxiety surged through her veins as she wondered how Jonathan would react to this situation.

"What are you doing in these parts?" His voice was gruff, heavy with suspicion.

"I live around here," Y/n replied, trying to maintain her composure despite the rising tension.

His scrutinizing gaze bore into her, making her feel exposed under the dim streetlights. "Not many houses around this area," he remarked, his tone sending a shiver down her spine.

"No, there isn't," Y/n agreed, her voice faltering slightly. "Goodbye now." She lowered her head, hoping to evade further confrontation as she essentially pushed past him.

As Y/n walked briskly through the dimly lit streets, her senses were on high alert. Every sound seemed amplified, every shadow appeared menacing. The encounter with Two-Face's henchmen had left her on edge, and the sudden appearance of Batman only heightened her unease.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her as he spoke, his voice resonating with authority. The darkness seemed to bend around him, adding an air of mystery to his presence.

“Allow me to walk you home,” Batman offered, his tone firm yet reassuring.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she debated how to respond. On one hand, having Batman by her side would undoubtedly deter any further threats. On the other hand, she couldn't let him know where she lived, considering it was a warehouse and Jonathan’s hideout.

“No! It's fine, thank you,” she replied hastily, her voice betraying her nerves.

Glancing over her shoulder, Y/n's heart skipped a beat when she found no trace of Batman. It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the memory of his presence. Surprised by his sudden disappearance, she couldn't shake the sense of awe that accompanied the realization of his silent departure. What they said about him was true.

As Batman vanished into the night, Y/n felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through her. Relief washed over her as she watched him fade into the darkness, yet a lingering sense of unease gnawed at her. With a quickening of her pace, she hurried along the deserted streets, each step fueled by a growing urgency to reach the safety of her home to call Jonathan.

Shaking her head, Y/n turned her focus back to the path ahead, determined to put the encounter behind her. With every stride, she made her way closer to the sanctuary of the warehouse, her thoughts consumed by the figure of the Dark Knight and the mysteries that surrounded him.

Upon reaching the safety of the warehouse, she wasted no time in dialing Jonathan's number. His voice was laced with concern as soon as he answered.

“Did you make it home safe?” he asked urgently, his worry radiating even through the phone.

Y/n hesitated, unsure of how to break the news. “Well, uh… about that…”

“I’m coming home now,” Y/n could hear Jonathan moving around quickly through the phone.

“No, it's fine. Just finish… whatever you're doing, I'm fine now,” Y/n reassured him, her voice faltering slightly.

“Tell me what happened,” Jonathan demanded, his tone firm yet worried.

Y/n took a deep breath before recounting the encounter with Two-Face's goons and the unexpected appearance of Batman. "So, I got off the bus, right? And then these guys came out of nowhere, talking about a 'message from Two-Face.' It was pretty scary, but they didn't lay a finger on me," she explained. “It was pretty fun actually,” Y/n chuckled.

As Y/n tried to inject a hint of humor to lighten the mood, Jonathan's worry remained steadfast, his voice edged with tension.

“Y/n, this is serious,” Jonathan's voice was stern.

Feeling the weight of the situation settle upon her, Y/n couldn't help but sigh. “Well… the Batman showed up…”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line as Jonathan processed her words. “Y/n, am I safe to come home?” his question hung in the air, filled with uncertainty.

“Yes, I… I thanked him and told him to leave me alone,” Y/n replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“But he knows you now. He's going to be suspicious,” Jonathan's mind was already racing with potential consequences.

“Yeah, I know,” Y/n sighed, her thoughts consumed by the implications of their encounter with Gotham's infamous vigilante.

"I'm just finishing up here. I should be back in half an hour. Don't open the door for anyone, don't leave the warehouse, and if something's wrong, call me," Jonathan's voice crackled through the phone.

"I already know this, Jonathan," Y/n replied, her tone laced with a hint of frustration.

"I know," Jonathan acknowledged before hanging up.

Y/n let her hand holding the phone drop to her side, her fingers trembling slightly. She made her way to her bed, the weight of the evening's events bearing down on her. Crawling under the covers, Y/n sought solace in the cocoon of blankets, hoping it would offer some comfort while she waited on Jonathan.

Y/n was jolted awake by the echo of the warehouse door slamming shut, she hadn’t even noticed she had fallen asleep. Disoriented and groggy, she blinked several times before realizing where she was.

"Y/n!" Jonathan's voice pierced through the silence, carrying a tone of urgency.

Pushing herself up from the bed, Y/n's heart raced as she hurried down the stairs, her steps echoing in the space of the warehouse. Before she could even reach the ground floor, Jonathan was there, his presence reassuring and comforting. His hands were warm as they cradled her face, his concern etched in the furrow of his brow.

"Are you okay?" Jonathan's voice was urgent, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

Y/n managed a weak smile, her own concern momentarily forgotten in the face of Jonathan's worry. "Doing a lot better than you, apparently," she said, chuckling a little even in the tense moment.

But Jonathan's expression remained serious, his brow furrowing even deeper. "I should have known this was going to happen. I should have made sure you were prepared. This is my fault," he murmured, his tone heavy with self-blame.

"Slow down, Jonathan. It's fine, I'm fine," Y/n reassured him, her voice calm and steady despite the lingering remnants of sleep clouding her mind.

Sensing the need for a moment of respite, Jonathan guided Y/n to the nearby couch, his movements gentle yet purposeful. With a sigh, Y/n sank into the cushions, the events of the evening still swirling in her mind as she waited for Jonathan to speak.

"I'm going to make sure this never happens again, okay?" Jonathan's voice was confident. Y/n could only manage a nod in response, her mind still reeling from the recent events.

As Jonathan moved around the room, his purposeful strides echoed in the quiet space. He retrieved something from his workbench and approached Y/n, a small canister in his hand.

"This is a small canister of my fear gas. You keep this with you always. If you encounter any problems, you spray it in their face. Do not breathe it in," he instructed, pressing the canister into her hand.

"But what about Batman? He'll find out," Y/n asked, putting the canister on the coffee table. He’d know her connection with Scarecrow if she sprayed him with fear gas.

"I'm still figuring that out," Jonathan admitted, a hint of frustration lacing his words as he ran a hand through his hair.

Y/n watched Jonathan's movements with a mix of concern and guilt. Each stride seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, his brows furrowed in deep concentration, the flickering light cast by the single bulb overhead danced across his features, accentuating the lines of worry etched into his face.

As he paced back and forth, Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt gnawing at her insides. She replayed the events of the evening in her mind, each moment a stark reminder of her vulnerability. A knot formed in her stomach, a silent acknowledgment of the burden she unwittingly placed upon him.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/n's gaze drifted downward, her hands fidgeting restlessly in her lap. Picking at the skin around her nails, she couldn't bear to meet Jonathan's eyes, fearing the weight of his disappointment or worse, his blame. Instead, she sought solace in the safety of herself, hoping to find some semblance of clarity amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within her, although nothing could comfort her like Jonathan could.

Suddenly, Jonathan's movements ceased, his attention drawn to Y/n's shift in demeanor. He knelt before her, his hands cradling her face with a tenderness that contrasted his earlier agitation.

"This is not your fault, you know that. None of this is your fault," Jonathan's voice was gentle yet firm, his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with hers.

"You are my girl, and it was my duty to protect you. I wasn't there, and for that, I'm sorry," Jonathan confessed, his words laced with sincerity.

Y/n managed a small smile, her heart swelling with warmth at his words. "I'm your girl," she repeated softly.

"That's right, and I'm going to make sure you are never in that situation ever again," Jonathan vowed, sealing his promise with a tender kiss upon her forehead.

Y/n's arms wrapped around Jonathan's neck, her touch a gentle plea for comfort and closeness. "Take me to bed," she murmured, her voice a soft melody in the dimly lit room.

Jonathan's lips curved into a tender smile at her request. "Of course, my dear," he replied, his tone carrying the warmth of affection.

With effortless grace, Jonathan scooped her up from the couch, cradling her in his arms like a doll. He moved with smoothly through the warehouse, navigating the familiar path to their shared bed. Gently lowering her onto the soft mattress, he lingered for a moment, savoring the intimacy of the moment before retreating to change into more comfortable attire.

Meanwhile, Y/n eagerly awaited his return, her heart warm. As Jonathan finished changing into more relaxed clothing, Y/n's eyes sparkled with warmth and adoration.

Climbing into bed beside her, Jonathan enveloped her in his embrace, the warmth of his body a comforting presence against her own. Y/n nestled closer, seeking solace in his arms, her worries momentarily forgotten in the safety of their shared space.

"Can we just stay here tomorrow? I don’t want to go to uni," Y/n murmured softly, her voice tinged with reluctance.

Jonathan's chuckle rumbled through the room. "While you could easily skip out on lectures, I’m the one teaching them, so it won’t be that simple," he teased gently.

Y/n's pout softened into a playful grin as she persisted, her eyes pleading with him to indulge her whims. "My other lecturers and Professors cancel lectures all the time. You can do it too," she urged, her voice filled with mischief.

Jonathan's sighed, a testament to the power she held over him. "For you, I will. But just this once," he relented, his gaze softening with unspoken affection as he met her pleading eyes. Y/n cherished every moment they shared like this.

Y/n's heart swelled with gratitude, a radiant smile lighting up her features as she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. She knew how Jonathan had a soft spot for her and she intended to use it to her advantage.

"Can you tell me what you were doing today?" Y/n asked, look up at Jonathan.

Jonathan hesitated briefly, his expression guarded as he weighed his response. "Just sorting out a mess Batman put me in. Nothing important," he finally replied, his words vague.

Y/n decided not to pry and leaned in closer, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Can I come with you to Arkham next time?" she asked eagerly.

"Why?" Jonathan asked, looking down at her.

"I want to look for potential allies for you," Y/n replied sweetly.

Jonathan's brow furrowed with concern. "It’s a dangerous place, Y/n, you know that. And after tonight, I don’t want you to put yourself at that risk," he cautioned.

"But I have you," Y/n countered softly, her gaze unwavering as she met his eyes.

Jonathan's eyes softened as he looked down at Y/n. "Fine, but you don't leave my side," he said.

Y/n met his gaze with a nod. "Understood," she replied.

Jonathan leaned back against the pillows, pulling Y/n closer to him. “Now, go to sleep.” His arm wrapped protectively around her.

Y/n nestled into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. A small smile played on her lips as she closed her eyes.

Y/n practically bounced with excitement as they made their way to Arkham. Jonathan, though usually reserved, couldn't help but stress about her safety, especially after last night. The morning air was crisp as they drove in the car, Y/n chattering away about what ever came to her mind.

Jonathan had envisioned a lazy day at home with Y/n, perhaps catching up on some reading or simply enjoying each other's company, but Y/n's eagerness to visit Arkham Asylum to find possible allies for Jonathan sparked a new energy in her, one that Jonathan couldn't resist. Despite his initial reluctance, he found himself giving in.

As they pulled up to the imposing structure, Jonathan turned to her, his expression serious as he outlined the rules for their visit.

"You don't speak to anyone unless I allow it," he began, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "If we interact with a patient, you stay behind me. You don't leave my office unless I say you can, and only with me accompanying you. Understand?"

Y/n nodded eagerly, she had already forgotten the first rule. "Got it," she replied.

As they stepped through the doors of Arkham, Y/n couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine. The air seemed to grow colder, the atmosphere thick with an eerie quietness was sometimes broken with screams of patients through the walls of the facility.

Following the security protocols, they passed by stern-faced guards who eyed, their presence a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked within the walls of Arkham. Y/n felt a sense of unease settle in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it aside. It’s not like it was her first time at Arkham, but today, it just felt different.

As they walked down the corridors, the air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic, mingling with the faint hint of decay that seemed to linger in the air. They passed by other doctors and staff members, each lost in their own world as they hurried about their duties. Y/n offered polite nods and smiles as they passed. Finally, they arrived at their destination, the door looming before them like a gateway to another world.

Entering Jonathan's office, Y/n took in the familiar sight with a playful smirk. Not a single thing had changed from when she was last there. "Wow, you sure changed things up in here, didn’t ya?" she teased, glancing around at the familiar decor.

Jonathan closed the door behind them with a soft click. "Well, you know me," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/n's eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to face him. "So... can I take a look at some patient files?" she asked, sweetly.

"I have a few patient files in that cabinet," he said, pointing toward a nearby filing cabinet. "But those are just the ones I have access to, the rest you’d have to look up on the computer. God, why am I encouraging this," Jonathan sighed, shaking his head slightly.

Y/n grinned, moving toward the cabinet. "Because deep down, you know you could use another ally. Edward has been doing… admirably, but the two of you could use some extra assistance," she remarked, pulling open the cabinet door.

Rummaging through the files in the cabinet, Y/n couldn't find anything particularly intriguing at first. Nonetheless, she knew she had to comb through them thoroughly. Pulling out a stack of files, she placed them on the floor and settled in front of them.

As she sifted through the scattered documents, Y/n let out an exasperated sigh. "This is going to be..." Her words trailed off abruptly as her eyes landed on a familiar name. "Hey! It's Eddie's file!" she exclaimed, snatching up the folder labeled ‘Edward Nygma’.

Y/n eagerly flipped through the pages, scanning Jonathan's notes on Edward's behavior with keen interest. As Y/n delved into Edward's file, she couldn’t help the cheeky smile that sat on her face.

"Let's see what we've got there," Y/n said.

Y/n scanned through the pages until she reached Jonathan's comments. "Hmm, it says here that Edward's behavior has been erratic, with notable mood swings and a tendency towards belittling people," she summarized, glancing up at Jonathan.

Jonathan nodded thoughtfully. "And my point still stands, Edward can be quite the pain at times. He's a brilliant mind, but his ego can be a challenge to manage. He's proven himself to be a valuable ally, albeit a complicated one," he explained, his brow furrowing slightly.

Y/n set the file aside with a sigh. "True, we can't have two Edwards, as delightful as that might seem.”

Y/n immersed herself in the task, each file a window into the troubled minds housed within Arkham's walls. She carefully studied the details, from the patients' histories to their treatment plans, searching for any glimmer of hope among the darkness. Some files bore the scars of past trauma, while others hinted at the depths of madness that consumed the paitents.

Despite the grim surroundings, Y/n remained undeterred, her will unwavering as she searched through the records. She knew that finding the right ally for Jonathan was crucial, and she refused to let the daunting task daunt her.

As Y/n sifted through the final file, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling of disappointment. Deep down, she knew the individual she had in mind wouldn't be found among these records. Still, she looked through them hoping that another potential ally would catch her eye before she reached the inevitable conclusion. But that sadly did not happen.

Y/n's disappointment lingered like a heavy cloud as she leaned against the couch behind her. Jonathan, absorbed in his paperwork, looked over at her.

"Didn't find anyone?" Jonathan's voice broke the silence.

Y/n shook her head, her lips forming a small frown. "No," she murmured.

Rising from his desk with a sigh, Jonathan approached her, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of her frustration. He offered a hand as they began to gather the files strewn across the floor.

Together, they arranged the files back into the cabinet, the soft click of folders echoing in the quiet room. Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as she closed the cabinet door.

Jonathan's touch was gentle as he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes reflecting understanding and compassion. "Thank you for trying to help me," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to her disappointed thoughts.

"I just want you to be safe," Y/n confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to lose you."

Jonathan's expression softened, his thumb gently brushing against her cheek. "I know, Dear. And I promise you, I will never leave you," he vowed, his words infused with sincerity.

A tender kiss sealed their unspoken promise, the warmth of Jonathan's lips against hers a reminder of the care that bound them together.

“I’m going to get you something to eat, you’ve worked really hard. Feel free to use my computer.” As he offered her the use of his computer, Y/n's mind raced with anticipation, her pulse quickening with renewed hope.

Alone in the quiet office, Y/n wasted no time in accessing Jonathan's work files, her fingers moving with purpose as she typed in the name she had been longing to find: 'Waylon Jones.' With each keystroke, her excitement grew, anticipation thrumming in her veins as she delved into the possibilities that lay ahead.

Only one file was shown on the screen. She hadn't anticipated much information, and true to her expectations, the file offered little beyond a photo, a name, and the location of the detainee. Still, it was a small victory to have confirmation that he was indeed housed at Arkham.

As she clicked through the sparse details, Y/n couldn't suppress a wry smile. The file painted a vivid picture of the individual in question: big, aggressive, and extremely resistant to any attempts at examination or treatment from doctors. It seemed he had garnered quite the reputation among the staff, earning him the privilege of a solitary confinement cell, though it sounded more like a shitty underground chamber than a conventional cell.

According to the file, Waylon Jones, also known as Killer Croc, had been transferred from Blackgate Penitentiary after a series of violent incounters with other inmates, that including cannibalism, this prompting his relocation to Arkham's more secure confines. With no mention of guards stationed outside his cell, it seemed they deemed the iron door barrier formidable enough to deter any escape attempts.

