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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 5 months

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Office Hours/Bells - Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader (Part 2)

Pairing: Professor!Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 16409

Warnings: Obsessive behaviour, Professor x Student, mild body horror, kidnapping

Summary: Jonathan had taken Y/n back to his hideout. He wanted to keep her close so she couldn't expose his identity, but he also wanted her company. this is a part two.

A/N: thank you everyone for reading the first part, I never planned to make a part two, but I had someone in the comments asking for it so I thought 'it couldn't hurt' so here we are! Just a heads up, I made Y/n's mums name (Karen) because it's such a common mum name, so if that's not your mums name, just insert yours. It's only said once anyways so it's not that important. He also might be a bit OOC so sorry about that. (Part 1) - (Part 3)

Jonathan knew he could come off harsh as a teacher. In almost every lecture, he couldn't help but poke fun at his students' expenses. He felt insulted by their audacity to believe they could truly grasp his intellect. And he wouldn’t lie, he enjoyed seeing them squirm as well.

Most students barely lasted a month in Jonathan's classes, and even those who did manage to stick around were nothing more than mediocre. However, there was one student that captured his attention – not because she was loud or flashy, but because of her care and thought she put into her work. Her dedication spoke volumes to Jonathan, leaving him intrigued and enamored.

Jonathan had never expected to interact with her beyond the classroom setting. Yet, the moment she entered his office and sought his help, something within him shifted. He couldn't resist the urge to know more about her. Suddenly, she was no longer just another student; she was an enigma, a puzzle he desperately craved to solve. With each passing encounter, his obsession grew stronger, consuming him like a drug until he could hardly imagine living without her. Like an addict, he yearned for more – more knowledge, more insight, and ultimately, more of her.

Desperate to prove himself worthy of her affections, he went to great lengths to impress her, going above and beyond to demonstrate his devotion, subtly. Guiding her through the eerie halls of Arkham, watching her eyes widen in wonder at every twisted detail, filled him with immense pride. Each small gesture – whether it be a compliment or an offering of assistance – served not only to affirm her value in his eyes but to cement his hold over her, hoping she fall within his web of seduction.

However, the encounter with Edward Nigma had cast a shadow over the uneasy alliance between the two villains. The Riddler had been a reliable business partner for Jonathan in the past. However, their last deal had taken an unexpected turn, resulting in Edward's incarceration within the confines of Arkham Asylum. The strained relationship between the two rogues was palpable, and it left a mark on their partnership.

As the conversation unfolded, the Riddler couldn't resist stirring the pot. His sharp gaze fixed on Crane, Nigma slyly questioned if Y/n was brought to Arkham with ulterior motives. With a calculated smirk, he hinted at Crane's association with Scarecrow, casting a shadow of doubt over the true intentions behind Y/n's presence.

The strain on their friendship became palpable when Y/n confronted Jonathan about the tension with Edward Nigma. However, discussing the truth was not a choice to him.

The notion of kidnapping Y/n lingered in the recesses of Jonathan's mind like a forbidden temptation. To take such drastic measures would be a damning acknowledgment of his own internal turmoil, an admission that his fixation had crossed into dangerous territory. Yet, he found himself caught in a web of desire that he couldn't escape.

Jonathan grappled with conflicting emotions, torn between the part of him that yearned for what was best for Y/n and the other, more insidious side, driven by an irresistible urge to possess her.

The decision to sew bells to Y/n's ankles, while she lay unconscious, spoke volumes about the depth of his internal conflict. It was a sinister reminder that while he harbored a desire to protect her, the darker, more primal instincts within him demanded her submission. The delicate chime of those bells echoed the symphony of Jonathan Crane's fractured desires, a haunting melody that only he could hear.

Jonathan never envisioned it coming to this point, where the lines between caring and obsession blurred into a disconcerting shade of gray. His internal battle waged on, a silent war that threatened to consume both him and the unsuspecting Y/n in the intricate dance of obsession and possession.

Once Jonathan Crane moved Y/n's unconscious form to his hideout, a dimly lit warehouse for his macabre experiments and toxic concoctions, he carefully laid her on a worn-out mattress in the shadowy corner of the second floor. The second floor was only a temporary home for him when he had to work late nights and long hours.

As he gently laid her tired body down, Jonathan couldn't help but notice the evidence of her distress—swollen eyes and lips, and scuffed feet from running barefoot in the Narrows. The chase must have ruined not only her spirit but her body. The room, bathed in the sickly glow of dim overhead lights, seemed to close in around them, emphasizing the gravity of the situation.