As Y/n absorbed the details, a surge of excitement coursed through her veins. The thought of finding a potential ally for Jonathan filled her with anticipation. However, her excitement quickly gave way to a sinking feeling of dread. She realized that Jonathan would never allow her to come into contact with someone as dangerous as Killer Croc. His aggressive reputation and cannibalistic tendencies made him too great a risk.

Glancing at her phone, she saw the message from Jonathan. He said that while getting her food, he was caught up by other doctors and forced along to an unexpected paitent emergency. With her heart racing and adrenaline coursing through her veins, Y/n made a split-second decision. She would take matters into her own hands, consequences be damned. With Jonathan occupied and unavailable for atleast an hour, she saw a narrow window of opportunity opening before her.

Rummaging through Jonathan's desk drawers, Y/n's fingers fumbled in search of an additional access card of his. She knew her visitor pass would only grant her limited access, and if she were to proceed with her impromptu plan, she needed all the clearance she could get.

With an access card in hand and her resolve steeled, Y/n braced herself for what lay ahead. Was this very last minute and stupid? Absolutely! Could she possibly die? More than likely. Did she wish she could take a shot of vodka first? 100%. Yet, despite the looming dangers and uncertainties, she couldn't suppress a faint flicker of hope.

Stepping out of the office, Y/n's pulse quickened with every beat. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, casting a wary glance down the dimly lit hallway. The eerie silence that enveloped the corridor sent a shiver down her spine. The absence of security measures was glaringly evident, something that should have brought her little comfort instead made her feel at ease.

Despite her guilt for disregarding Jonathan's instructions, Y/n clung to the hope that her disobedience would prove to be useful. Perhaps she could return before he even realized she was gone, and if everything goes well, she might present Jonathan with a potential ally.

Y/n's gaze flitted nervously from side to side, taking in every detail of her surroundings. The walls were lined with faded posters and peeling paint, remnants of attempts to brighten the otherwise gloomy corridors. A shiver ran down her spine as she passed by the occasional door, worried someone was going to pop out at any minute.

As she reached the map mounted on the wall, she hesitated for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as she aimed her phone to capture the image. The soft glow of her screen illuminated the map, revealing a maze of corridors and rooms, each labeled discreetly.

With the photo safely stored on her phone, Y/n continued her journey towards the elevator. The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed in her ears. Every step brought her closer to the elevator, which only brought the feeling of unease.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, Y/n stepped inside, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the unknown as she scanned Jonathan’s access card and pressed the button for the basement floor. The elevator lurched into motion, descending into the depths of Arkham Asylum.

She sighed in relief as the card granted her access, though the ease with which she snuck around Arkham only served to boost her nerves. The dimly lit hallway stretched before her, its atmosphere adding to her sense of unease.

Y/n found herself appalled by the lack of security measures as she descended to the bottom floor. Pulling out her phone to consult the map, she cursed as the map to photographed only covered floors 3 and 4, prompting a groan of frustration. Nevertheless, she pressed on, determined to navigate the unfamiliar territory.

Fortunately, another map awaited her, and she quickly snapped a photo before studying it intently. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered above as she traced the route to Killer Croc's cell, designated as WC286. She couldn't help but scoff at the irony of housing such a dangerous inmate in what appeared to be the dank confines of the sewers.

"How humane," Y/n muttered sarcastically as she set off toward her destination.

Each step echoed against the concrete walls, accompanied by the ominous sounds of dripping pipes that seemed to heighten her unease.

Arriving at what she assumed to be the designated food storage area for Croc, Y/n hesitated momentarily before opening the refrigerator. The sight that greeted her was disgusting. An array of raw, whole chickens arranged haphazardly on the shelves. The pungent odor of blood and decay wafted from within, assaulting her senses and causing her to gag.

Despite her disgust, Y/n selected a chicken, her fingers recoiling slightly from its slimy surface. With a steadying breath, she closed the fridge and turned her attention to the door leading to Croc's cell. The anticipation coiled in her stomach. This was it.

As she approached the heavy door, Y/n's pulse quickened, her hand trembling slightly as she swiped Jonathan's access card. The electronic beep of the scanner reverberated in the corridor, amplifying her anxiety. With bated breath, she watched as the indicator light flashed green, signaling her entry.

With a hesitant motion, Y/n released the lock mechanism, the metallic click resonating in the silence. Gripping the door handle tightly, she pushed it open, the heavy metal creaking ominously against its hinges. As the threshold of Croc's cell loomed before her, Y/n readied herself for the encounter, bracing for whatever lay beyond.

As Y/n stepped across the threshold, a chill swept over her, sending shivers down her spine. The dim, flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced along the damp walls of the sewer. The air was thick with the musty scent of decay, mingling with the metallic tang of moisture and the faint hint of something primal and animalistic.

With cautious steps, Y/n descended into the depths of the sewer, her footsteps echoing against the cold, wet floor. The narrow path stretched out before her, twisting and turning into darkness.

"Hello?" Y/n's voice bounced off the walls. "I, uh... I brought some chicken."

A sudden ripple broke the silence, disturbing the murky water nearby. Y/n's heart leaped into her throat as she spun around, her eyes widening in alarm. Emerging from the depths was a figure, its form obscured by the murky waters. As it drew closer, the dim light revealed its scaly, green skin, and its piercing yellow eyes glowed with an eerie intensity.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she instinctively raised the chicken in a feeble attempt at a peace offering. "I'm not a doctor!" she blurted out, her voice trembling with fear.

The echoes of Y/n's words lingered in the cavernous space as she stood, her senses heightened, acutely aware of the looming figure before her. Waylon's form, still submerged, seemed to meld with the darkness. Each movement sent ripples across the murky water below.

“You lost, girl?” Waylon's gravelly voice cut through the silence. Y/n felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She swallowed nervously, the sound reverberating in the stillness of the sewer.

"No," Y/n responded, her voice barely above a whisper, the word hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

The faint glint of curiosity flickered in Waylon's yellow eyes as he regarded her with suspicion. His presence exuded an aura of primal strength, sending a shiver down Y/n's spine.

As she struggled to find her words, Y/n pressed herself against the cold, damp wall, seeking some semblance of security in the darkness that enveloped them. “Then what are you doing here?” She could feel the weight of Waylon's gaze, an unspoken challenge in his penetrating stare.

Summoning her courage, Y/n introduced herself, her voice trembling with uncertainty. “My name is Y/n.”

“So?” Waylon's response was a low, guttural growl, his demeanor unyielding as he judged her.

Y/n's heart raced as she struggled to find a reason for her presence in this desolate place. “I would like to be acquaintances, or something,” The fear of his impending judgment hung heavy in the air, suffocating her attempts at explanation.

“Why?” He asked, moving closer to her through the water.

With a shaky breath, Y/n said “I would like your help,” her words faltering in the face of Waylon's imposing figure. The tension between them was palpable, a silent exchange of power and vulnerability.

“And what’s stopping me from eating you?” Waylon's question echoed in the darkness, a stark reminder of the risk of her situation.

“Nothing… but if you’re hungry, you can have chicken,” Y/n's pulse quickened as she extended the offering of chicken.

His eyes shifted between her and the chicken. Suddenly, Waylon lunged up, out of the water. Y/n screamed, her senses overwhelmed by the rush of water and the frightening movement of the creature before her.

As the echoes of her startled scream faded into the darkness, Y/n found herself trembling, her pulse racing with adrenaline. The encounter had left her shaken, yet she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the fear. She was okay.

Waylon tore into the chicken with primal ferocity, his sharp teeth gnashing at the bones with a savage hunger. Y/n watched in a mixture of fascination and disgust, her hand recoiling as she realized it had just held the now-devoured meal.

As Waylon remained preoccupied with his feast, Y/n took the moment to attempt to clean her hand. With a grimace of disgust, she crouched down and swished her hand into the murky water, a futile attempt to cleanse away the filth.

Her efforts were met with Waylon's gruff observation, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “That water ain’t clean, girl.” Y/n's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she withdrew her hand.

Desperate to shift the focus away from her awkward blunder, Y/n attempted to strike up a conversation, her voice laced with forced casualness. “So uhh… you like it down here?” She glanced around the dimly lit surroundings, the oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily on her.

“Would you?” Waylon's response was blunt, his words carrying the weight of bitter resignation. Y/n couldn't help but empathize with the sense of isolation and despair that permeated the damp confines of the sewer.

“Uh.. no, no I would not..” The realization of the stark contrast between her privileged existence and Waylon's grim reality struck a chord within her, filling her with a profound sense of gratitude for the life she took for granted above ground.

Finishing the chicken, Waylon regarded her with skepticism, his imposing figure still partially submerged in the murky water. His demeanor had softened slightly, no longer radiating the same intimidating presence as before.

"Why you need my help?" His asked, curiously.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing her words. "Have you heard of Dr. Crane?" she asked, her tone lowered to a hushed whisper.

“What about him?” Waylon asked, sounding tense.

“You know his… alter ego?” Y/n said, discreetly.

"The Crow Boy," he muttered, his words filled with an air of familiarity.

Y/n nodded in acknowledgment. "He's facing some... problems with a certain… bird and… coin," she continued cryptically, her eyes darting around the surroundings for any signs of eavesdroppers.

"And what does that have to do with me?" Waylon's piercing gaze fixed on Y/n.

"I was wondering if you could help him… be an ally," Y/n replied.

Waylon remained silent for a moment, contemplating her proposal. "I ain't much help in here," he scoffed.

A flicker of determination sparked in Y/n's eyes as she leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can help you," she said, her words filled with hope.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she felt the vibration in her pocket. With a gasp, she grabbed her phone from her pocket, her stomach twisting with apprehension. It was Jonathan.

She answered with a shaky voice, "Hello?"

The stern tone of Jonathan's voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Where are you?" he demanded, his concern hidden behind his blank anger.

"Um, sorry, I'm on my way back," Y/n replied hastily, not giving Jonathan a chance to respond before hanging up.

Waylon observed her with a knowing expression, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I take it you didn't tell him of your little visit down here?" he remarked dryly.

"I have to go," Y/n said hurriedly, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

With a quick glance back at Waylon, Y/n offered a brief wave. "I'll see you later," she called out before darting off towards the security door.

Y/n's heart raced as she completed the security measures at the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she ensured everything appeared undisturbed. Y/n paused for a moment, with a cautious glance over her shoulder, she surveyed the corridor behind her, her senses on high alert. Satisfied that all seemed quiet and undisturbed, she turned back around to continue on her way.

But as she turned, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat. Standing right in front of her was Jonathan. The unexpected sight sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she froze in place, her pulse quickening with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"Uh… hey, Jonathan..." Y/n's voice faltered, a nervous edge creeping into her tone.

Jonathan's response was a stern silence, his features rigid with barely contained anger.

"Jonathan?" Y/n's voice wavered as she tried to meet his gaze, but he remained stoically silent, his jaw set in a tight line.

Without a word, he grabbed her wrist in a firm grip, his fingers closing around her skin with a vice-like grip. Y/n let out a small gasp of surprise, her pulse quickening at the thightness of his grip.

With a tug, Jonathan began to drag her towards the elevator, his grip unyielding as he pulled her into the elevator. Y/n stumbled slightly, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to keep pace with his stride. Each step feeling heavier than the last as the weight of Jonathan's anger bore down upon her.

As they reached the elevator, Jonathan scanned his ID. The soft hum of the elevator filled the tense silence between them as they waited, the air thick with unspoken tension.

When the doors slid open, Jonathan released her wrist, but his gaze remained fixed upon her with an intensity that made her skin prickle with unease. Without a word, he gestured for her to exit the elevator, his silent command clear.

With a trembling breath, Y/n stepped out, the weight of Jonathan's silent anger heavy upon her shoulders.

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest with nervousness. With each step closer to Jonathan's office, her stomach twisted into tighter knots of anxiety, a sense of unease settling over her like a heavy fog.

Upon reaching the door, Y/n hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle as she braced herself for what would lay ahead. Jonathan's presence behind her felt suffocating, his towering figure casting a shadow over her as he stood just a breath away.

With a sharp click, Jonathan unlocked the door. Y/n entered the office as Jonathan followed close behind her. The door closed with a resounding thud, sealing them both in a confined space.

Turning to face Jonathan, Y/n felt a knot tighten in her stomach, her fingers trembling with nerves. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Jonathan's voice cut through the air like a whip, sharp and unforgiving.

"Jonathan, I—" Y/n began, but her words were drowned out by the force of his anger, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small office.

"What were you thinking?" Jonathan's voice was filled with anger, his eyes blazing with barely contained rage.

"You kn—" Y/n attempted to explain herself, but Jonathan's outburst was relentless.

"Do you know how dangerous that was, Y/n?!" Jonathan's words came out in a flood of frustration, his tone harsh.

"Yes, but I—" Y/n tried to protest, but Jonathan's tirade showed no signs of stopping, his anger boiling over.

"I told you to stay here, but you didn't listen to me! Not only that, but you took my access card, and now there's probably footage of you going into Croc's cell! I'm going to have to go through the files and delete whatever footage there is of you!" Jonathan walked back and forth, trying to get a hold of his frustration.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan. I know I've probably caused so much trouble for you," Y/n began. She glanced down at the access card in her hand, a silent acknowledgment of her mistake.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed as he regarded her, his brow furrowed with frustration. "You could have died, Y/n. What were you thinking!" His voice boomed in the office, echoing off the walls with a force that made Y/n flinch.

Feeling the weight of Jonathan's disappointment, Y/n took a step forward, her heart racing. "I was thinking about you! I'm sorry, I should have told you, but look, I'm okay!" Her voice wavered slightly, her eyes pleading for him to understand.

Jonathan's laughter cut through the tension, but there was no humor in it, only a bitter edge that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. "You are never leaving the warehouse," he laughed, his eyes filled with darkness.

Y/n's shoulders sagged with the weight of his words, but she refused to back down. "Jonathan, please! Waylon is willing to help!" Her voice rose in urgency.

Jonathan's stomped around the room, his anger radiating off of him. Y/n stood rooted to the spot, her pulse racing as she watched him gather his belongings. The click of his briefcase snapping shut echoed like a final verdict.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jonathan's hand closed around Y/n's wrist, his grip tight and unyielding. She winced at the pressure, feeling the weight of his anger bearing down on her.

"Jonathan, please..." Y/n's voice wavered.

But Jonathan's response cut her off. "Stop talking," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n fell silent, her heart sinking with the weight of his disappointment.

The hallway seemed to stretch on endlessly as Jonathan marched forward with determined strides. Y/n hurried to keep up, her steps clumsy as she struggled to match his pace. Her heart hammered in her chest, the weight of regret and guilt bearing down on her with each passing moment. Jonathan's shoulders were squared and jaw set in a firm line.

Tears threatened to spill from Y/n's eyes as Jonathan's grip on her wrist tightened, a silent, but bruising reminder of his anger. She swallowed hard, wishing she could turn back time and undo her reckless actions.

As they reached the exit, the cool air outside offered little relief from the stifling tension between them. Y/n cast a glance back at the now-empty hallway, praying no one saw the two of them. He practically forced Y/n into the passenger seat of his car, the force of his actions leaving her shaken.

Behind the wheel, Jonathan's jaw was set, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as he drove with single-minded focus. The tension in the car was tight, a silent testament to the breach of trust between them.

As they pulled up to the warehouse, Jonathan slammed the car door shut with a resounding thud. Y/n hesitated, her hands trembling as she reached for the door handle. She had no time before Jonathan pulled open her door and yanked her out.

Wordlessly, Jonathan unlocked the warehouse door and ushered Y/n inside. The atmosphere inside was heavy with tension, each step echoing with the weight of their strained relationship.

Y/n trailed behind Jonathan as he moved through the warehouse, each click of the lock sending a shiver down her spine. His movements were methodical, reminiscent of the way he had locked her in when he first brought her here. The sound of the locks sliding into place echoed in the silence, sealing off any chance of escape. Y/n's heart sank as she watched Jonathan lock the warehouse door. The sound echoed in the empty space, filling her with a sense of dread. She couldn't bear the thought of being trapped again. Jonathan's jaw was set in a rigid line, his eyes cold and distant as he shut her out, both physically and emotionally.

Tears welled in Y/n's eyes as she struggled to find the right words to explain herself. "Jonathan, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to help."

But Jonathan remained silent, his back turned to her as he continued his task. The sound of locks clicking shut reverberated through the warehouse, each one sealing her fate a little more tightly.

Jonathan's expression softened slightly as he turned to face Y/n, his gaze piercing through her tear-filled eyes. "Y/n, I need you to understand the gravity of what you've done," he began, his voice heavy with disappointment. "You put yourself in danger, disregarding every warning I've given you. Do you realize how reckless that was?"

Y/n nodded weakly, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry, Jonathan," she managed to choke out between sobs.

Jonathan's features softened further as he knelt down in front of her, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. "I know you didn't, but that doesn't change the fact that your actions could have had serious consequences," he said softly. "I need you to promise me that you'll never do something like this again."

Y/n nodded, her tears continuing to flow unabated. "I promise, Jonathan. I'll never do anything like this again," she vowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan pulled her into a comforting embrace, holding her close as they both sought solace in each other's presence. Despite the turmoil of the moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

As Jonathan held her close, Y/n couldn't help but feel like a child, being told off by an adult. She buried her face in his chest, seeking comfort in his embrace while silently chastising herself for her impulsive actions.

Y/n slowly collected herself, she realized Jonathan's actions were likely meant to be more of a warning to scare her than an actual punishment. As Jonathan pulled away and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Go clean yourself up," Jonathan said gently. "I need to call Edward."

With a nod, Y/n rose from her place on the floor. She headed off to the shower. Despite feeling shaken by Jonathan's reaction, she couldn't deny the underlying sense of relief that washed over her. Deep down, she knew that his protectiveness stemmed from a place of genuine concern and affection. While his actions had scared her, she understood that they were necessary, a stark reminder of the dangers she had exposed herself to.

As she processed it all, a wave of gratitude washed over her, mingling with a profound sense of dependence on Jonathan. Despite being the cause of her distress, he was also the only one who could soothe her troubled mind. In his arms, she found solace and security, a comforting refuge from the frightening world.

Y/n's shower was quick. Stepping out into the dimly lit expanse of the warehouse which she called home, she felt the weight of Jonathan's gaze before she even saw him. He was immersed in his work at the workbench, the soft glow of the computer screen casting shadows across his features.

Intrigued, Y/n approached him, her curiosity piqued by the images flickering across the monitor. As she peered over his shoulder, she caught sight of the video footage from Arkham playing on the screen, her heart skipping a beat at the sight.

"Is this what you called Edward for?" Y/n asked.

Jonathan glanced up, his gaze meeting hers through the lenses of his glasses. “Yes,” he replied simply.

Without a word, he gestured for her to join him, his silent invitation drawing her closer. Tentatively, she settled onto his lap, nestling into his embrace. She felt a sense of familiarity and warmth wash over her, easing the tension that had knotted her muscles.

Together, they watched the footage unfold, the scenes playing out before them like a silent movie. She found herself leaning into him, seeking solace in his touch and the safety of his embrace. His touch was gentle against her skin, his presence a reassuring anchor in the storm of her thoughts.

"I apologize for how I treated you earlier," Jonathan's words were soft against her cheek, his breath warm against her skin.

Y/n offered a faint smile, a silent acknowledgment of his apology while her heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude and relief. “It’s okay,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Jonathan leaned his head against her shoulder, his warmth enveloping her like a protective shield against the world. “I shouldn’t be encouraging this, but it looks like you did well… Waylon didn’t seem to mind you,” he observed.

Resting her head against Jonathan's shoulder, she allowed herself a moment of relief, her gaze fixed on the screen before them. Y/n couldn't help but smile at his words, a sense of accomplishment swelling within her chest.

But her joy was short-lived as Jonathan's expression turned somber, his gaze fixed on the screen as he changed the video. “But I need you to understand the gravity of your actions.”

The images flickered and danced across the surface, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of Gotham. As the new footage played, revealing the unsettling scene of Waylon's sudden aggression towards a doctor, Y/n's breath caught in her throat. The brutality of the scene sent a shiver down her spine, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

“You understand why I was worried now?” Jonathan's voice was soft, yet held authority.

Y/n nodded slowly, her expression reflecting the shock and concern that still lingered within her. “How do we know he won’t do that to you?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly with uncertainty.

“We don’t,” Jonathan admitted. “But I’m going to have to find out how to deal with it, not you.”

A flicker of determination flashed across Y/n's features. “I could do it, you saw how he treated me,” she offered.

Jonathan sighed. “Even with my consent, Arkham would never allow it and I can’t be messing around with the cameras all the time, someone’s going to notice,” he explained with a sigh. “I'll just have to see if I can take him as a patient and work from there.”

In the quiet aftermath of their conversation, Y/n couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She just hoped Jonathan would be safe.

Y/n's heart raced with excitement as she slipped out into the night, her footsteps echoing softly in the deserted streets. She knew she probably shouldn't have gone out alone, especially at this hour, but the thought of surprising Jonathan with freshly baked cookies was too enticing to resist.

With the fear gas canister tucked securely in her pocket, Y/n felt a newfound sense of confidence coursing through her veins. She couldn't help but feel a thrill at the thought of being out on her own, even if just for a short while.

As she made her way towards the supermarket, the cool night air brushed against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Despite the darkness looming around her, Y/n couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. The walk was only 10 minutes at most and she felt safe with the fear gas given to her by Jonathan.

Sure, there was always the lingering concern of encountering Batman, but Y/n pushed that thought to the back of her mind. After all, she reasoned, the chances of an innocent girl like her crossing paths with the caped crusader twice in in a life time were practically zero.

Picking up groceries from the supermarket was easy enough, and with her bags in hand, Y/n began her journey back home. As she neared the warehouses, however, a sense of unease crept over her like a shadow.

"Stupid nerves," she muttered under her breath, cursing herself for feeling frightened.

Every rustle in the darkness made her heart skip a beat, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger. "Come on, Y/n. It's not like anyone's actually here," she reassured herself, though the words did little to quell her rising anxiety.

But then, just as she was about to dismiss her fears, a voice sliced through the silence from the shadows. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

Y/n's scream echoed in the night as Batman emerged before her, his imposing figure casting a long shadow in the dim light.

"Are you kidding me?" Y/n spat out, frustrated. This wasn't her first encounter with the Dark Knight, and this time, she wasn't about to cower in fear as there was nothing to fear.

"Did I startle you?" Batman's question rang hollow in the tense air, almost sarcastically.

"Nah, I just screamed at the fucking moon," Y/n retorted, clearly irritated. All she wanted was to return home and bake her cookies.

Ignoring Batman's presence, Y/n turned on her heel and began to walk away, only for him to step out in front of her. Her heart leaped into her throat, what does he want with her?

"Do you mind?" Y/n asked, attempting to maintain her composure.

"There was footage of you at Arkham," Batman stated bluntly.

Feeling like she was under interrogation, Y/n tried to keep her cool. "How do you know who I am?" she countered.

"You went missing a couple of months ago, hard not to know you," Batman replied evenly.

"I was never missing," Y/n refuted.

"Why were you at Arkham?" Batman pressed on.

"I'm a psychology student at Gotham University. My professor takes me there for learning purposes," Y/n explained, her voice steady despite the tension.

"You're rather close to this Professor," Batman observed.

"He's a friend. I'm the only student that ever attends the office hours, so he knows me well," Y/n replied, the words carrying a hint of defensiveness. It wasn't entirely a lie.

"Some of the footage at Arkham was altered, footage of you, I assume," Batman's words sent a chill down her spine.

“Cool…and?” Y/n pretended not to care, trying to hide her nerves, but she was running out of excuses.

“I managed to uncover that footage. What were you doing in the basement?” Batman's tone was firm, demanding answers.

“I was curious,” Y/n replied vaguely, hoping to deflect his questions.

“Curious of Killer Croc?” Batman pressed, his voice laced with suspicion.

“Naturally,” Y/n answered, keeping her responses brief.

“Are you aware of how dangerous a man like Killer Croc is?” Batman's question was stern.

“Yeah, my professor drilled that message into me afterwards, but he attacks doctors, not visitors, so I thought I’d be safe, and clearly, I was.” Y/n explained, attempting to rationalize her actions to Batman.

“Why did you look for Killer Croc?” Batman's interrogation continued.

“I told you, curiosity,” Y/n repeated, her tone firm despite the rising tension.

"No one does something as dangerous as that out of curiosity," Batman's words hung heavy in the air.

Y/n's chest tightened with a mixture of frustration and anger. His statement struck a nerve.

"Well, maybe that's the problem with you," she countered sharply, her voice laced with anger. "You only see these people as enemies and dangerous. No wonder Waylon attacks the doctors, it's people like you that drill the message that Waylon’s a monster into people's heads."

With determination flashing in her eyes, Y/n pushed past Batman, her steps purposeful as she continued walking. But even in her departure, a lingering sense of conviction halted her stride. She pivoted on her heel, facing Batman once more.

"He’s no monster," she said, her voice ringing out in the stillness of the night. "He’s just like any other patient at Arkham. Everyone has a bad day now and then."

With her chin held high and her words echoing in the alley, Y/n turned away from Batman, striding off into the shadows with an air of defiance and self-assurance.

As Y/n finally arrived home, the weight of the encounter with Batman settled heavily upon her shoulders. The realization of what had transpired washed over her like a cold wave, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Great, now Batman's probably going to be keeping an eye on me," she muttered to herself, a knot of worry forming in her chest.

But she quickly pushed aside her worry, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. With a determined sigh, she managed to bury her concerns for the time being and instead try to distract herself.

"Let's just make those cookies for Jonathan," she said aloud, mustering a faint smile in an attempt to reassure herself.

Y/n wondered whether to disclose her encounter with Batman to Jonathan. The idea of revealing such a tense exchange left her feeling hesitant, unsure of how he would react. However, she knew one thing for certain. She couldn't afford to let her guard down. Not anymore.

A/N: Holy fuck, am I glad to post part five to this fic, sorry it took so long 💚

A bit boring, this part, but I wanted to post this part and I had a loT planed for this part, but decided it would not only take too long but it would be so long for one chapter, so I broke it up into two parts.

I hope you like where this fic is headed and are excited for the next part (Whenever that might be 💀)

I wrote Batman in here with the Animated Series!Batman in mind, so if he doesn't seem like Nolan!Batman, that's why (although, I don't even know if I did it that well). But yeah, I tend to write for different characters from different universes and just hope they play out well :p

I was watching "Love is a Croc" episode (one of my favorite) while writing this, so i kinda had him in mind while writing. Still mad how he betrayed Babydoll light that 😤 but Waylon my baby, so I forgive him.

I have a lot of other requests to get through first and assignments (not month I am on break, so I'll be able to write more often)

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed :)

#fanfic #jonathan crane #jonathan crane fanfic #jonathan crane x reader #batman #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #scarecrow #cillian murphy scarecrow #btas scarecrow #batman scarecrow #dc scarecrow #the scarecrow #waylon jones #tdk #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy

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whump-tr0pes · 17 hours

Text

Honor Bound 6 - 28

Honor Bound 6 - 28 (Chronic Pain) @badthingshappenbingo

Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: tattooing, chronic pain, old injury, blood, past consensual sex, negotiating boundaries

By the time Brandon had finished half of Zachariah’s tattoo, Sam was beginning to sweat through their shirt. Zachariah had long since sweat through his. Sweat was beading on his brow, running into his eyes, and Brandon had given him a rag to mop his face so he would be more comfortable.

“Just let me know if you need to stop, man, and we can stop,” Brandon had said a few times. Every time Zachariah would bite his lip and shake his head and say he was fine, really, and Brandon would keep going, at least until the next time he would ask. He was asking it every few minutes, now.

Still, Sam hoped no one would notice how much pain they were in. Sitting on this stool with nothing to support their arm, the old wound had long since begun to ache. Old, throbbing pain radiated up and down their arm. The palm of their right hand prickled where normally there was only unsettling numbness. They cradled their arm against their chest.

It had been so, so long since they’d had a bad pain day.

Still, thankfully, everyone seemed to be focusing on Zachariah. It was nice to find the luxury even to be in pain without drawing the worried and guilty glances of their family. Living under the watchful eyes of Isaac, Gavin, and Gray was – well, it was what Sam wanted, but it came at the price of knowing their pain hurt the ones they lived with and loved so dearly. It was nice to be able to exist, even in pain, and not have to so carefully mask it, even for a few hours. Masking it took more energy, which made the pain worse, which just made it harder to mask—

A hand fell on their shoulder. They flinched and sucked in a gasp. Fire jolted through their wound to their hand and they cried out.

Brandon pulled the tattoo machine away from Zachariah’s shoulder and all eyes turned to Sam. They shuddered and ducked their head at the awful, familiar guilt and worry in everyone’s eyes, the way everyone seemed to reach for them at once…

“I’m fine,” they bit out – an instinct. Their hand spasmed against their chest.

“Whoa,” Brandon mumbled as he set the tattoo machine to the side. “You all good?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said, more forcefully this time. “It’s just—”

“You’re really pale,” Isaac said weakly. It was his hand on their shoulder that had startled them.

Sam squeezed their own wrist tightly as they dragged in a shaky inhale, pushed out a hissing exhale. “Yeah,” they croaked.

“Do we need to take a second?” Brandon said. Sam raised their eyes to him. He looked as relaxed as if they were talking about their lunch plans, as if Sam wasn’t moments away from throwing up all over his floor.

“No,” Sam breathed, squeezing their eyes shut and forcing another deep breath. “No, you can keep going. This is just… this is just something that happens.”

Zachariah shifted in his chair. “Um… I think… I might need a minute.” His voice was shaking, sweat beading on his upper lip. He looked like he had just run ten miles.

“Sure,” Brandon said, nonchalant as could be. He set the tattoo machine and stained cloth down.

The fire was fading, but the crushing ache was not. Sam leaned their head against Isaac’s chest as he stood beside them. “G-getting better,” they murmured. “It’s just… I think it’s just sitting here. Making my arm hurt.”

“Fair enough,” Isaac said gently. He wound his arms around them and held them close. It felt nice to be held, even though Sam could feel his heart hammering against their cheek through his shirt. “Maybe I can take you home? Gavin can stay here with Zachariah?”

“Uh…” Zachariah sounded better than he had a minute ago, but not by much.

Sam lifted their head and glanced at Zachariah.

He stared at Brandon apologetically. “Could I actually… be done for today? I’m sorry, but… it’s more than I thought I could—”

Brandon lifted a gloved hand, stained with ink and blood. Zachariah fell silent. “No problem at all, dude. Like I said, we didn’t have to finish this today. Let me cover this, and you can just come in tomorrow and I’ll finish you up. Deal?”

“Deal,” Zachariah huffed, sagging with relief. Sam sagged with him. Isaac’s arm wound around their shoulders, and they nearly slumped off their stool and into his embrace. Gavin appeared at their other side. Their mouth twitched, and embarrassment prickled in their stomach, before they raised their eyes to look at him; he looked pale, too, and tired.

He probably needs rest more than any of us right now.

Still, Sam could tell by the hard set of his mouth that nothing could have pulled him away from watching the Stormbeck crest disappear from Zachariah’s shoulder.

“—'ll probably bleed a bit,” Brandon was telling Zachariah as Sam blinked against the pain fogging their thoughts. “And leak some ink. If there’s more blood than, like, just a little bit, come see me. But don’t worry about a little blood and ink. I mean. You’ve had a tattoo before.”

“Yeah,” Zachariah said weakly. He flinched as Brandon wrapped clear plastic over the half-finished tattoo.

“Yeah, so, tomorrow morning I have another job, but tomorrow afternoon I’m free. Come by then and I’ll finish you up. Everybody good to make it home?” Brandon looked around at everyone, his eyes staying on Zachariah longest. Sam nodded and leaned against Isaac.

“W-we’ll make it,” Gavin murmured through pale, thin lips. His arm slid around Sam’s waist, although he looked like if Sam leaned even slightly against him, he would collapse.

The sweat on Zachariah’s skin was already starting to dry. He raised his damp t shirt and mopped his brow, then looked at Sam. He offered them a tentative smile.

“Halfway there,” he said softly, and held out his hand to them. His palm was warm as they slid their hand into his.

Brandon tore the plastic wrap and tucked in the ends, smoothing down the last stray bits. “Okay, you’re all good,” he said, and rolled his little table of tattoo supplies against the wall. The tattoo machine clinked as he began to disassemble it.

Sam released Zachariah’s hand and pushed themself unsteadily to their feet. Zachariah rose beside them. Isaac and Gavin stayed on Sam’s either side, Isaac being especially careful not to jostle Sam’s arm. Sam breathed slowly through the pain, which had dulled now to a steady throb. The pain hadn’t been this bad in… in weeks. Still, it crawled into their muscles, digging into their very bone, and ate at them. When they passed through the door to Brandon’s shack and felt the cool breeze on their face, they heaved a sigh of relief.

“Home, then?” Isaac said gently. His eyes belied his worry, but… there wasn’t as much guilt there as Sam expected.

They leaned into him, but froze as they felt Gavin stumble at their other side. They chewed their lip and caught themself casting a worried glance of their own at Gavin. “Um…”

“Why don’t…” Zachariah stared at his feet as he spoke. Sam hoped that one day he wouldn’t look so frightened, all the time. “I mean, um… Sam, if it works for you… you could come over to my place, and, um… I’ll…”

I’ll take care of you.

Sam swallowed past the lump in their throat that formed at Zachariah’s unsaid words. They forced a smile.

“…I’ll make us dinner if you want. And we could just hang out… have a quiet night.”

Sam blinked.

“Sam?” Isaac said. “Does that sound okay?”