Mindful of the bells adorning her ankles, Jonathan handled her delicate form with a mix of tenderness and care. As he observed her vulnerability, the weight of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, a sensation he couldn't shake. The cold reality of what he had done sank in, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned the boundaries he had crossed. Yet, the insatiable pull of his obsessions persisted, casting a sinister shadow over the sincerity of his remorse.

The struggle to regain consciousness proved to be an difficult task for Y/n. Her senses were shrouded in a fog of disorientation, her head throbbing in protest. The persistent ringing in her ears added to the dissonance, making every attempt to open her eyes an exercise in agony. When she finally managed to part her heavy lids, the hazy world around her came into view.

Blinking away the fog, Y/n took in her unsettling surroundings. A crusty mattress beneath her was the only thing found in the room she woke up in. Well, if she could really call it a room, it resembled warehouse's second floor loft of some sort by the visible tin roof and metal flooring with poorly laid carpet and open railing. A thick coat draped over her body offered minimal comfort, a stark contrast to the unease that settled deep within her.

As her ears gradually ceased their ringing, a disconcerting silence enveloped the space. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed against the metal stairs, sending a jolt through her. Her heart quickened its pace, a drumbeat of anxiety heralding the arrival of an unwelcome presence.

From the ascending stairs, a figure with dark hair and piercing blue eyes materialized, and dread tightened its grip around Y/n's chest. Jonathan Crane, the source of her torment, stood before her.

“How are you feeling?” he inquired, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of concern and detachment as he approached her bedside.

Y/n's response was a steely silence, a manifestation of her fury and fear. Her body trembled with a potent blend of emotions, and her glare bore into Jonathan, a silent accusation of betrayal.

Recognizing the futility of expecting a verbal response, Jonathan sighed, setting a glass of water and a dissolving pill beside her. "That's for the pain," he offered before retreating back down the stairs.

Once he left alone, Y/n's eyes welled with tears as the harsh reality of her captivity sank in. She cast her gaze downward, only to be confronted by the cruel reminder of her predicament—the horrid bells attached to her ankles. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, a visceral confirmation that this nightmare was, indeed, all too real.

As tears cascaded down Y/n's face, she lay on the crusted mattress, desperately attempting to stifle her sobs with her hand. The weight of her emotions bore down on her, each tear a silent testament to the fear and anguish that gripped her tightly.

Seeking solace, she reached for the thick coat that had initially offered a semblance of comfort. However, as she pulled it over herself, a wave of recognition washed over her. The scent clinging to the fabric was hauntingly familiar, a cruel reminder of the man responsible for her current torment.

In a surge of anger and defiance, Y/n hurled the coat away from her trembling form. The fabric, once a deceptive shroud of warmth, now lay discarded on the cold, unforgiving floor. "Fuck that bastard and his fucking coat," she seethed through gritted teeth and a quivering lip.

The discarded garment, like a discarded memory, lay there as a silent witness to the emotional tempest within the confines of the dimly lit warehouse. Y/n, left alone with the echoes of her pain.

Y/n awoke with a start, disoriented and frightened, only to find herself confronted by a man she couldn't immediately recognize. Reacting on pure instinct, she shoved him away, her instincts urging her to distance herself from any potential threat. However, the bell on her foot snagged on a loose thread of the mattress, causing a sharp cry of pain to escape her lips.

Jonathan, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, reached out to calm her, his intentions misunderstood in the haze of fear. Yet, Y/n, still gripped by a cocktail of anger and terror, vehemently rejected his touch. "Stop, Y/n, you're only going to hurt yourself," he implored, a rare note of concern colouring his voice.

"Fuck you!" Y/n spat back, her defiance ringing through the air.

Undeterred, Jonathan presented the glass of water he had placed nearby earlier, urging her to drink. However, her eyes, filled with tears and resentment, remained fixed on him with unyielding defiance. In a moment of rebellious fury, she knocked the glass from his hand, the water spilling across the mattress.

Exasperated, Jonathan kneeled on the mattress, attempting to approach her with care. Y/n, fueled by a potent mixture of fear and anger, resisted vehemently. Despite her struggles, Jonathan, with a resolve bordering on grim determination, restrained her arms, attempting to administer the pill he had procured.

Her resistance escalated into screams and kicks as he forced the pill into her mouth, the bitter taste causing her to recoil. Jonathan, undeterred, gently stroked her esophagus, triggering a reflex that forced her to swallow. Released but not defeated, she retaliated with a punch to his face, a futile expression of her rage.

Groaning but unfazed, Jonathan descended the stairs briefly, returning with a bottle of water. He left it beside her before retreating once more, leaving Y/n alone with the haunting realization that her captor's actions were driven by a twisted sense of care, a disconcerting paradox that only deepened the shadows of her captivity.