“Um.” Sam met Zachariah’s eyes, stomach fluttering with embarrassment. He had never been the one to coddle them, not when they had to wear the sling, not when they needed to sleep half the day because they were still healing, never. Still, if Zachariah were to take care of Sam… they couldn’t imagine him ever making them feel guilty for it. They nodded numbly. “Yeah,” they said. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

A shy smile played at Zachariah’s lips. “Great,” he breathed.

Sam squeezed Gavin with their intact arm and laid their head against Isaac’s shoulder. “See you back at the house later, then?”

“Only if you want to,” Isaac said, and kissed the crown of Sam’s head. “If it works better for you to stay the night at Zachariah’s, no worries there.”

“Sounds good,” Sam said, and stepped away. Isaac and Gavin waved at the two of them as they headed toward their house. Before they could disappear from sight, Gavin collapsed against Isaac’s side. Isaac’s arm wound around Gavin’s waist and they kept walking like that, Gavin leaning all his weight against Isaac, until they turned a corner and disappeared from Sam’s sight. Sam swallowed hard and looked up at Zachariah. This time, neither of them bothered to conceal the worry on their faces.

∴

Zachariah’s cooking was amazing. Now that Sam thought about it, they didn’t think they had ever had a dish that Zachariah had made himself. Cooking was so often a communal thing with the family, and so often something simple that could be thrown together quickly to serve six people, then seven, growing until they were a ten-person family; rice, some kind of vegetable, and some kind of meat with a delicious sauce was the usual fare. Besides, that made leftovers easy, too. For someone to cook something just for themselves was so rare that it almost never happened.

Still, Sam could scarcely believe that they had gone all this time – more than three months – without tasting Zachariah’s cooking. Even without the fancy spices that he was used to having in the city, he had made some kind of rice-and-tomatoes-and-chicken dish that had Sam going back for seconds, even still a little nauseated from the pain. Now they were stretched out on the couch, regretting the second helping but happy to be cuddling in Zachariah’s lap, a sack of microwaved dry rice propped under their sore arm. They heaved a sigh and rested their head against Zachariah’s broad chest.

“Good?” Zachariah murmured, and Sam detected the slightest hint of self-satisfaction in his voice. It made them smile.

“You know it was,” they groaned, burying their face in his shirt to hide their smile. “You… you tricked me into eating so much. You… coerced me, Zachariah Medina.” Pain twinged through their old wound. They sucked in a breath through their teeth and held their hand tightly to their chest.

Zachariah’s mouth made a firm line. “Still pretty bad, huh?” He shifted the bag of rice, pulling it higher into Sam’s armpit.

“No, it’s, ah…” Sam pushed out a slow, shaky breath. “Not as…” Their stomach lurched, and they clenched their teeth together to keep from being sick all over their own lap. Another slow breath in, another slow breath out. They glanced up and found Zachariah’s warm brown eyes staring into theirs.

His lips trembled – no, they weren’t trembling, they were just moving soundlessly like he was trying to choose which words to say. Sam closed their eyes. They couldn’t focus on both him and the pain at once. They couldn’t deal with—

“We… don’t have to hang out, if you don’t want to,” Zachariah said. Sam’s shoulders relaxed as they realized there wasn’t any disappointment in his voice at all. They opened their eyes again, their gaze unfocused. They wet their lips.

“I still want to… be around you,” they croaked. “I just… sorry, it’s just… hard to deal with… this. Right now.” Their left hand curled into a fist.

“I get that,” Zachariah said. “I do. So… how do you want to be around me? It’s up to you.”

Sam drew a deep breath in through their nose and blew it out through their lips. They glanced around the small living room. There wasn’t much to the space; there was a small table with a few chairs, some shelves set up that had been stocked with a few weeks’ worth of food, the kitchen leading off to the right. In the other direction led the hallway to the bathroom and bedroom. Sam’s eyes lingered on the hallway.

“Um…” Even without their meaning to, their mind strayed to the ways the both of them had spent their time together for the past month. While Gavin had been missing, Zachariah had been as much a prisoner in the farmhouse as if he had been chained there. He couldn’t go on walks with the others like he used to, or swim in the lake, or go into town. There had been so little to do but lie in bed together, clothed at first, then not, then…

Sam swallowed hard and returned their gaze to Zachariah’s. “I’d just really like to lie down,” they said woodenly.

And I don’t want to fuck you tonight. Please, please don’t ask me to fuck you tonight.

Zachariah nodded once. “Sounds good,” he said, and opened his arms.

Sam felt tired in their bones as they pushed away from his chest and stiffly got to their feet. The warm bag of rice slid onto the couch cushions, but Zachariah waved their hand away from it.

“Let me,” he said with a gentle smile.

Sam shuffled to the bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light before they crawled on top of Zachariah’s blanket. They lowered themself onto the left side and curled into a limp ball. The bed dipped as Zachariah joined them.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” Sam mumbled.

There was a slight huff as Zachariah tucked the warm compress under Sam’s arm and settled behind them, curling around their body and pulling them close. “I figured,” he said softly. “I don’t feel like it, either.” There was a smile in his voice.

“Yeah?” Sam shivered as he nuzzled into the back of their neck, pressing a small kiss into their curls – and then he settled, his breath fanning out over their hair.

“Yeah.” Zachariah’s thumb rubbed back and forth, back and forth on their left wrist. They were grateful for the touch, for his warmth, and for the fact that this was the extent of it. Isaac would be worried, and guilty, and sad, his hands reaching out to Sam, perhaps clutching at them so that he could remind himself that they were alive, and that he wasn’t about to lose them, but Zachariah… Zachariah just was.

“Hmmm,” Sam hummed. The heat was helping. As their muscles relaxed, the pain ebbed, just the slightest bit. Still, their palm kept tingling. They wondered if this pain would last, or if it would be gone when they woke.

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump , @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #bad things happen bingo #chronic pain #whump #hurt/comfort #old injury #blood #past consensual sex #negotiating boundaries

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thecreelhouse · 1 day

Text

accident prone

part two - I laugh often, so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine

Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato

Summary: Steve and Frankie really get to know one another, and the friendship blossoms quickly. So fast, Steve can’t keep up with his own feelings, even in the face of an emergency.

WC: 8.6k+

Includes: angst, hurt/comfort (like, a lot), internalized ableism, language, PTSD, revolving around Hawkins/the Upside Down, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, a teensy bit of fluff and flirting if you squint, medical emergencies, etc.

series playlist ⋮ masterlist

here, here and here - meg & dia

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me / I laugh often so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine”

A/N: hey there! Wow. I didn’t think this would really gain any attention— this fandom seems to hate OCs (y’all’s loss tbh), but the support I got on the last chapter, though small to some major blogs, means a fuck ton to me. I don’t want to tag everyone, but thank you to whoever sent me a kind message or pep talk after posting the first part— I really am glad this is relating to others with chronic health concerns, one way or another. Even if it relates to one person, it means more than meaningless notes. Also, may 12th is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day! So, consider this my contribution lol. As previously stated, for anyone with fibro, or without, but living with a chronic illness/condition, mental and/or physical, I am sending all my love, and this is for you <3

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The next morning, Steve’s up early; if he can’t push past the pain, he’ll try working with it. He refuses to let the opportunity to get to know Frankie slip away.

And the opportunity for a possible job. That’s important, too. Just… not right at this very moment.

What the hell do I wear?

He glances at the pair of glasses he’s been neglecting lately, just annoyed he needs yet another tool of assistance to help him function; his vision blurs easily these days, especially with migraines. And while it’s not severe, he’s been warned to wear the glasses to prevent further deterioration of his vision.

To Steve, it’s another reminder of how broken he feels. If this was about anyone else, he wouldn’t feel that way, but when it comes to himself, the internal ableism never ends.

Just like the day before, everything hurts terribly. It’s one of those days where even certain fabrics and elastics add to the widespread ache, and it’s not like he has to dress up, but he doesn’t want to just show up in sweats, either.

At least I don’t have to wear that ugly, stiff uniform anymore.

He opts for a well-worn, loose cardigan with a pair of jeans that he ripped at the knee years ago; the tear is conveniently over his bad knee, making it easier to wear the brace he has on his bad joint days. And today, he really needs it.

Steve also needs a boost of confidence and a way to shake his nerves; the thought of seeing Frankie again and possibly getting another job have him on edge.

Too bad there’s no medical device to assist him on that one.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Noticing the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door of the record shop, Steve hesitates, realizing he should’ve asked Frankie about the hours; a tiny note taped to the bottom of the sign catches his eye. “Unless your name is Steve,” is scribbled in disheveled handwriting, with a small smiley face drawn at the end.

Entering the record shop, he first sees Frankie, sitting criss-crossed on the checkout counter; her cane is laid over her lap while she’s meticulously applying stickers to the aluminum. The door’s chime goes off, and her head pops up, immediately breaking into the warm smile Steve had thought about since the last time they spoke.

“Steve!” There’s an urge within her to hop off the counter and greet him with a hug, but she holds back, reminding herself that they’re barely even friends. “Hi,” She opts for a wave instead, eyes falling to the coffees, one in each hand.

He shyly nods with a sweet smile, all bundled up in layers most folks would consider unnecessary. For him and his temperature intolerance, the obnoxious amount of warmth is very necessary.

“Hi, Frankie,” He hands her coffee over to her, in all its icy, sugary sprinkled glory. She takes it, eyes crinkling as she smiles wide. Steve can’t help teasing, “Cade’s right, you really are sick for liking iced coffee in the winter.”

Her smile flips into a comical frown before snarking, “He’s never getting that damn tape now.”

“The one about dinosaurs?”

Frankie snorts just as she takes a sip of her coffee, covering her face with her sweater bundled arm.

“Robin told me you’d say something like that.”

“… So it’s not about—“

“Steve, it’s the name of a band,” She giggles, moving her arm away from her face. Steve notices the way her sleeves cascade over her hands completely; the sweater she’s in is way too big, but with that and her flowing skirt, she looks comfortable, and warm.

“Right. I knew that!” He tries playing it off with a shrug, “They’re great.”

“You’ve never listened to them before have you?”

He laughs at the knowing smirk Frankie gives him, shaking his head, “Yeah, no, not at all.” If this was high school, he’d be trying to save face right now, to look cool, pretend he knew what he was talking about. Mid-twenties Steve is able to let it roll off his back, poke fun at himself, move on.

Plus, Steve knows this interaction wouldn’t happen at all in high school. Labels and useless popularity would keep them far, far apart. He’s alright with that; Frankie definitely didn’t need someone like ‘King Steve’ and his bullshit to deal with.

“Okay. What about Jawbreaker?”

“… The candy?”

Frankie giggles, shaking her head, before running down a list of bands off the top of her head; The Cure, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Strawberry Switchblade, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, the list went on. Steve says most he’s heard of, but never listened to. Some, he’s heard some of their singles on the radio.

“You’re into all that… punk stuff, right?” He’s a little lost, but he’s headed in the right direction. Frankie doesn’t tease him for it, though.

“To an embarrassing degree,” She smiles, crinkling her nose, and oh, god, Steve’s not expecting the way that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “And new wave, grunge, honestly some pop, too— oh! Dolly Parton! Just her, though, can’t get into any other country otherwise. I’m a mess when it comes to music interests.” She shrugs.

He shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off before unwinding his scarf; Frankie catches on immediately, pointing to the coat rack behind the counter.

“No… it suits you.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“O- oh, no, I meant that in a— it’s a— nice way, promise!” Frankie smirks as he stumbles over his words. “So… got any recommendations on what to start with?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Steve. I’m gonna make you a mixtape later.” No pretentious undertone can be found in her words; Frankie’s just really excited to introduce someone to music they haven’t heard. “What do you listen to, then?”

Steve sits on the stool behind the counter while Frankie still hangs out on the countertop, kicking her legs over the side now. He watches as she continues sticker-bombing her cane; it’s got quite the variety of holographic stars sprinkled about.

“Uh…” He shrugs, tugging at the edges of his sleeves before shoving them in the pockets of his cardigan. “Whatever sounds good, I guess.”

Frankie narrows her eyes at him, “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

Steve nervously laughs as a hint of red creeps across his face.

“Okay, uh… Queen, Springsteen, some of Bowie’s stuff—“

“Some?”

“I just- I can’t get into it all!” He stammers out. Frankie dramatically sighs, throwing her head back with a hand over her forehead, pretending like she’ll faint. When she levels her gaze to him again, she gives a teasing smirk, and he carries on, red in the face. “I like U2’s last album… uh, shit. What’s it called?”

“Achtung Baby?” She’s so quick to answer in a nonchalant tone, like this is common knowledge.

“Yeah! That one.”

“Oh, you’d really get along with my dad, then,” She teases, watching Steve’s expression flatten in a playful annoyance. “That’s not a bad thing! Bring it up in your next appointment— actually, don’t. He’ll talk about it for hours.”

Steve laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger, “Alright, I’ll try to remember that.”

“Might want to write a reminder with the brain fog,” She quips, and it easily earns a chuckle; if anyone else tried to joke about his symptoms, he’d be bothered. To laugh it off with someone else equally as sick as him, though, is weirdly… cathartic. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on.”

“Okay, don’t make fun of me, but Blondie’s got some good stuff, too.”

“Yes!” Frankie throws her hands out excitedly. Steve admires how animated she can be.

“I like a lot of other stuff,” He’s becoming more comfortable talking about this, not as afraid of rejection. Frankie didn’t give that kind of attitude off, but he second guesses himself always these days. “But it’s just singles and stuff.”

“Gimme a list one of these days, I’ll give you some recs.” She looks up from her sticker work on her cane, warmly smiling, but it falters seconds later. “Not pushing that on you, but it might— you don’t— don’t be afraid to tell me no—“

“Frankie.” Her name comes out of Steve’s mouth like the night before, a combination of reassurance and teasing. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Dusting over her cheeks is a tint of rosy pink as her smile returns, ever so slightly. “Okay, cool.” She plucks a star sticker off the page, leaning towards Steve to stick it on his forehead. Her touch makes Steve’s heartbeat quicken, but it’s over as soon as it began. “Congrats, Steve, you’re hired.”

Brows furrowing, he doesn’t bother to remove the sticker. “What? Seriously? That was the interview?”

Frankie nods enthusiastically. “You already seemed nice, and got a good review from your best friend—“

“Seriously, what did she tell you?”

She pretends to zip her lips shut and shrugs, holding back giggles.

“I’ll get you all that boring ass paperwork later, but yeah, I’m serious.” She holds her cane out, rolling it in her hands to make sure the stars are placed the way she wants. Her tongue pokes out while she’s focused, and Steve thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. Directing her attention back to him, she continues, “I don’t wanna work with someone I just tolerate.”

Though Steve’s flattered to find he’s more than just tolerable to her, he’s still skeptical; not of her, but how this friendship is growing so easily, so suddenly. “Frankie, we barely know each other.”

“I don’t know anyone else my age that’s disabled, and you just… you get it. I wish you didn’t, but you do. If you don’t wanna work here, no hard feelings, but I want to continue getting to know you.” Her words, her tone, even her facial expression, they’re all sincere. “If you’re up for having a new friend, that is.”

Steve nods embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t care. “My friends get it to an extent, but I don’t have to explain shit to you, and it’s… well, I don’t want to say nice, ‘cause like you said, I wish you didn’t know what this was like, either. But it makes me feel a little less alone, I guess.” His fingers grip the edge of the stool between his legs, arms straight, as he looks away shyly. “And I- I’d like to make you feel a little less alone too— jesus, that makes me sound like a douche. You get what I mean, right?”

“I get you, Steve, don’t worry,” Frankie picks up her coffee, holding it out to Steve. It takes a few seconds, but he catches on, grabbing his own coffee to hold out to her. “To a sick friendship. Get it. Sick? ‘Cause we’re both—“

Steve knocks his cup against hers, smirking, “Yikes, I thought my humor was corny.”

“Fine, no more jokes at all, then.” She deadpans, but her expression immediately cracks, breaking into a laugh, one that scrunches her nose and crinkles the edges of her eyes. It’s contagious, pulling Steve into her fit of laughter, too. “Yeah, I got a good feeling about you, Steve.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Oh, we’re not that far in the friendship, buddy.” She props her cane onto the floor, sliding off the counter. The proximity between her and Steve when she’s on her feet is a little too close for him to handle, breath hitching in his throat. “Gotta earn the sappy moments, man.”

With that, Frankie rounds the counter, heading towards an aisle of vinyl records. She turns back to him, “Well, you want a tour?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he scrambles off the chair, “Y- yeah, that’d be— I probably need to know where things are.” Frankie resists teasing him further, leading him around the shop.

The pair walk slowly as she points out the main sections, split into three— vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs.

“I still can’t get behind ‘em. They’re too flimsy for my clumsy self.” Frankie’s lips curl in a snarl as she eyes up the racks of the shiny discs, tucked away in their jewel cases.

“At least they’re not LaserDiscs,” Steve murmurs, cringing. “I hated those things.”

“Yeah, never was a fan myself,” Her brows crinkle. “They’re like frisbees.”

“But vinyl… isn’t?”

“No. And I’m not elaborating.”

“Francesca, you’re something else.”

She scoffs playfully, “Can’t believe you just called me that. You’re fired.”

“Mhm, sure.” He smirks before glancing around the shop; it’s on the smaller side, but jam-packed with nearly anything and everything music related. Beyond CDs, tapes, and records, are band shirts, Walkmans, headphones, record players, tape players and boomboxes, useless novelty items, and so on. “So, when’d you open the store?”

“Oh, I didn’t. It’s not mine, only running it for now… kinda took over when the owner had to take a sick leave.” Frankie begins leading Steve towards the back, through a worn, beaded curtain. She points to an open door, “Stockroom,” Then, to the door across the hall. “Break room.”

Steve acknowledges her directions with a nod before asking, “Oh, are they okay? Well, wait. Shit. I guess not if they’re on— my bad.”

Frankie gives him a half-smile, more for the sake of reassurance, along with an answer, “Dementia. So, uh, yeah. Probably not coming back.” A pained expression washes over Steve’s features. “The own— Mr. Fisher wanted to close the shop when his health continued declining, so I told him I’d keep it going for him. This was before the diagnosis, he just knew something was wrong and warned me he’d most likely shut down.”

“That’s… fucked.”

“Yeah. He actually lived a few floors up, now he’s in a senior living home.” She wanders into the break room, falling onto the worn couch hanging out in the heavily used space. Steve sits on the opposite side, not wanting to invade her personal space as he listens intently. “Cool dude, hired me years ago, and he was really into jazz when he was younger. Like, used to play the sax for a living. He knew nothing about punk music, but he loved asking me about it. I learned a lot about jazz from him, too.

“He was empathetic with my pain, too. The couch is back here ‘cause he felt bad I had nowhere to rest on break. Then he ended up using it more than I did.” Frankie’s a little dazed as she retells the circumstances. “I knew he’d never get better, and he knew it too, but I told him I’d love to watch over the business until he’s ready to come back. Couldn’t stand watching this place close, so… yeah. S’why I asked you.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.” It’s all Steve can come up with, but it’s genuine, and she can tell.

“I hope it doesn’t come off like I’m telling you this so you’re guilted into being here, ‘cause if you wanna find another job, don’t feel like you have to st—“

“You do that a lot,” Steve blurts out, but it’s not mean-spirited. He stammers, “N- not that— it’s not bad— sorry—-“

“And you do that a lot,” Frankie observes bluntly. “Guess we’re kinda similar in the whole ‘overly apologetic’ department, huh?”

Steve glances at her, sighing with a hint of a sad smile. “Guess we are.” He rests his head on the back of the couch, blowing air between pursed lips as his eyes fixate on the ceiling. “Anyway, you’re not guilting me. I’m staying.” Then he sits back up, narrowing his stare at her. “Unless I’m still fired.”

She sits up, shoving her hand out towards him. He grabs it as she shakes it obnoxiously, snorting, “Steve Harrington, you’re re-hired.”

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“Fibro’s just like… a bag of jellybeans.”

Steve scoffs out a laugh, lost on Frankie’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”

At the end of the day, Frankie and Steve wound up at a diner, still caught up in the excitement of getting to know a new friend.

“Y’know, it’s always a mystery over what color and flavor you end up with ‘til you get it.” Frankie begins to explain, hands on the diner’s table; Steve’s noticed she talks with her hands, a lot. She’s always so animated, even talking about the most mundane subjects. “And you might have ‘em all, but there might be more of one flavor, or another. Fibromyalgia is just a bag of symptoms, ‘cause you don’t know what’s gonna hurt that day ‘til it does— does that make sense?”

“Oh, like, I get a lot of headaches, sometimes ocular migraines— the first few times, those freaked me out, and joint pain the most, but the other symptoms still exist, too, just not as frequently.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut with a nod, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Right? Or maybe I’m way off—“

“No, that’s exactly it!

“That’s actually… a really good analogy,” He tucks the comparison away in his mind, for future use. “Wait, so you also have fibromyalgia?”

Frankie’s about to answer, until the waitress brings their milkshakes and fries to the table. Her smile over something as simple as a milkshake is contagious, and Steve finds himself grinning along with her.

“Yeah, but we found out lupus was a bigger concern,” She shares casually. “Y’know, I wouldn’t wish fibro on anyone, but I’m pissed you have to deal with it.”

Steve’s face distorts into confusion. “Why d’ya say that?”

“It’s such a fucking mess of a disability. Tests come back normal, x-rays show nothing, MRIs are clear, too— shit is so infuriating. You’re living in constant pain and most people don’t believe you. Then ya’ got these fuckin’ misogynistic doctors who see it as a “woman’s disease”— yeah, it’s more prevalent in women, but men get it too, and it’s like y’all are told to just… suck it up. “Man up”. Deal with it.

“Honestly… not sure which sucks to be told more, that you’re just “hysterical and attention seeking” for being sick as a woman, or being told you’re just a “whiny baby” if you’re sick as a man.”

Steve only stares at her; Frankie feels warm under his gaze, sinking into the booth.

“Sorry, I— you’re so spot on, I have nothing to add.” Steve’s shaking his head, fidgeting with his napkin. “But I can’t get over that someone my age fucking gets it.”

Frankie sighs, relieved to hear she wasn’t overdoing it with her rambling.

“Steve, I hate that we’re both in pain, but it’s… it’s nice not having to struggle alone, for once.” She stretches her legs under the booth, resting her boots on the cushion on Steve’s side. He mirrors her, sneakers kicking up to rest next to her. She smiles, nudging his shoe with her elbow. “Copycat.”

“You really lucked out having a dad who’s a doctor,” Steve softly chuckles, and Frankie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately, he panics he might’ve said the wrong thing. “I- I don’t mean that in a bad way—“

“No, I know you didn’t. He—” Frankie looks off, eyes fixating on the bustling traffic out the window, despite the two of them being seated in the far end of the diner. She looks back to her milkshake, swirling the straw mindlessly. “He wasn’t always a doctor. He wasn’t in the medical field at all, not ‘til I got sick as a kid.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yup. He got tired of taking me to specialists for them to always say I was being overdramatic, or “Oh, she’s a girl, she might just be faking that for attention.” I guess what I was going through made him realize shit had to change for the sake of us sick folks. I don’t know how anyone would be able to juggle a full time job, full time med school, and raising a kid on their own, but he did it. Even if shit is terrible most of the time, I’m grateful to have a dad as incredible as him.”

Steve let Frankie’s words sink in before curiosity took its hold, “He’s a single parent?”

Frankie sips from her milkshake, looking back at Steve as she sits back. “Wasn’t always, but yeah. Never met my mom, she, uh, she was sick, too. Cancer. Passed before my first birthday.”

“Jesus, Frankie… I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs, trying to let the everlasting sting roll off her back. “I heard she was really sweet, and funny. My dad showed me some home movies a few years back, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was so pretty, and happy, and—“ She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. “God, I’m sorry for rambling.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If you ever wanna talk about this… or anything, I might not know what to say, but I’ll always listen.”

“Right back at ya’, Steve,” She murmurs, gaze friendly before sipping her milkshake.

“I don’t think you want to know my story,” He tries shrugging it off, as if a chuckle would follow, but never does.

“I do, and I mean that.” She firmly states, locking eyes with him. “But only when you’re comfortable sharing it.”

Steve nods, “Yeah. Maybe someday. Kinda hard to even talk to my therapist still about it.”

“You’ll get there eventually. On your own terms.” Frankie can tell he’s uncomfortable, searching for a change of subject. She looks back at his legs, still next to her in the booth. “Isn’t your leg cold?” She nods to the hole in his jeans, right above his knee.

“Yeah, but I needed to wear my knee brace today.”

“I can sew loose, stretchy fabric in, and snaps to remove it, if that helps,” She slurps down the last of the milkshake. “You cool with hanging out longer?”

Steve can’t suppress the grin that graces his face.

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Frankie’s apartment is in a repurposed warehouse; a large studio, cluttered with art supplies scattered all about. An easel hangs out in the wide open room near a window, with canvasses, both finished and unfinished everywhere surrounding it. Cups and cups of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, pastels, graphite pencils and drawing pads strewn atop nearly every surface. A sewing machine rested snug in a corner of the open room.

Among it all was the kitchen and living room; down a hallway were the doors to the bathroom, and her bedroom.

After Steve changes into the sweats Frankie found for him, he enters the main room, holding the sweatpants up by the waistband awkwardly, handing his pair of jeans over to her.

“Sorry, I knew they’d be kinda big, but not that much.” She has jersey knit fabric already cut, sewing snaps to the edges. As she works, she elaborates, “I keep a buncha sizes in clothes, ‘cause my weight fluctuates all the time with flare ups.”

“That’s actually… really smart.”

“Yeah, I got tired of buying and donating the same several sizes over and over. Just easier, and cheaper, to keep ‘em all on hand.” Frankie’s zoned into the impromptu project, so Steve wanders around her apartment, stopping at the kitchen table, blanketed with multiple sketches.

“I didn’t know you could draw.” He wonders aloud, glancing over the sketch pad papers. There’s a certain style he can’t quite put his finger on with her work; for plain subjects and ideas, they’re incredible.

Steve turns to the easel with her latest work in progress. It’s a portrait of a woman weeping, holding a mask of her face that’s smiling over her real expression. It’s gorgeous work, but he feels a pang in his chest, wondering if Frankie feels this way more often than not.

“Holy shit, Frankie…” He breathes, recognizing his own struggles through the piece; how often he feels as if he needs to bury his own pain to keep everyone else comfortable. Then again, who hasn’t felt at one point or another they need to cover up how they truly feel?

“I hope that’s a good “holy shit”,” She responds as she continues sewing.

“Your work is amazing,” He’s still staring at the painting, admiring how her art style is slightly unkempt, and leans toward traditional tattoo-style art, but she makes it work somehow; some of the paint bleeds outside the lines, or speckles in random splotches, like watercolors, but it adds character. “Do you just paint as a hobby?”

“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything,” She murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, but still weighed down with disappointment. She pulls the denim away from the sewing machine, trimming away the loose threads. “Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”

Oh.

“Shit. That’s…” Again, Steve can’t find proper words of empathy. “I’m sorry.”

Frankie finally glances over her shoulder at him, “Kinda normal for folks like us to leave behind our dreams. Mourn what our lives could’ve been, and what they used to be.”

The familiarity of surrender in her voice hits Steve hard. He might not have had the same dreams to give up to prioritize his health, but it’s still an experience similar to hers. Giving up any dreams or goals he had to accept they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to life. He’s watched his life’s potential slip through his fingers, and has no way of stopping it from vanishing completely.

Mourning what your life was isn’t easy, either. Reminiscing on better health in earlier times of your existence, proof you’ll never be that happy, that healthy again— even if Steve was unhappy deep down in high school, he wishes he had the energy to still fake it.

“Yeah. Fucking sucks.” He mutters. At the same time, Frankie turns to him, holding his jeans out for him to take.

Steve glances over her handiwork, grateful to have soft fabric that’ll finally work with his knee brace, while being removable when it’s too warm out.

“On the bright side, at least you’ve got a friend who gets it now.” She’s speaking softly, with so much, too much, understanding. It helps to finally have a friend who can relate, but with that comes sharing the same emotional hardships, ones that feel endless.

Still, it’s better than navigating that all on your own.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It’s been a handful of weeks— maybe about a month and change— since Steve’s life began to feel good again. He’s not sure how long exactly, he just knows since finding a doctor that sincerely cared for his patients, and befriending Frankie, someone his age he could finally relate to, he doesn’t care to keep track of time like a dismal countdown.

He’s not counting the days he feels like a prisoner in his own body anymore.

Timing, though, is always perfectly unfortunate when it comes to Steve’s luck, and life.

On a dull Wednesday night, he and Frankie are closing up the shop before their plans to meet up with Robin at the diner. Steve has had a muted ache in his head since the previous night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, thankfully. He took some Tylenol earlier in the day, and that helped with staving off most of the pain. Any relief he can find, he happily takes.

The sun isn’t setting as early anymore, a sign winter’s almost at its end; he’s been looking forward to spring, because this cold has done no favors to his aching joints. Until then, he’s still bundling up ridiculously to keep from violently shaking in the cold.

“Hey, Frankie?” He’s looking behind the counter, puzzled. His head feels heavy, thoughts settling in a thick fog. Pushing past it, he asks, “Have you seen my scarf?”

Frankie returns from the tiny stockroom, keys swinging lazily on her finger. “Is it the blue one?”

“No, it’s—“ Steve pauses, hands on the counter to hold himself up from a sudden bout of dizziness. He gives a weak laugh, “I can’t even remember if I wore one at all. Maybe I didn’t.”

Frankie’s quick to notice something’s not right when Steve practically white knuckles the edge of the counter; her firsthand experience with chronic illness is setting off alarms in her head.

“Steve, you should sit down—“ She rushes around to him, pushing the stool towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushes him gently into the chair. “What’s going on?”

“S’blurry,” Is all he mutters to her. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shivers, speaking up a bit more, “You’re always cold.”

She keeps her panic to herself, and rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, pulling her hand away to reach into her bag on the floor; straightening back up with a heavily sticker-bombed water bottle, she hands it to him.

“When’d you last eat?”

Steve shrugs, weakly sipping out of the bottle. “Uh, a few hours ago, I think.” He’s struggling to stay in conversation as the vision in his one eye blurs. “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye.” He points to the right side of his face, hand nearly limp.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Been hurting all day, actually,” He waves his hand in front of his own face, repeating, “Yeah I- I can’t see a damn thing out of this eye.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t a big deal ‘til now— shit—“ Steve clutches his head; everything’s too overwhelming. The lights are too bright, the buzz of electricity is too loud, and he feels nauseous. The dizziness is only growing stronger, too. Curling into himself, he doubles over, head in his hands as he leans towards his legs. “God, I hate this.”

Frankie rushes to the light switch across the room, turning off all the lights inside; the only light available is what wanders in from the city outside through the windows.

There was one crucial detail Steve left out when he confided in Frankie about his ocular migraines: the pain is so intense, it works in tandem with his anxiety, triggering flashbacks of those miserable last few years in Hawkins.

They roll through so quickly in his mind; the first time he fought off a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan. When Steve became a personal punching bag for Billy nearly one year later, the same night he had been roped into fighting off demodogs with the kids, nearly dying multiple times before the sun rose again. The fucked up elevator in Starcourt that plummeted to an artificial hell that also nearly killed him and his friends. He could picture the fists flying at him, his honest answers for the countless times he was asked “who do you work for?” never enough for his captors.

“Stop, stop, stop—“

Frankie hears Steve whimpering while his flashbacks drag him deeper into the past.

Because who can just forget nearly dying far too many times with your friends before turning twenty? Why forget it when the past just continues to help you survive even further carnage?

His lungs burn while he recalls swimming down to the bottom of the lake, in search of the gate, only to be pulled back down after resurfacing to his friends. It’s not easy to erase the way he fought for his life once dragged into the Upside Down, especially not when the scars refuse to fade, continuing to keep the nightmare alive. Even if his scars blended into his worn, tired skin now, the proof lies in each and every person in the group. Hell, the proof is in anyone from Hawkins.

“Steve—“ Frankie’s voice breaks through to him, only for a moment, too quick to pull him out of this traumatic loop of memories.

Vecna. Stumbling upon Eddie, nearly dead, in Dustin’s arms. The “earthquake”. Max deep in a coma in the hospital. Watching the Upside Down bleed into reality on this plane of existence. The ultimate downfall of what was once his hometown— once a haven of memories, good and bad, ones that taught him life lessons, ones that he still reminisces on to this day. Leaving behind everything he loved in that shitty little town. Goodbyes with everyone as they all split their separate ways, with hopes and dreams of making the most of a new life somewhere safe.

Hawkins, Indiana was wiped off the map. Wiped from existence to keep the rest of the world safe.

Hawkins was only a memory, now.

Hawkins was gone.

“Hi, y- yeah, we need an ambulance, my friend, h- he—“

Everyone made it out alive, but what was the point when everyone was hurting badly, one way or another?

What’s the point in surviving if you continue to live in your own personal hell? He thinks, barely making out Frankie reciting the address for the record store. He blindly reaches out for her, still folded over in agony.

Instead of finding her, he finds himself slipping off the chair, hitting the cold, hard floor before abruptly losing his grip on reality.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The first thing Steve sees when his eyes weakly flutter open is Frankie. Everything is blurry, but not like before; his vision slowly comes into focus, while the edges of tunnel vision have faded away. A dim, frail smile appears on his face at her sleeping figure, curled up next to him.

Pressure in his head spreads, like there’s an ache about to begin, but it never does, held at bay. That’s when he notices the IV in his arm, prying his eyes open a little more, baffled and trying to sift through the brain fog.

Frankie stirs, eyes squinting open, but once she sees Steve’s awake, her eyes widen; she sits up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair she folded herself into, catching herself at the last minute.