Y/n knew that they had once been friends served only to intensify the torment. The disconcerting reality of Jonathan's actions, driven by a distorted form of care, hung heavily in the air. Looking down, she finally noticed the tiny blanket placed over her, rather than the coat.

The pill, a bitter reminder of her lack of agency in this twisted narrative, lingered in her throat like a bitter truth. She couldn't shake the unsettling notion that each calculated move, from the bell-adorned ankles to the force-fed pill, was an expression of a grotesque form of affection. It was a confession steeped in darkness, a revelation that Jonathan's deranged obsession with her went beyond the bounds of conventional understanding.

Yet, as the water bottle stood there, a silent offering in the aftermath of their tumultuous encounter, Y/n couldn't bring herself to accept that he cared. She refused to believe that beneath the layers of madness, there existed a thread of genuine concern.

In the cold solitude of the warehouse, Y/n grappled not only with the physical restraints but also with the intangible bonds of a twisted connection. The unsettling blend of fear, anger, and reluctant acknowledgment of his twisted affection created a complex tapestry of emotions, weaving a narrative she never thought she'd be a part of.

The bitter taste of the pill lingered in Y/n's mouth, a cruel reminder of her involuntary submission to the whims of her captor. She was kind of pissed off at the fact that the pill did whatever it set out to do, at least what she assumed it was used for. Her body felt fine and she no longer ached as much.

The confinement to the bed, a symbol of her captivity, had begun to take its toll, and Y/n reluctantly acknowledged the pressing call of her biological needs. Despite her fierce determination to avoid any interaction with Jonathan, the reality of her situation forced her to confront an inevitable dilemma.

The thought of asking him for the the bathroom churned her stomach with indignation, but the urgency of the matter left her with no other choice. Contemplating a rebellious act, she briefly toyed with the idea of pissing herself on the mattress as an act of defiance. However, the potential repercussions, coupled with the degradation she would inevitably endure, prompted her to abandon the thought.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Y/n mustered the courage to rise from the worn mattress. Vertigo assailed her senses, and the room spun momentarily as she steadied herself against the railing. Glancing down, she observed Jonathan engrossed in a familiar scene of papers strewn across a table, a sight that had become all too familiar during her months of friendship with him.

Surveying the room below, she noted the limited doors—two doors serving as clear exits, one barricaded and the other locked. The last door remained an question, a potential sanctuary she dared to hope was a bathroom.

The descent down the metal stairs felt like a journey into the unknown for Y/n. Her reluctance to be spotted by Jonathan battled with the urgent demands of her body. Creeping down the stairs with a mix of determination and caution so her bells wouldn’t jingle, she aimed to reach the bathroom undetected, weaving through the dimly lit warehouse.

However, the universe seemed to conspire against her as, upon reaching the ground floor, Jonathan's gaze fixed upon her. A curse escaped her lips internally, but undeterred, she pressed on towards the bathroom. The weight of his stare bore into her back, a constant reminder of the fragile balance between autonomy and captivity.

Reaching the door, Y/n shot a hesitant glance back at Jonathan. To her relief, he made no move to stop her, confirming her assumption that the room indeed housed the sought-after sanctuary. With a fleeting glance of defiance, she pushed the door open, revealing a simple yet welcome sight—a toilet, sink, and shower.

The rush of relief that accompanied the bathroom's discovery matched the urgency of her previous mission. Y/n took a moment to savor the normalcy of the room before relieving herself. Washing her hands afterward, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the reflection painted a stark contrast to the composed person she once was.

Her hair, tangled and unkempt, framed a face marked by fatigue. Despite the turmoil she endured, the absence of visible bruises provided a small solace. The bathroom, a brief respite from the harsh reality of her captivity, became a sanctuary where she confronted not only her immediate needs but also the disheveled reflection of a person transformed by the torment of her circumstances.

The abrupt encounter with Jonathan at the bathroom door elicited a startled shriek from Y/n. Her initial fear, however, quickly morphed into frustration, and she met his gaze with a furious intensity. "What the fuck, man!" she yelled, the anger evident in her voice.

Jonathan, seemingly taken aback by her outburst, tried to explain, "I was just going to ask if you were okay..."

Y/n huffed, her patience worn thin, and decisively pushed past him, ascending the stairs. "Never been better," she retorted sarcastically, leaving Jonathan behind.

Back on the mattress, Y/n's gaze shifted to the bottle of water placed on the ground. Her body, indifferent to the passage of time in captivity, left her uncertain of whether she was genuinely thirsty or if the sensation had been forgotten. Opting for caution, she grabbed the bottle and took a sip, immediately realizing she had been deprived of water for far too long. Chugging the entire bottle, she felt a measure of relief wash over her.