“Steve—“

“Hi Frankie,” He smiles, dopey and sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap, and not a medical scare. She grabs his hand, and he blushes. Looking down at their hands clasped together, a dazed look covers his features. “Your hand’s not very cold. You okay?”

A laugh slips out of Frankie, “I think all the panic made me overheated.” Her bottom lip wobbles, despite Steve’s lips still curved up lazily, “You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be asking you that.”

“M’fine, I feel great, actually.”

“That would be the drugs doing their job, buddy.” She’s surprised to hear herself giggle, but it rises a weak yet genuine laugh out of Steve. Her thumb softly swipes back and forth on his hand, still in hers. “You scared the hell outta me, Steve.”

His face drops, beginning to realize the severity of the situation, despite gaps of memory to recall on. “I… don’t remember anything.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

He wordlessly nods.

“Your head hurt all day, but you didn’t tell me until a migraine started,” Frankie sighs, gently pushing his sweat-matted hair away from his eyes. “I think it was an ocular migraine, ‘cause you told me you couldn’t— well, in your exact words, you said “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye”, and then it— you—”

It all floods back to Steve in a flash— his headache that rolled into a sudden, ocular migraine, making him dizzy and weak. How his right eye went blind, then everything hurt, sent him into a panic, and triggered the flashbacks.

“You fell, too, but thankfully you landed on my bag instead of the floor.” She reaches down to his forehead, just above his brow, gently sweeping a thumb across his skin. “There’s a small bruise, but could’ve been worse.”

That, he ignores. Instead, Steve’s heart drops at the thought of what Frankie might’ve heard or seen. Before he can ask, she gathers the courage to tell him.

“You we’re crying, saying ‘I wanna go home’ a- and ‘stop, stop, stop,’” Her fingers grip his hand, shaking. He squeezes back, sobering up fast from the pain medication. “You kept calling out names, calling for Robin, and I- I don’t know who else, but you sounded so hurt, Steve.”

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Frankie whispers, “oh” and grabs a handful of tissues from the side table, handing them over to him.

“I— goddammit. I’m so sorry, Frankie.”

“It’s okay—“

He shakes his head, eyes falling shut; he can’t look at her right now, he feels nothing but shame.

“It’s not. It never will be. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or lie, but I- I- I—“ In the midst of his panic, he remembers the plans they had with Robin. His bloodshot eyes lock with Frankie’s teary ones. “Shit, does Robin know—“

“She’s on her way. Thankfully she stopped by instead of meeting us at the diner, right when the ambulance came. I asked if Robin wanted to go with you, but she asked if I could instead; she wanted to grab your meds and a few other things.” Frankie reassures him, but Steve can’t shake the guilt, can’t escape the embarrassment. “Robin’s really a great best friend.”

Steve rubs his eyes, nodding as his voice wavers, “Best friend I ever had. I- I’d be dead without her.”

“Give yourself some credit, man.” A familiar voice floats into the room; Frankie and Steve both look across the hospital room to find Robin, along with Eddie and Dustin trailing in behind her.

“It’s definitely that charming stubbornness to survive y’got going on,” Robin teases lightheartedly.

Frankie looks back at Steve, finding his face about to light up, but he just falls apart again. She releases his hand so Robin can hug him. Steve shakes in her grasp, while Robin murmurs “you’re okay, you’re safe”, soft enough for only Steve to hear; Frankie’s still able to catch it, though.

“Wh— what are you two doing here?”

“You picked the best time to go to the ER,” Dustin grins, trying to point out the bright side. “We were gonna surprise you at the diner, but now we get to surprise you here!” Steve’s smile wavers; he wants to be happy to see his friends again, but the sudden visit and multiple voices, louder than Frankie, makes him wince, too.

Still, he finds himself asking, “Dustin, why are you excited about that?”

“‘Cause, hospitals suck. Unless Eddie and I are in ‘em.” Dustin looks over at Frankie with a questioning, yet friendly look. “Who— oh. Are you Frankie?”

Her cheeks turn rosy while Steve groans, head falling back on the pillow.

Trying to redirect, Eddie teases, “The kid tells no lies, we’re the best free entertainment a hospital can get.” He’s shooting Steve a knowing look that earns a short-lived laugh out of him.

Now Steve knows how Max felt when she woke from her coma, when Eddie was finally stable enough to leave his room next to hers. How him and Dustin did everything they could, said whatever they could say, to crack a smile on her face.

It’s the thought that counts, he thinks, grateful to have friends who care. Steve always felt like everyone would forget him when they all left Hawkins behind. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everyone else. Putting them first. Making sure everyone was safe and sound before himself.

How relieved he was to be wrong, for once.

“How you holding up?” Dustin asks,

“Uh… I…”

All of this is overwhelming; Steve’s still trying to process what happened, was in the middle of Frankie retelling details, and now he’s on an emotional rollercoaster from a surprise visit from two friends he hadn’t seen in god knows how long.

On top of all of that, his head is one loud, startling noise or bright light away from kicking off another migraine.

Robin can tell he’s a step away from falling apart, so she jumps in to give him some breathing room. “I think… we should get snacks from the vending machine. Do either of you want anything?” Frankie shakes her head, and Steve only shrugs without an answer. “We’ll be back, ‘kay?” She backs up, gently pushing the two curly heads out of the room despite their protests; the room falls silent once again.

Steve sighs loudly, eyes shutting as he relaxes into the bed. “I love them, but I— it’s just—“

“Bad timing, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for space.” Frankie assures him, then adds, “I should’ve asked too, do you need me to leave?”

“Don’t,” Steve’s cursing himself inwardly for answering so quickly. “Un- unless you wanna leave—“

“I wanna stay,” She answers at an embarrassing speed, making Steve smile. “I— I can stay overnight, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

“They’ll let you do that?”

“Usually, no, but I know the nurse on shift tonight, and she’s incredibly sweet. Told me already I can stay if I need to.” Frankie smirks. “One, tiny upside of being a hospital regular. Honestly, everyone’s nice here, at least who I’ve met.” She stops herself from rambling, glancing at Steve with concern. “You need anything right now?”

Steve murmurs, “No, just cold,” and releases her hand to pull the covers over himself, shivering. As he does, Frankie catches the scar around his neck while the flimsy hospital gown shifts along with him, exposing a sliver more of him than she’s seen.

He notices her stare, hand flying to his neck in a pathetic attempt to cover it; he’s quick to stammer out an excuse, “Oh that’s, uh, from— it’s actually a long story, but it’s not— it’s—“

Frankie shakes her head, reaching for Steve’s hand to squeeze softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not unless you’re ready and want to. Whatever your story is, Steve, it’s for you to tell on your own terms.”

Again, she watches him relax from a tensed state.

“Thank you, ‘Key.”

She smirks, “Y’know, I only let people I’m close to call me that.”

“Oh- oh, shit, I’m—“ He sits up, about to stammer out an apology, but her free hand gently stops him before pushing him back down slowly.

“That includes you.”

“Really?”

“Just one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You tell me if you’re in pain. I know that’s nearly all the time, but if you can’t come in, or can’t hang out, you tell me. Hell, if you need, you can call me if you’re home alone and just need to talk about it.” She softly demands and suggests. Steve nods; it’s only fair, especially after tonight’s scare. “Or even if you still come to work or want to keep plans, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. I’d rather you take care of yourself than push your body past its limits.”

Steve’s mind races around for the right words to return to her, but all he can respond with is a sincere, “Thank you, Frankie.” Then he adds quickly, “All of what you just said, that applies to you too. Got it?” He tries coming off stern, playfully, of course; instead, his lips crack into a smile, but the sentiment is still true.

“Got it, Stevie,” She tries winking, but it looks more like a twitch, and the two burst into giggles. “You make it look so easy whenever you wink!”

Steve just shoots her a smooth, quick wink. In return, he gets her playful eye roll. He finds comfort and safety in the harmless teasing between one another.

Things might’ve gone to hell tonight, but at least Steve didn’t go through it alone.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

When everyone returned to the hospital room, they made sure to keep their tones quiet, soft, and Steve felt some guilt over that, but he reminded himself too that he’s lucky to have friends who accommodate his needs.

He catches Robin, Dustin, and Eddie up to speed, leaving out the gory, telling details of his flashbacks; Robin must’ve warned Dustin and Eddie to not speak about the Upside Down, for Frankie’s sake. And really, for Steve’s sake, too. After his mind ran through every event, every memory, down to the very last detail, he was exhausted. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about was Hawkins, and all the horrors it once contained.

And once proper introductions were made, Steve admired the way Dustin and Eddie automatically included Frankie into every part of the conversation, making sure she felt welcomed among them, too.

Steve needed this. He needed the distraction, needed the laughter, the inside jokes, with stories explained to Frankie to keep her in the loop. The longer the visit went on, though, the more Steve realized at some point, he’d have to explain everything to Frankie. She told him to take his time, that he wouldn’t ever need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, but he’d rather get it out in the open sooner rather than later.

This friendship was something Steve never had with anyone else before, and he was quickly growing attached to the dynamic. He never expected to grow attached to Frankie so fast, either. Or at all.

Visiting hours end, with Dustin hugging Steve a little too tight, apologetic as he loosens his arms when Steve grumbles in pain. Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, repeating a sentiment from the time they were stuck in the elevator in Starcourt. “If you die, I die. So don’t die.”

“Oh, we changed that one up a bit? Alright,” Robin snorts, and Dustin flips her off.

Meanwhile, Steve only shrugs. “Okay.”

“Some things never change,” Robin mutters, shaking her head.

The older two out of the trio say their goodbyes, too, with Eddie reminding in a sing-song voice, “Gonna bother you again tomorrow, Big Boy.”

“Please, for the love of—“ Steve sighs, sinking under the covers, embarrassed. “Stop calling me that.” Frankie’s lost, but still giggling over the exchanges; he points at her, “No, don’t— do not encourage his nonsense”

“Respectfully, no, I’ll never stop.” He grins while Robin shoves him out of the room. As he’s nearly out the door, he waves and shouts, “Nice meeting you, Frankie!”

Alone, yet again, Frankie bites her lip to contain her laughter, and Steve narrows a glare at her. “Oh, I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble with them.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault your friends are funny and charming.”

“They’re anything but—“

“Oh, I’m telling ‘em tomorrow you said that.”

“Where’s your proof, Amato?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Harrington.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

Laughing, his brows knit together, “I would!”

He tries to conjure a better comeback to throw her way, but his thoughts fizzle out while watching her set up the chairs into a makeshift bed.

“Frankie.”

She spins around, watching Steve lean up on his elbow. “Huh?”

“You’re not sleeping on those chairs. That’s gonna kill your neck. And your back.” Steve deadpans, pulling his glasses off to set them on the nightstand. “And every other joint in your body.”

Frankie snorts, holding her arms out, “Then where am I sleeping, Steve?”

“Up here,” He’s even surprised by his own boldness, but carries through. “With me.”

If one could hold someone’s gaze in a death grip, Frankie would be doing that right now with Steve’s stare; disbelief and skepticism floods through her thoughts.

“Unless that’s too— if you’re not comfortable—“

“Steve,” Frankie pushes past the way her round cheeks flush red, “We gotta stop second guessing ourselves like this.”

“Yeah, but I just don’t want to assume—“

“When you’re close with someone, assumptions are kind of a given. When someone gets you, it’s not offensive.” She holds the extra pillow a nurse gave her earlier to her chest. “I’m okay with it, if you are. And I’m going to assume you are, because you asked—“

“Demanded—“

Her mouth falls open at his bluntness, “Okay, Big Boy, slow down—“

“Francesca,” He groans, falling back onto the pillows, “please do not call me that.”

She laughs softly, tugging the edges of Steve’s lips into a soft smile; he’s a goner. He knows he is. He’s known for awhile now, but her laugh, her smile, solidifies it.

“Okay, Steven.”

Waving his arm out towards the uncomfortable hospital bed, he sasses, “Will you shut the hell up and get up here?”

“Didn’t know you were so bossy in bed, Steve,” Frankie waggles her brows at Steve, and while he tries rolling his eyes, his face falls back into a deep shade of red she’s been so easily able to pull out of him these days.

“Christ, Amato, do you ever sh—“

“Shut it, man. I’m moving as fast as a cripple can,” She teases, rounding the bed to climb into the empty side. Kicking her boots off, she swings her legs into the bed. There’s just enough room for her, but only if she presses against Steve by just a touch. “If this is too close—“

“It’s not—“

“Okay, well—“

“‘Key?” Steve’s voice wavers, soft and unsure of himself, despite the habitual teasing. “Can you— shit, this is stupid—“

“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” She reassures blindly. “Ask me.”

Steve takes a deep breath, nerves seeping through the overly confident demeanor the drugs gave him. “Can you… can—“ He sighs, frustrated with himself, before blurting out, “Can you hold me?”

Frankie doesn’t answer, not verbally; already on her side, she winds her arms around Steve’s torso, hugging him lightly from behind.

“This okay? You’re comfortable?”

He just nods definitively.

“Steve… your gown is open.”

He panics, shooting up and throwing a hand behind himself to try closing the opening, until he feels Frankie shake against him with laughter.

“You’re such a— quit laughing!” Steve laughs as he tries demanding this of Frankie.

“M’sorry, it was just— the opportunity was there, I had to take it.”

He sighs, suppressing his grin, his chuckles, laying back down. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Best place to have one though, no?” Frankie settles down, snuggling closer to him; her position is certain, yet leaves room for Steve to distance himself if he wants.

He doesn’t answer with words, just tugs her arms closer around his body, her hands to his chest.

“Hey, Frankie?”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you. I know those migraines aren’t exactly life threatening, but…” He trails off, closing his eyes before admitting the truth, “They make it so… so hard to want to be alive. I’m grateful for your help. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I— you—“ Oh, fuck it. “I didn’t expect to become so attached to our friendship, to you. But… I’m one lucky, unlucky son of a bitch to have someone in my life like you.”

Frankie feels her tears well her eyes; her and Steve are both so easily emotional— it comes with the territory of being sick on a regular basis. Who wouldn’t be? Realistically, how can you expect someone in the depths of internal and external pain to navigate this life with ease?

Neither of them are cured from the security of this friendship, but it’s reassuring to both that neither are alone in this fight against the bodies they pilot, day in, day out. No definite future for either separately, but at least they can navigate it together.

Frankie’s almost sure Steve’s asleep, so she speaks up to make sure.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She sighs, pushing her sentiment into words, solidifying the security of their friendship, at the very least.

“Whatever hell you lived through,” Her voice wavers while on the precipice of sleep, barely heard under the heart monitor’s routine beeps. “I’m glad you survived.”

He’s half asleep, heart monitor rolling to a steady crawl “M’glad I survived, too.”

#Steve Harrington x fem!oc #Steve Harrington x oc #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #my fics #accident prone

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silverskye13 · 1 year

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I think I've given up on the next RnS chapter being the way that it is, so I'm splitting it in half. So! New chapter tomorrow probably?

#spazzcat barks #redstone and skulk #i would post it tonight but its 3am #and posting will keep me up at least another hour #and given how sleepy i am now posting at 3-4am will probably mean a bunch of typos and formatting problems happen #sooooooooo #tomorrow it is

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melverie · 6 months

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I took his hair dye away

#he's not amused about this forced hair color change :(#anyway the promised mephisto post will be up in a few hours #it's almost done #after that i'm writing another mega post about solomon because the debate seems to start up again #i honestly don't know why we need to keep bringing that up again all the time if you don't like him you don't & if you do you do #both is okay #but if you're going to argue about it at least use points actually supported by the story #this is the last edit for now btw bc they take up so much time aahhh #unless of course anyone has any suggestions? haha jk #unless 👀#obey me #obey me mephistopheles #obey me edits

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funkylittlebats · 8 months

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I've been writing more again recently and I've been rereading some of my old stuff and I kinda wanna share some of it. But first,

I'd also have to come up with a tag for them so they're all searchable (to the extent that you can search tags on tumblr)

Here's a cute bat for your time

#poll #writing #this is more directed at people who at least somewhat regularly interact with me btw #just bc like #if you don't then #you'll probably never see any work that i post anyway #i'll probably be rbing this throughout the day #also btw that's a mexican free-tailed bat #they have the fastest flight of any mammal and can keep up with a peregrine falcon #(considering a peregrine falcon's flight speed not their diving speed)#and they make up the largest colony of mammals!#the colony at bracken cave in san antonio tx is home to around 15-20 million mexican free-tailed bats depending on the year #(they're a migratory species)#but if you want a cool bat viewing experience then there's another cave two hours west in a town called concan #it's the second biggest colony with 10-15 million per year and you can get way closer to the bats #(still regulated ofc) (but a lot closer) (seriously like you can smell the guano) (which doesn't smell as bad as you'd think)#i'd advise going in late august to account for both weather and when the bats will be there #i'm just always gonna be partial to the frio bat flight in concan bc i went to it a lot growing up #it's what sparked and maintained my love of bats <3 #it's also where i got my url!! their hold music is the song linked in my bio it's great i love it sm #ok i need to shut up bc i could literally talk about bats and this cave all day

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todayisafridaynight · 11 months

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stream tomorrow. ~3pm est. this fuckin site. if i dont get hit by a car by then.

#snap chats #ill make another reminder post an hour before the stream tomorrow dont worry #yes this is related yes this is also so i can be angry FUCK #imagine being an american and waking up and reading the news and wanting to light everything on fire #anyways. before i bring politics into my funny sideblog.#ive been shirking /drafting/ a comic all week cause i keep getting distracted And Brother I Feel Another Impulsive Idea Enter The Dome #ok im lying its another idea ive had cooking in the back ever since i made my initial tattoo post but it's a short silly comic #so i think i can get the one day Relatively quickly #BUUUUT the main monster i wanna do.... idk what ive been shirking it it SHOULDNT be terribly long #it SHOULD be pretty simple and just me being Smart and Funny right and yet... brain broken.#i dont know if i want to make it especially long or keep it short and sweet...#SOOOO this all relates back to Stream Tomorrow because i wanna have it at least DRAFTED in my head by then #not another accountability stream... uh oh...#i vow to be less annoying this time around i looked in the mirror and reviewed myself and said 'bitch shut up you fidgety bastard'#so HOPEFULLY i'll be less erratic #in any case. off to do that mini comic. i guess it's more of a warm up in my book #bye bye ill see yall in five. hours.#cause apparently thats how long it takes me to COLOR SHIT god forbid sketching and lining and kms #ok bye fr stay sexy

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tchaikovskym · 1 year

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Every time I bond with someone, after some time I've seen all their flaws and I don't love them like I used to, and I feel a sense of alienation,

Even though they haven't done anything wrong, I just... grow tired of them

And that's why I don't think I'm capable of love. There hasn't been a person yet I've wanted to keep a strong bond with after a long period of time

#this is about my coworkers lol #and todays hike #like im a bit petty because they kept rushing and i kept saying that were going too fast bc of all the km ahead #and at first i tried to follow them but at one point i grew to tired and said fuck it #so i lagged behind at my own pace and they had to wait for me after they had gone ahead for a couple of times #and at one point they took a piss break and i was like nope. im going. youre going to catch up with me #and so they did #anyway never going hiking with coworkers again #we actually had another hike before which was cool and we went slowly but today idk. shit #at least quitting will be less hard now lol #also im so tired of them. they keep gossiping about everyone and i literally dont care #but also this post is about my past friendhips too. the girl with the falling out.#maybe there is one friend im cool with and will be cool with forever bc we meet like 2 times a year and dont bother each other with the #every day details of our lives.#so im not sure i could actually love anyone to the point id like to live with them for the rest of my life.#like thats the ideal fantasy goal but in reality i dont think i can handle people #anyway im still pissed about the hike. even with lunch in between we finished it in 6 hours instead of the 8-10hours stated in the guide #like why the fuck would you rush through a hike? its not a marathon and i have short legs aaaahhhhh #sorry but yall long since knew youre following erins life blog right okay love you

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magpod-confessions · 16 hours

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(ignore this ask if i’ve sent this already, i had a brief panic about whether i hallucinated sending this and thought i’d just ask again to be safe lol)

“the web is underrated” “the buried is underrated” “the dark is the most underrated”

yes. you are right, i agree. but they are all underrated. none of the fears get the attention they deserve.

the dark and the end are almost completely forgotten about due to their perceived simplicity. the buried, the flesh, the hunt, etc are so unexplored, no one bothers to look any deeper into them. the desolation is not just fire, but no one ever tries to represent it some other way. don’t get me started on the whole spiral-distortion thing (perhaps i will make this a future confession bc oh boy do i have a lot to say). with all of them people seem to be scared of diverging from the explicit canon representations.

no one seems to care about the fears anymore. THE fears. you know, the one thing that makes tma so special? i’ve lost count of the number of times i’ve seen someone say “after listening to tma i can never look at things the same. i always categorise them by the entities” yet people don’t really seem to care all that much

that’s all they are treated as, categories. perhaps this is an odd way to describe horrific manifestations of our deepest fears, but i think they are beautiful concepts. i could spend hours thinking about each one and the ways they bleed into one another, i probably have.

yeah, at this point smirke’s 14 are old news, but there are always new angles to explore. we saw that in season 5 of tma, and we are seeing it now in tmagp (though the fears are of course different). why did we stop talking about that? (i wasn’t actually on tumblr when tma was happening so idk. maybe no one ever cared)

talk about the fears, put your ideas for unconventional statements or avatar or whatever out there, there’s an audience (me at least). say stuff about how different fears crossover, or some new aspect of one. “but surely people would have already said this at some point” respectfully, i don’t give a shit. if i come across mutliple posts analysing a similar aspect of the vast, i’m going to be fucking overjoyed. because much of the fears is up to intepretation, they have slightly different meanings to different people, so every single person’s interpretation adds value and adds something unique.

we should keep discussing the fears. i don’t know why we ever stopped.

(sorry this is so long and rambling, i hope you can see the points i’m trying to make.)

🗣️ i’d love to hear your thoughts on this

Ask is posted here dw you didnt hallucinate it

#magpod #tma #the magnus archives #magpod confession #🗣#posting this now

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rubysparx · 4 months

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Honestly I don't think I'm qualified to make this post, I just don't know if I can make coherent enough words man. But the thoughts are in there and I will try to articulate them. This is probably going to be mostly images though. anyway yeah KABRU POST.

A couple nights ago (at approximately 2:30am, lasting a little over half an hour) I had a bit of a moment about Kabru. That, too, was mostly images- most of what you see in this more concise post were presented then as well. I think my main points of the "moment" were about Kabru's trauma + self hatred, his autism and/or general otherness, and also a little labru if you'd like..

I think something easy to start with is I wanna point out Kabru's constant back and forth and conflicting opinions of demihumans and how, I believe, thats a reflection of how he goes back and forth on what he believes his purpose of living is- and the general worth of his own life. I've said it before and i've just kinda shown it in images; Kabru is "i think im a monster and it disgusts me" where Laios is "I know im a human and it disgusts me" (i could go more into the latter on another post)

the above are both from the world bible, with the left being from the section on kobolds and the right being from the section on Kuro specifically. Utaya was very near to the desert where most of the kobold population is, this is likely why Kabru is able to speak Kuro's language- he grew up around demihumans. (chapter 48 cover, kobold chapter in the world bible) I won't try to speak for how his mother or the rest of utaya felt about the kobolds but I can say that Kabru was very much othered as a child, as was his mother, purely for the way her son's (kabru) eyes looked.

I feel like its fair enough to say that both kabru and the kobolds were othered, and possibly for similar reasons (villager's seeing them as nonhuman, as monsters) and the fact that Kabru learned their language probably didn't help his case. I think his perception of kobolds (and all demihumans, subsequently himself, as he probably still views himself as nonhuman or not human enough.. deep down) was damaged by the Utaya incident. at 2:30am when I first started this ramble my main comment was that "had the utaya incident not happened kabru would have little reason to feel ashamed for his connection to monsters. and may have ended up similar to laios in that he couldve had otherkin swag" which is just a sort of silly way of saying Kabru could've learned to love the thought that he is possibly nonhuman or at least not hated himself so much for it.

in the original ramble I said, and quote, "he has been STALKING laios. laios is his hyperfixation to learn how he can ever be loved. he keeps going back and forth so harshly on wether or not he wants to kill Laios and he clearly sees his survival from utaya not as an unfortunate trauma [*] but as a necessary, deserved fate. a punishment for his mother's witchy sins, and for his sin of being non-human. to atone for it all, to apologize for being alive, he tries to better the lives of all humanity. He was set on his way to dethrone the governor of the island . do you understand? im going insane" *i also said somethings about the way he processes other people's traumas and not his own. He's able to understand and even help some people, but he struggles to process his own issues and see himself as worthy of love and life.

^some examples of Kabru being understanding of or helping others who have suffered greatly. I think its also worth mentioning that with Rin (called "Lynn" in that translation) he says "I wish there was a way to get her out of this" though he's insisted and pushed for himself to go into a dungeon;

In chapter 94, Mithrun says "The desire I had left wasn't revenge. All I wanted.. was for it to finish devouring me." and I don't feel like it's a stretch to say Kabru was in a similar situation. Mithrun sought out the demon with no plan on how to kill something like that because deep down he wanted it to end his (Mithrun's) own life, to finish the trauma it caused and kill him. I think Kabru went into the dungeon in part with the hopes that it'd kill him. That the same thing that destroyed Utaya and caused him so much trauma would just.. finish him.

I just think Kabru is a beautifully complex character, I have a lotta thoughts on him and I don't see nearly as many analysis posts for him than I do Laios (despite labru being such a popular ship)

there is no tldr for this post idk how to summarize it. do what you will with this collection of images. have fun. go crazy

fun fact the woman in the bottom left corner is his mother, she is labeled here as "witch"

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #kabru #kabru dungeon meshi #kabios #labru #yeah its a long post i dont care. read it #also i only mentioned it briefly but i do think kabru is autistic .#yk that post thats like 'no im not autistic i know all the social cues etc etc etc. hey wait a minute' yeah. that #ok whatever. starts making another laios post

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sweet-as-an-angel · 4 months

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so! you mentioned in the 'p0rn preferences' post that Gaz is not the one who jerks off the most in the 141, and I humbly ask you, who would that be?

I don't mean this as a request, just a little discussion, cause I feel like Soap would just be going at it at any chance possible, like a bunny. he probably doesn't care much if someone hears it, but that's just me thinking too much into it.

Who Jerks off the Most in the 141 + König

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Implied Reader in Individual Headcanons, Accidental and Implied Voyeurism, Edging, Brief Mention of Injury, Men Who Moan <3, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

A/N: As per Anon's question (which I just had to turn into a post of its own) I present to you the list of the 141 members (and König) who jerk off from the most to least <3

Soap

I have to agree with you here, Anon - Johnny is most definitely the king of self love when it comes to the 141.

He doesn't much care where he is or who he's with; when he has to satisfy his needs, he'll do so.

Though, he'll spare whoever's with him the sight of watching him throwing his head back, trying to stifle his moans behind gritted teeth whilst the wet sound of his hand slipping up and down the length of his shaft fill the room.

Unless they want to.

For one reason or another, he's nigh-insatiable when it comes to his libido, and the fact that his stamina affords him the luxury of beating himself off until his cum is practically translucent doesn't help.

The slightest thing can set him off.

Someone brushing past him ? Hard.

Someone stroking his ego a little too enthusiastically ? Bricked up.

He sees something that's shaped to be a little too curvy or phallic ? Stiff as a pole.

He remembers something mildly suggestive you did three years ago in that restaurant ? He's going to the Horny Realm.

Yes, his teammates have complained about his incessant moaning-come-grunting-come-whimpering through all hours of the night, his voice contorting through a spectrum of desperation and Johnny always ending up spent and overstimulated by the time the sun comes up.

And then he's ready to do it all again the second night touches the horizon line, giving his teammates a knowing smile when he walks into the room sporting nothing else save for a pair of boxers and a monster that looks to be trying to tear itself free from them.

Gaz

Dude's young. Of course he's throttling that rooster on a nigh-daily basis.

The only reason he's not at it as much as Soap is because he likes to believe he still has a few threads of his self-restraint intact.

He doesn't.

Especially when it comes to you (regardless of whether you're dating yet or not).

But he doesn't need to know that.

Honestly, the only thing that separates him from Johnny's unmatched libido is the fact that it takes a little more than the slightest provocation to get Gaz going.

Albeit, that line is a thin one.

If he so much as accidentally sees something explicit for upwards of three seconds, he's hard.

The only advantage of his need for satisfaction is the speed with which he can achieve it.

He and Johnny actually timed each other once to see who could get off the fastest.

Gaz won. Though, only by a slim margin.

Needless to say, that made for a rather interesting conversation with the Captain when he walked in on two of his best soldiers sat panting on the edge of their cots, an almost-translucent spray spattered across their stomachs, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Ghost

The third-in-line for the Throttle Throne is none other than our beloved Ghost.

Unlike Johnny and Gaz, Ghost is more likely to leave himself alone at the first sign of trouble, toughing it out until he can will his mind to less lustful pastimes.

He won't make his jacking off known to anyone, either, often doing it in the shower where the water beats down so harshly that no sound can be heard for the water's fall.

That, and he's a master at keeping his voice low, no matter the circumstances.

More often than not, Simon makes quick work of jerking off purely because it’s a means to an end. However, if it’s you he’s thinking of, he’s much more likely to take his time — to immerse himself in the fantasy of your body around his, taking him so well in one capacity or another. Fucking yourself dumb on his cock.

During these times, he’s thorough — much more likely to edge himself, to throw his head back and growl between gritted teeth, to savour the sensation coiling in his stomach, his balls growing tight.

Otherwise, he’ll stroke one out as quickly as he can, getting back to business as usual.

And to look at him, on the surface, you'd never know that he just spent the last three minutes rubbing one out in the bathroom (yes, he is also a contender for first place in the 'Who Can Jack Off The Quickest Competition', but he'll never allow Johnny or Gaz the luxury of witnessing his unprecedented skill; that's for your eyes only).

Until he corners you, breathing down your neck, scolding you for tempting him - a man whose restraint lies only in his ability to hold off from reducing you to an exponential reflection of his prior state, breathless and covered in fluids.

König

Have you seen the size of that thing ? Man should be in the olympics for being able to throw that weight around.

Similarly to Ghost, König only gets himself off when it's absolutely necessary.

Only if he doesn't have you lying around to help him, of course.

Though, he lets himself have a bit of fun with it. Especially if it's been a tough day.

He's vocal, too. Though he tries not to be.

He just can't help it. Days' - maybe even weeks' - worth of unspent adrenaline and semen is hardly any way for a soldier like König to go about his life. So, he expels it in the privacy of quite literally any isolated space he can find.

König is not an adventurous spirit by any means when it comes to self pleasure, but when needs must, he's willing to shoulder the weight of the prospect that someone on his team could walk in at any second and catch him spraying his stomach or the wall white with, let's face it, thick ropes of cum.

Hong-Jin's actually caught him doing that before now.

That's actually how the two became friends: Horangi heard König grunting in the store cupboard and, knowing how stubborn his Colonel was with letting others know when he was injured, sought him out. Wanted to offer his help.

Catching Colonel König in the act of throwing his head back whilst growling the name '(Y/N)' into the darkest corner of the room was, suffice it to say, not what Horangi had been expecting.

Price

You just know he's cool with it. And by 'cool', I mean incredibly intentional, controlled, and not ravenous in the ways our other favourite military princesses are.

Sure, Price has gotten hard on the job a few times.

Who hasn't ?

But thanks to his level head, unwavering devotion to his work, and absolute refusal to acknowledge that he did, in fact, get a little bit of a chub during a shoot-out, he's managed to gain control over every facet of his body.

Until he comes home to you, of course.

Until he's able to loom over you like an omen and run his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and pressing kisses that become more open-mouthed the further down the side of your neck he dips.

Pressing his hips into yours. Something demands your attention.

There have been very few occasions where a cold shower wasn't a quick enough fix for him.

When the days of having you milk him are too far out of sight, he's had to suffice with his own hands before now. Had to imagine - remember - what yours felt like in his place, your lips curled up as he gripped the chair arms, breathless as he moaned into the warm tones of your shared apartment.