The realization that she had, just moments ago, shoved Jonathan out of the way emboldened Y/n. The absence of discipline after she had defiantly pushed past him fueled her growing conviction that there might be room for manipulation within the confines of her captivity. Her mind raced with possibilities, and she seized the opportunity to further test the limits of his proclaimed reluctance to inflict harm.

Opting for a subtle test, she tossed the empty bottle down the stairs, breaking the rhythmic pattern of Jonathan's work below. The scrapping of his chair made her breath stop. Anxiety gripped her as she heard the distinct sound of him ascending the stairs, her heart sinking with each step. However, the sight of a new bottle of water in his hands replaced her dread with a fleeting sense of relief.

Jonathan approached her, placing the bottle beside her without uttering a word. A sense of triumph welled within Y/n as he retreated, leaving her alone once again. The power dynamic, though skewed in his favor, showed signs of malleability.

Her smirk deepened as she contemplated how else she could navigate this precarious situation. The newfound knowledge that certain actions yielded unexpected outcomes spurred her imagination. Y/n, despite the dire circumstances, felt a glimmer of control in the face of her captor's unpredictable responses. As the wheels of her mind turned, she began to strategize, determined to exploit every opportunity to regain some semblance of agency in this nightmarish game.

The routine of tossing empty bottles down the stairs had evolved into a strange yet strangely effective communication method between Y/n and Jonathan. It became a silent pact, an unspoken agreement where she would throw a bottle, and he, in turn, would return with a fresh bottle of water without a single uttered word. The dynamic, though unconventional, provided Y/n with a sense of control, a small victory in the vast landscape of her captivity.

However, the game extended only to the water bottles. When it came to the food Jonathan brought, mostly simple take-out fare, she refrained from throwing it down the stairs. Despite her desire to maintain some semblance of control, she retained a sense of civility, not willing to degrade herself to the level of an animal in her attempts to navigate the situation. Instead, he’d just take the plate away when he gave her a new bottle.

On one particular day, feeling sluggish and unclean after what she assumed was a week without bathing, Y/n decided it was time to push the boundaries further. Throwing down another bottle, she waited for Jonathan's customary ascent up the stairs.

As he arrived with the expected bottle of water, he mused aloud, "I ought to get you a bin," revealing a hint of acknowledgment regarding their peculiar communication method.

Before he could retreat back downstairs, breaking the silent rhythm of their exchanges, Y/n summoned the courage to address him directly. "Jonathan..." Her voice, a rare sound in the confines of their strange relationship, brought him to a halt. He turned back to face her, silent anticipation written on his features.

"I need to shower," Y/n admitted, her vulnerability seeping through her words.

Jonathan, surprisingly accommodating, thought for a moment before responding, "Yeah, of course."

Her next revelation hung in the air, "I don't have any clothes."

"Sorry about that," he replied. "You go have your shower, and I'll bring you some clothes." With that, he headed down the stairs.

As she approached the bathroom, the subtle jingle of the bells on her feet caught her attention. The idea of showering with them on seemed uncomfortable, a painful reminder of past wounds. However, most of the injuries had healed by now, and she reasoned that it couldn't hurt too bad—just as long as she avoided tugging on anything sensitive. The promise of a shower, a rare luxury in her current state, became a momentary respite in the otherwise harrowing routine of her captivity.

The rhythmic sound of water hitting the shower floor enveloped Y/n as she stood beneath the refreshing spray. Stripping away the layers of captivity, she entered the shower, relishing the sensation of the water cascading down her tired body like a soothing rain. Glancing around, she spotted only a solitary bar of soap, resigning herself to the fact that her hair would have to wait for another day.

As the water ran down her, she couldn't help but contemplate her predicament. A sigh escaped her lips as she gazed up at the showerhead. The solitude of the shower became an unexpected confessional, and in a whispered admission to herself, she muttered, "...I might just fucking drown myself."

Yet, as the thought lingered, she quickly dismissed it. The logistics of such an act in a shower, coupled with the awareness that she wasn't suicidal, led her to shrug off the dark notion. Redirecting her focus, she began washing her body diligently, navigating around the bells with a careful touch. The leisurely pace became a momentary escape, a respite from the harsh reality that awaited her beyond the comforting spray.

When she eventually emerged from the shower, enveloped in the warmth of the towels, she wondered why Jonathan hadn’t knocked on the door yet, and as if summoned, the knock came. She found Jonathan holding a pile of clothes for her. "Sorry for taking a while," he offered.