But don't worry ! He'll be sure to catch you up on everything you've missed while he's been away once he returns.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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moondirti · 10 days

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featuring: ghoap x nanny! f!reader. parenthood. adoption processes. fluff. slice of life. reader is given an age range

hear me out: simon and johnny transferring to reserve duty – i.e., serving the military on a part-time basis rather than being on active call – once they make the decision to become dads. it comes after a long period of deliberation (and healing on simon's part), but after they're absolutely sure that they want to start this next phase of life together, they call price to get it sorted.

who is thrilled for them, naturally, but warns that they still have a specialised commitment to the task force. if he needs them, then they best make sure they're there. the world isn't a better place yet, and no one can do what the pair does.

fine by them.

so it begins. instead of the complex and ethical choices that come with surrogacy, they opt for adoption and work with an attorney to facilitate the logistics. months of searching come up with a young mother, whose unwanted pregnancy has interfered with her life thus far, and is unwilling to make the further sacrifice that comes with keeping the baby. they must be more understanding, or otherwise less overbearing, than the other candidates – because two months later, they're in a hospital waiting room, anxiously lingering to meet the new addition to their family.

isla riley-mactavish. named after the river where johnny realised he'd be much happier with his lieutenant by his side.

the first few months are bliss. exhausting bliss, but a type of contentment that neither man has known since they first confessed to one another. isla's fussy through nights but they take turns settling her down, and if they have military duties to attend to then it's usually never at the same time. she's spoiled rotten – not just by them, but by the captain and gaz as well, who visit more often than not with bags full of toys they have nowhere to put. a little princess in the eyes of everyone who knows her.

by month five, she's teething and can hold her head up unsupported. simon reads somewhere that it's one of the most pivotal points in her development.

of course the call has to come then.

in the middle of the night, no less, and loud enough to wake her up from her crib. johnny scrambles to calm the bairn down as simon answers, price's grave voice crackling in from the other end. expected to be a long haul. a month at least. state security's at serious risk here, simon. i wouldn't ask you to come out otherwise.

and they made a promise. no matter how much it aches them to leave their darling girl behind.

rdv on base in a week.

he knows that one week is a matter of grace. he can feel the captain itching to hatch the operation as soon as possible, but has staved off to give the boys time to order their affairs. that doesn't mean simon's happy with the timeline, though. seven days is not nearly enough to find a sitter they can trust, especially given their own hindrances.

regardless, they send a job posting for a live-in, 24/7 nanny to close friends – no way in hell are they advertising it to the open internet – and hours later, johnny's sister lets them know of a girl who substitutes at the same primary school she works at. a real darling, apparently. honest 'n' stowed oot of energy, th' weans love her, and she haes experience with bairns too!

promising, but word of mouth isn't enough. they get a name and ask laswell to run a thorough background check. to their relief, it comes out squeaky clean. no arrests, no dui's, no shady travel history. modest socials with only a handful of followers. it's in line with what they know so far, solid enough to encourage them to reach out. so they do: just a brief email, asking what time and place would be best for a face-to-face interview.

they bring isla with them to the agreed meeting spot. a cozy cafe nestled in one of the safest parts of town. it's an early saturday morning and they're scheduled to leave in three days. so far, they've put all their eggs in this basket. johnny has to hold onto simon's hand when he notices the nerves dancing behind his partners usually void eyes. but if he were being honest with himself, he's just as scared.

they notice you as soon as they walk in.

sitting at a table for four, mug of coffee steaming as you bend over a well-loved book. despite your preoccupation, you're observant – they inch in your periphery and your head snaps up, a brilliant smile parting your lips as you spring up onto your feet. simon tallies a point on the ledger in his head. good. alert is good.

as is true for them, it's abundantly clear that you're who they're supposed to meet. johnny can't imagine anyone but a children's educator dressing like that: a gingham babydoll dress over a pair of blue tights, which carries over to the bow in your hair and is juxtaposed by the white oxford lace-ups on your feet. he startles when you extend your hand to shake his and he finds a painted fruit on each of your short nails. positively adorable. and so unlike anything they know.

simon shuffles next to him. isla reaches out from her bugaboo stroller, the colours having caught her eye.

"well hello there! aren't you just the cutest angel i've ever seen? do you like my dress?"

that's another point for immediately engaging with the object of your soon-to-be care. simon watches as you pull out a rattle from your purse, handing it over to the cooing baby. warmth blossoms in his chest, and his apprehension fizzles out in the heat. they hadn't told you they'd be bringing isla – opting to catch you off guard and seeing how you'd deal – so he assumes you carry the toy around for emergency purposes, like anyone else of their ilk would carry a gun.

something about that quirk just screams safe.

"it is a nice dress." johnny pursues, voice smooth in that way it gets when he's flirting but doesn't want it made clear. it took weeks for ghost to attune himself to it – he always just thought the scot spoke like that – but now that he's able to hear it for what it is, he shoots him a cautionary look. not so much mad as he is cautious. wouldn't want to scare her off.

"oh! thank you very much. it's my grandmother's design." you straighten up once isla gains a proper grip on the rattle, patting the skirt like you're basking in the praise. "shall we sit? i assume you have a lot to discuss, and i promise you'll want to try the maple scones they make here."

"please. after you." simon nods.

an hour later, you're giggling into your palm as johnny deviates into a story of the time they took isla to the hospital because they didn't know the soft spot on her head could pulse. simon is quiet in contrast, though not displeased. rather, he's focused on keeping the tally of all the green flags you've exhibited thus far. he doesn't mind that the conversation hasn't followed a typical interview format. in fact, people are more likely to show their true nature when in relaxed settings such as this, which is perhaps why johnny hasn't stuck to the script of questions they'd prepared beforehand. the man is better at social manoeuvring than simon is, anyway. he trusts him to direct this where it needs to go.

"it can be freaky! especially if you've never been around a child that young. i had a similar reaction the first time i babysat my neighbour's infant at sixteen. did you know that they can break out like teenagers? i noticed the poor thing's skin erupt in acne at just a month old and called his parent's crying." you wheeze, wiping the tears along your lashline.

"have ye worked wi' many bairns?"

"oh, yeah. it's been my primary source of income since secondary, all the way through uni. i just finished a master's degree in early childhood education, actually! and i wrote a list of referrals you can call if you need to double check on any of that." you rummage through your purse and pull out an apple-shaped sticky note. "do you mind if i ask what you do? people don't usually look for a full-time nanny unless they're really busy. not that i'm judging! i would ne–"

"military." simon interrupts, ensuring his tone is gentle enough to reassure.

"that makes sense! i mean, for an indefinite amount of time, the pay you're offering is more than perfect. above industry standard, really." you pause, brows furrowing like you're doubting whether you should have said that. "ah– whatever. anyway. isla is wonderful, just the sweetest. and the provided accommodation is an added plus. if you guys have no other qualms, then i'd love to accept the position."

"does i' bother you that there are cameras on the property? porch, kitchen, and living room. jus' for security's sake." simon tests, though he knows he doesn't need to, for extra measure. to someone with bad intentions, CCTV is a massive dealbreaker.

you don't hesitate before answering. "makes total sense! you guys are well within your right to check in at any time."

and they don't have to consult each other to know. johnny is practically buzzing in his seat, muscles flexed with enthusiasm as his gaze flits all over you. lingering on your chest in particular, before he looks over to simon and smiles in an offensively handsome way. simon can't help but smile back, crinkling his eyes more than necessary so the both of you can tell what's going on behind his mask.

it feels a little too good to be true, hopeful in a way that sets off the alarm bells in his head. he's stable enough to recognise that it isn't your fault, though. stable enough not to pin his distrust on you. this is likely the best shot they've got at ensuring their daughter's safety while they're away, and it's come in the form of a vivid, bright little blessing.

(with great tits.)

he'd be a fool to sabotage it.

johnny beats him to the cause. "ye'r hired."

[ next ]

#fashion wise im pulling from 'new girl' jess and 'me before you' louisa iykyk #as always my shit ends up way too long #fic ༄ miss magic #ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley x reader x johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x johnny soap mactavish #ghoap #simon riley #john mactavish #ghost #soap #x female reader #x reader

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rynbutt · 21 days

Text

safe. | spencer reid.

You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.

my masterlist!

cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.

wc: 6.2k

a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3

now playing... Fare Well by Hozier

This was really starting to piss you off.

You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiated– But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.

Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasn’t fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.

Because you swore this baby had it out for you.

You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadn’t told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didn’t think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJ’s job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJ’s job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you weren’t so sure anymore.

You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a champion– a champion who still held her head over the bureau’s less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.

“Y/N?” You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelope’s heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. “Oh my god, sweet thing! What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine, Pen,” your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.

“No, no, my girl, you are not fine!” Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. “You need to talk to Hotch, you’ve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldn’t even be at work when you’re this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go home–”

“I’m not sick, Penelope!” You didn’t mean to shout at her, you really didn’t, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly you’d been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJ’s job as well as your own. It was just a lot.

Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didn’t mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed too– everyone was.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing you’d managed to do today– it had to be a record honestly.

Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, “you don’t have to apologise, sweet girl, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.

“It’s not fair,” you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. “You’re stressed too, I didn’t mean to yell.”

Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldn’t even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.

“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time though– Penelope refused.

“I’m okay–” you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldn’t win. “I’m pregnant.”

Penelope’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. “What?? Y/N that’s–” she gauged your expression and she really couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. “Are we happy about this news or are we…?”

“We’re…” you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didn’t seem to be going to plan. You’d been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, it’s not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasn’t the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his child– the timing was just piss poor. “We’re happy… just scared.”

“Oh, baby,” Penelope cooed. “Of course you’re scared, it’s a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.” Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldn’t really surprise you given her job.

“I hope so.” You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just weren’t sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were.

“I’m surprised Spencer hasn’t told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and you’re making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on this–” Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. “You haven’t told him?!”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldn’t imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.

“Pen, please,” you turned to her, “please keep this to yourself. I– We can’t deal with this right now. JJ’s gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I can’t do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.” Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasn’t great at keeping secrets.

“Y/N, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell them eventually– You’re an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christ’s sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman.

“I know, I know,” you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.

“...How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didn’t have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.

“...My money’s on a girl,” Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.

You let out a soft laugh, “I think so too.”

“Alright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,” Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom.

You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didn’t have to bear the weight of the news alone.

You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJ’s job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of her’s. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, “shouldn’t you be working?” You teased.

“Are you trying to get me to go away?” Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didn’t want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.

“Yes, Spencer,” you replied sarcastically, “I’m trying to get you to go away.” Spencer wasn’t great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.

“Sarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,” Spencer retorted with a gentle smile.

“I am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I don’t know how I’m going to manage doing JJ’s job as well as my own,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair.

“There’s a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I don’t think he could have picked anyone more capable,” Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, “what’s wrong, angel?”

“No, nothing,” You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, “I’m fine, Spence. I promise–”

“New case just came in,” Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand.

You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJ’s departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour.

Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.

“The victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.” You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.

The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didn’t try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didn’t seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.

“They were just shot?” Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos.

“Once in the head,” Hotch replied, “there were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.”

“Could be a stalker?” Penelope suggested.

“Stalker victims are usually the object of a stalker’s affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,” You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.

Spencer flicked through the victim’s files, “the single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture… This could be some kind of revenge killing.”

“Did these victims know each other?” You asked.

“According to their parents, they came from the same friend group,” Penelope replied.

“Wheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,” Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didn’t usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around.

You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team.

“The parents of the victims are here,” Emily poked her head into the office. “Y/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, I’ve got the Clarks.”

“Alright, I got it,” you replied, letting out a dejected sigh.

“You okay?” Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. “You can do this,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.

“Yeah, I know,” you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone.

“...I think she needs a break,” Penelope said after a beat.

Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, “what makes you say that?”

Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, “she’s doing JJ’s job and her own. I mean, I think she’s the right girl for the job but… you know what she’s like.”

Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.”

“I think that’s a great idea, lover boy,” Penelope grinned.

You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.

“Please, have a seat, Mr Miller,” you said gently.

“I’ll stand,” he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.

“Mrs Miller, I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBI–”

“FBI?” She questioned. “Was Evan in trouble?”

“We suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,” you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth.

“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?” You asked. Sarah didn’t say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Daniel and Evan knew each other, right?”

“They went to high school together,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking. “They were so excited when they both got into Caltech,” she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“Do you have any idea who killed our son?” Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.

“That’s what we’re here for,” you said, “we’re here to find who killed your son and why–”

“‘Why”?” Ben repeated, “he was just a kid.”

You sighed softly, “I understand that, sir. We’re just trying to figure out a possible connection.”

“Evan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,” Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again.

“Did Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?” You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. “Maybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?”

“They were both on the college basketball team,” Ben said after a beat. “Why? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?”

“I am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,” you didn’t want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. “I need to speak with my team but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” You rested a hand on Mrs Miller’s shoulder and you couldn’t shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.

You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, “Evan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evan’s parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.”

Hotch let out a breath, “I want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.”

You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.

The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house.

You stood in the middle of Oliver’s bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.

You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the label–

“Oliver was taking Oxycodone,” you said softly, catching Spencer’s attention. “...And Escitalopram,” you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. “Chronic pain?” you suggested.

“Could be,” Spencer replied. “He could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, they’re typically over the counter.”

You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, “Yeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.”

“We should talk to the parents,” Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. “Was Oliver suffering from chronic pain?” Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.

Oliver’s mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencer’s bicep, “Has Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?”

Oliver’s father shook his head, “No, not recently. He’s been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he has– had flare-ups.”

“Flare-ups?” David asked pointedly.

“He was in a car accident four years ago,” Mrs Marsh said, “He was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks… he hadn’t really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial… he was in a lot of pain too.”

“He had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldn’t keep up,” Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. “He lost a lot of friends, I don’t think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.”

“Do you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?” Spencer asked. “Just so I can look them over.”

“Uh, yeah, of course,” Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.

You sat down across from Mr Marsh, “The accident he was in,” you started, “what happened?”

He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, “He was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were all…” he hesitated for a moment, “they were all drunk.”

“Who was in the car?” Emily asked, not liking where this was going.

“...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,” his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.

“Who was driving, Mr Marsh?” David asked quickly.

“Um, god–” He sniffled softly, “Peter… Peter something, he was older than them, I really don’t remember.”

“Thank you, Mr Marsh,” You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.

“How may I be of service, oh queen of my country?” she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard.

“I need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,” you said with your hand on your hip. “Oliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anything– I think we know who the last target is.”

“Right, give me a moment,” Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, “Oh no…” she mumbled softly.

“What’s wrong, Pen?” You furrowed your brows.

“Peter Harvey,” Penelope sighed, “he’s the last boy… He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.”

“Shit.” You cursed, “What’s his name?”

“Jonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine… she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.” Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. “Y/N…”

“I know, Pen… After this case wraps up… I’ll tell everyone,” you replied with a gentle sigh.

“And you’ll take time off?” Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.

You smiled to yourself, “Yeah, Penelope. I’ll take some time off.”

“Okay… I’ll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathan’s last known address, I’m sending you Peter Harvey’s address–”

Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. “Where would I be without you, Pen?”

“Nowhere good, my love,” you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marsh’s house.

Emily and David turned to look at you, “We’ve got him.”

“Alright, you guys go, I’ll grab Reid and we’ll be right behind you,” David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car.

Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathan’s address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldn’t control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child.

You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldn’t even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this.

“Shit he’s already here,” Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathan’s SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peter’s address. “Call Hotch.”

You dialled Hotch’s number and he picked up almost instantly, “What is it, L/N?”

“He’s already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peter’s address. He’s already out looking for him,” You quickly said.

“We’re on our way, units are already on route,” he hung up after that.

Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harvey’s house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.

“Mrs Harvey?” You asked, panting softly.

“Yes?”

“Is your son Peter here?”

“No, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon… What is this about?” She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.

“We believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,” Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.

“Mom?” You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.

It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peter’s head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.

You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers.

“Jonathan Hughes?” You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.

“Move,” he grunted, his eyes glassy.

“I know what happened to your wife,” you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.

“They killed her,” tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him.

“It was an accident,” you replied softly.

“They were drunk,” he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.

“I know,” you said, “It was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t change what happened but these boys–”

“They’re monsters!” he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencer’s heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didn’t even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.

“Y/N?” His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, “Y/N? No, no!”

David grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, “An agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.”

“Who was shot?!” Penelope’s voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.

“I repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,” David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.

“Morgan! Oh my god!” Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.

“It’s okay, babygirl, she’s going to be alright,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator.

“No, Morgan, you don’t understand–”

“We’re going to get an ambulance–”

“She’s pregnant!” Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, “She’s what?”

Penelope let out a shaky breath, “she’s twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasn’t going to tell anyone until after the case– and now she’s been shot.” Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.

Hotch hadn’t sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldn’t admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.

Morgan’s heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.

“Jonathan Hughes!” Morgan’s voice caught your attention. “Put down the gun!”

“Don’t move!” Jonathan shouted, “I’ll shoot her!”

“No you won’t, man,” Morgan shook his head.

“How do you know that!? She’s in my way!” He shouted back.

“She’s pregnant,” Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression.

Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didn’t even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.

Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. “W-What?”

Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. “Just like your wife, Jonathan… You wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.”

Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathan’s hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Emily gently rocked you, “you’re going to be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.

Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.

You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.

A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.

“She’s awake,” Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway.

You grinned at him, “Hi, Derek.”

Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. “Feeling okay, pretty girl?” Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I’m okay,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to ask but you knew you had to, “...is the baby okay?”

“Your baby is fine,” Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. “...You scared the life out of everyone though.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Especially your lover boy,” Morgan said, “he hasn’t left your side.”

“Sounds like my Spencer,” you laughed softly.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.

Spencer’s warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought I lost you, Y/N.” He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.

“I’m sorry–”

“You don’t need to–”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasn’t any, he could never be mad at you.

“I wouldn’t have let you come on the case,” he replied after a beat. “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you… I knew you would be protective– more protective,” you corrected with a soft smile.

“I’m aware,” Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. “You know the odds of… complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,” he frowned.

“I know, Spence,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you… I understand being shot isn’t necessarily helping with that but–”

“I understand,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You stared at him for a moment, “are you happy?”

“Happy?”

“That I’m pregnant? I know we’re not married and our jobs are crazy but–”

Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, “I’ve never been more happy,” he whispered.

You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.

“Penelope thinks it’s a girl,” you muttered.

“...What do you think?” He asked curiously.

“I think she might be right,” you giggled softly.

“You know you can’t actually tell yet,” Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“You asked what I thought!” you retorted.

He laughed softly, “Yes, you’re right, you’re right.”

“Mmm, did that taste like poison to admit?”

“Are gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?”

a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!

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