She responded with silence. She accepted the clothes, bringing them into the bathroom. Drying herself off, she examined the clothes, confirming that they were indeed Jonathan's. The absence of underwear was a minor inconvenience, and she chose not to dwell on it.

Dressed in Jonathan's clothes, Y/n emerged from the bathroom, prompting him to turn his attention away from his desk. Standing up, he inquired, "The clothes are fine?"

She nodded awkwardly, a silent acknowledgment of the peculiar exchange. Jonathan then said, "I'll go get you some clothes tomorrow from your dorm back at the university when I head to work. You don't need underwear right now, do you?"

Y/n shook her head in response. Jonathan, seemingly satisfied with her reply, returned to his work without further conversation.

Making her way back upstairs, Y/n was met with a shock. The decrepit mattress she had grown accustomed to was now replaced with a fresh one, adorned with clean sheets and a duvet, the tiny blanket she slept with the past few days placed overtop. To her surprise, it was elevated on wooden pallets, forming a makeshift bed base. The unexpected upgrade left her momentarily speechless, and she peered underneath, confirming the presence of the improvised support.

In a strange turn of events, she now had a proper bed. The realization struck her, and she couldn't help but cast a glance over the railing at Jonathan. A sense of gratitude tugged at her, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the urge to express her thanks. However, the weight of her captivity, the confinement, and the uncertainty of her situation promptly extinguished that impulse.

Walking back to her new bed, the conflicting emotions within her surfaced once again. The gesture felt like a twisted attempt to add a touch of comfort to her captivity. Anger, frustration, and a deep-seated sense of helplessness resurfaced, and Y/n, unable to contain her emotions, allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She sank onto the bed, repressed tears welling in her eyes, as the cruel reality of her situation pressed heavily upon her.

The next day brought an unusual moment of opportunity as Y/n heard the distinct sound of Jonathan leaving the warehouse. It was the first time she had heard him leave, and the realization struck her that he had taken an entire week off work just to remain within the confines of the warehouse, likely to keep an eye on her. The emptiness left in his absence stirred a flicker of hope within her—a chance, perhaps, to explore the possibility of escape.

Descending the stairs, she cast a hopeful glance at the main entrance, only to find it stubbornly locked. Frustration crept in, but she decided to leave the main entrance for a later attempt. Undeterred, she moved to the boarded-up door, her eyes narrowing at the bolted bars. Despite her doubts about her strength, she grasped at the bars, giving them an experimental tug. The cold metal resisted her efforts, but the determination within her fueled a futile attempt to dislodge the impediment. She knew it would be futile, but it was worth a shot.

Turning her attention back to the main door, she surveyed the room for any tools that might aid her escape. Unfortunately, the sparse surroundings offered little beyond medical equipment and scattered papers. A sigh escaped her lips as she considered her limited options. Deciding to try a more direct approach, she mustered her strength and rammed against the door, only to be met with searing pain. The movies had lied – doors were far more resilient than she had anticipated.

Wincing from the failed attempt, she quickly retreated back up the stairs, the jingling of her bells echoing a defeat that resonated throughout the desolate warehouse. The fleeting glimmer of hope had dimmed, leaving her once again in the stark reality of her captivity, where even the simplest act of escape proved to be an insurmountable challenge.

The return of Jonathan marked the end of a long and tedious stretch of hours for Y/n. The absence of any form of entertainment in the warehouse became painfully apparent when left alone. The monotony was only broken by the sound of Jonathan's return, a stark reminder of the silent emptiness that lingered in his absence.

Jonathan ascended the stairs, each step accompanied by the weight of boxes in his arms. Multiple trips followed until a stack of three boxes stood beside Y/n's newly provided bed.

"There's your clothes and other things I thought you might need," Jonathan stated.

Y/n, caught off guard, involuntarily responded, "Thanks—fuck!"

Her unintended expression of gratitude hung in the air, a contradiction to the lingering anger that still gripped her. She shot a glare at Jonathan, who chuckled lightly in response, before making his way back down the stairs. The automatic politeness clashed with the undercurrent of resentment that fueled her, leaving Y/n with a mix of conflicting emotions as she contemplated the contents of the boxes beside her.

Sorting through the boxes, the first contained an assortment of clothes, providing a semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of her captivity. The second box held toiletries—shampoo, conditioner, and a toothbrush, a practical acknowledgment of basic needs. However, it was the contents of the third box that stirred an unexpected wave of emotions within Y/n.

She hesitated to delve too deeply into the box, but her eyes were immediately drawn to a soft toy nestled among the items. As she laid eyes on the familiar stuffed creature, a gift from her parents, her heart skipped a beat. The floodgates of emotion opened, catching her off guard.

She gingerly plucked the soft toy from the box, holding it close to her chest as if reuniting with an old friend. The texture of the familiar fabric, the scent of nostalgia, and the sentimental value of the cherished possession enveloped her in a bittersweet embrace. Tears welled in her eyes, and her heart ached with a poignant mix of longing and comfort.

In that moment, the soft toy became a tangible link to a world beyond the confines of the warehouse. It held the essence of home, a symbol of the relationships and memories she held dear. As Y/n hugged the cherished possession, the emotional weight of her situation momentarily shifted, offering a fleeting respite from the harsh reality of captivity.

The next morning, Y/n's routine took an unexpected turn as her gaze fell upon a novel placed beside her water bottle. Picking it up, she read the synopsis on the back, a small but significant shift in her otherwise monotonous existence. A smile graced her lips as the realization dawned—she now had something to occupy her time, a welcome distraction from the dull routine that had consumed her days.

Curiosity piqued, she opened the book, and as she flipped the pages, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Retrieving it, she found a note that read: 'There is a fridge downstairs with leftover takeaways and a microwave above it.'

Excitement bubbled within her as she hopped off the bed, the soft toy still cradled in her arms. Approaching the railing, she surveyed the scene below and saw exactly what the note had described. A fridge filled with possibilities and a microwave poised above it promised a break from the mundane.

Rushing back to her newfound haven, she settled onto the bed, toy still in hand, and delved into the world within the pages of the novel. The words transported her to another realm, offering a temporary escape from the harsh reality of her captivity. In that moment, the warehouse transformed into a cocoon of solace, where the power of literature became a beacon of hope in the midst of her confined existence.

The introduction of a new routine marked a subtle shift in the dynamics of the warehouse. As Jonathan resumed his work, every other day brought a fresh book to Y/n's bedside, a silent acknowledgment of a shared love for literature. She had adapted to the solitude, getting her own sustenance from the fridge and maintaining a self-sufficient existence within the confines of the warehouse.

However, the lingering silence between them spoke volumes. Neither was willing to break the unspoken barrier. Jonathan, obstinate in his desire for Y/n to initiate conversation, held back any attempts at communication. On the other hand, Y/n, fueled by a mixture of resentment and a desire to maintain her sense of independence, remained resolute in her silence. After all, Jonathan was the architect of her captivity.

The tension escalated as Jonathan made a deliberate move to bridge the gap. Upon returning from work, he ascended the stairs and found Y/n engrossed in her reading, the soft toy cradled in her arms. Unfazed by her apparent disinterest, he unfolded a chair and placed it beside her bed. Seating himself, arms crossed, he waited in a silent invitation for a conversation that seemed inevitable.

Y/n cast a brief glance in his direction before turning away, fixing her gaze on the book in hand. Hoping for a swift departure, she found herself disheartened as Jonathan remained steadfast in his resolve to break the wall of silence that had settled between them.

Reflecting on Jonathan's social interactions, Y/n wasn’t surprise that he had befriended one of his students. His awkwardness and apparent lack of social cues didn't exactly position him as a social butterfly. In fact, she found herself pondering how she, too, had become entangled in his peculiar friendship. As she turned the pages of the novel, her thoughts remained on the strangeness that was Jonathan Crane.

Jonathan, his face etched with a blend of regret and desperation, finally broached the unspoken barrier that loomed between them. "How can I ever get you to forgive me, Y/n..." he asked, his hands rubbing wearily across his face.

A fire still burned within Y/n's eyes as she continued to glare at him. "Well, you can start with taking off these fucking bells," she retorted, her tone dripping with defiance.

There was a glimmer of hope in Jonathan's eyes at the prospect of making amends. He stood up from the chair and hastened down the stairs, a sense of urgency in his movements. The clinking and shuffling sounds below suggested a hurried search for something. Moments later, he reappeared, rushing up the stairs with his arms filled with equipment.

Carefully placing the items down, he selected a syringe from the assortment. Y/n, ever watchful, instinctively pressed herself into the corner, creating a distance between them.

"It's just an anesthetic, don't worry," Jonathan reassured, his voice carrying a tinge of sincerity.

The air in the room grew heavier with Y/n's skepticism as she responded, "And I'm supposed to believe you?"

Jonathan, determined to proceed, cut to the chase. "Do you want the bells off or not?" he asked, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Y/n let out a resigned sigh before reluctantly extending her feet toward him. Jonathan, carefully holding one foot, positioned the needle in close proximity. "I will only hurt for a second," he reassured, his words offering a small semblance of comfort.

Bracing herself, Y/n turned her gaze away as Jonathan pressed the needle into her skin. A sharp sting coursed through her for a brief moment as the fluid infiltrated her system. The room hung in suspense as Jonathan withdrew the needle, leaving only the waiting game for the anaesthetic to take effect.

The numbness settled into Y/n's foot after a minute. Jonathan, wielding a surgical knife with clinical precision, cut into the skin, his focused expression revealing the gravity of the task at hand. The sight of him peeling back the skin and remove the bells sent a wave of nausea through Y/n. Witnessing the unsettling process, she averted her gaze, unable to bear the visceral reality unfolding before her.

As Jonathan delicately removed the bells, he skillfully stitched up the incision with a few practiced movements. He took care while bandaging her foot, relieving her of the discomfort she had while watching the entire ordeal. Y/n didn’t want to watch him deal with her other foot as she felt sick enough as is.

Her stomach churned with unease, and a sense of relief washed over her as Jonathan said, "Your feet will be numb for a while, so don't go walking around much. And you already know how your feet will feel when it wears off."

As Jonathan stood up, he handed a pill to Y/n, a silent offering to help possibly later pain or infection, she didn’t know and she didn’t ask. Accepting the pill, Y/n reached for the bottle of water beside her bed. However, her attempt at solace was abruptly halted when she watched Jonathan resettle himself in the chair beside her bed.

The warehouse seemed to amplify the growing tension between Y/n and Jonathan as the pill lingered in her hand, an unspoken bridge between relief and resentment. The weight of his gaze intensified her irritation, making the simple act of taking the pill an unexpected battleground.

"Take the pill, Y/n," Jonathan urged, his tone clearly indicating his impatience.

"I don't want to..." Y/n retorted, a rebellious spirit akin to that of a stroppy child.

Jonathan's patience wore thin, and a veiled threat slipped from his lips, "Do you want me to force it down your throat again?"

"I'm not your fucking cat," Y/n shot back, a mixture of defiance and begrudging compliance evident in her demeanor. Despite her resistance, she reluctantly conceded, swallowing the pill. Jonathan rolled his eyes at her behaviour.

"Anything else you would like me to do in the meantime?" Jonathan asked, his tone not hiding his exhaustion.

Y/n, seizing the opportunity to exercise her control, decided to push the boundaries. "I want a TV," she demanded, a request more driven by the desire to inconvenience him than any actual need for entertainment.

To her surprise, Jonathan readily agreed. "Yeah, I can do that. I'll bring one tomorrow," he said, a gesture of compliance that caught Y/n off guard.

Not one to back down, Y/n continued testing the limits. "And a couch," she added, pushing his buttons further, expecting a hint of resistance.

"If not tomorrow, I'll have one by Thursday," Jonathan assured, the easy acceptance marking a stark change from the expected power dynamic.

Y/n, realizing the depth of his desperation for her approval, found herself in uncharted territory, a moment of revelation that hinted at the complexity of their connection within the confines of the warehouse. The power play between captor and captive took an unexpected turn, leaving Y/n grappling with the realization that perhaps Jonathan's motivations were more nuanced than she had initially assumed.

"I, umm... I don't really need them," Y/n admitted, a sudden twinge of guilt clouding her defiance. While she knew Jonathan deserved the challenges she threw his way, a compassionate side of her couldn't help but surface.

"No, you need more. I'm sorry the conditions aren't ideal, so whatever you need, I'll get it," Jonathan replied earnestly. "Besides, I can just bring most things from my apartment."

The unexpected revelation piqued Y/n's curiosity. "So you do have an apartment?" she inquired.

"I do. I just don't go there often. I stay here most days. That's why I had the mattress before," Jonathan explained.

A question lingered in Y/n's mind, and she couldn't resist asking, "So where do you sleep now?" Considering she now occupied the mattress.

"I don't sleep much, but sometimes I just fall asleep at my desk," Jonathan admitted.

"Well, once you get the couch in, you'll have a nicer sleeping spot," Y/n remarked, brining lightheartedness into the conversation.

Jonathan's smile and laughter, though brief, hinted at a shared moment of glee amidst the unconventional circumstances that defined their interactions.

"I'll leave you be now," Jonathan declared, slapping his knees and rising from his seat before descending the stairs.

Y/n watched his departure before shifting her gaze downward to her feet. It felt strange to see them without the bells now, a tangible reminder of the symbolic chains that had bound her. Yet, the absence of the constant jingling provided an unexpected sense of relief. She could already envision the scar that would mark the place where the bells once clung, but the prospect didn't particularly bother her.

Beside her feet lay the four bells, now detached from her ankles. She reached for them, holding the shiny metal in her hands. Some of her blood still clung to the surface from Jonathan's removal. Y/n wiped it off with her finger, a silent acknowledgment of the visceral experience she had just undergone. Placing the bells down beside her bed, she returned her attention to her reading, immersing herself in the solace that the words on the pages provided—a temporary escape from the complex reality that lingered in the confines of the warehouse.

She was roused from her slumber the next morning by the unmistakable sounds of furniture being rearranged downstairs. Surprisingly, as she got up from the bed, her feet barely hurt—a revelation that added an unexpected layer of comfort. Peering over the railing, she observed Jonathan's determined efforts to make space for the couch she had casually requested the day before. The sight of him pushing and maneuvering the heavy furniture hinted at the challenges he must have faced in bringing it through the door.

Jonathan, undeterred by the apparent struggle, eventually succeeded in positioning the couch to his satisfaction. A brief exit and return revealed him carrying a small coffee table, placing it against the wall in front of the newly positioned couch.

"Good morning," Jonathan greeted, catching sight of Y/n as he continued his efforts.

"Hi," she responded quietly, still somewhat stunned by the unexpected display of consideration.

Her surprise deepened as Jonathan ventured outside again, returning with a relatively sized television. Y/n couldn't help but descend the stairs slowly, watching with wide eyes as he set up the cables behind the TV. The realization struck her—Jonathan had gone out of his way to fulfill her requests, even the dumbest requests. As he turned to see her standing behind him, a mix of gratitude and astonishment painted her expression. The dynamics between captor and captive seemed to shift once again, revealing nuances in their connection that neither had anticipated.

"I'm assuming you know how to work a TV?" Jonathan asked, handing her the remote.

Still in a state of shock, she accepted the remote slowly, her fingers wrapping around it. Pressing the power button, the television flickered to life, showcasing some random show from the nineties. Her gaze shifted from the screen to Jonathan, her eyes reflecting the astonishment she felt. In that moment, the man before her seemed more like the Jonathan she had befriended back at the university in his office.

"Uhh... I'll be out for the rest of the day. I have work and... other matters to handle," Jonathan explained, his demeanor awkward and shy.

Unable to contain herself, Y/n found her arms wrapping around Jonathan, the gesture of gratitude. Jonathan, caught off guard, remained motionless for a moment before reciprocating, his arms encircling her in a hesitant embrace. The room was filled with an unspoken understanding, the unexpected connection between the two evolving into a moment of vulnerability and shared comfort. The rapid beating of Jonathan's heart echoed the complexity of their relationship, leaving both of them suspended in a moment that defied the conventional boundaries of their circumstances.

Pulling back from the embrace, she studied Jonathan's face. The bright red hue on his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment, yet he attempted to play it off with a nervous adjustment of his glasses and increased fidgeting.

"I'll head off now," Jonathan announced, a subtle awkwardness lingering in the air.

Y/n nodded in acknowledgment, her gaze following him as he left the warehouse. Settling back onto the couch, she shifted her attention to the TV. The simple act of watching television provided a welcome diversion from the routine of reading, offering a momentary escape from the peculiar circumstances that defined their existence within the confines of the warehouse.

When Jonathan returned to the warehouse well after midnight, he found the TV still flickering, casting a soft glow across the room. Y/n, however, had succumbed to sleep on the couch. Jonathan couldn't help but chuckle at the sight—she was slouched on the couch, her head tilted to the side, she would undoubtedly wake up with a stiff neck.

Quietly making his way over, Jonathan gently called her name. Y/n stirred, her eyes slowly focusing on him. In his hand, he held a familiar takeout drink tray.

"I got you a smoothie," Jonathan said, offering her the beverage.

Y/n, rubbing her eyes, gratefully accepted the smoothie. The thoughtful gesture didn't go unnoticed. He had remembered their usual orders, a nostalgic echo of the routine they used to share. "Thank you, Jonathan," Y/n expressed her gratitude.

She took a sip of the smoothie, and Jonathan settled down on the opposite end of the couch, nursing his own coffee. Y/n couldn’t believe that he went out of his way in the dead of night to get the two of them drinks. Like they used to.

"Why are you so nice to me? Most kidnappers aren't as generous as you are," Y/n questioned, looking down at her drink, confusion evident in her eyes.

Jonathan dropped his hands, meeting her gaze with heavy eyes. "I don't want you to feel like you've been kidnapped. I know you technically have, but I'm only doing this because you know too much... and you're my friend. I just want to keep you safe," he explained, the sincerity in his voice piercing through the air.

"So why can't I leave at all?" Y/n pressed, seeking clarity on the boundaries that confined her.

"Because I know you won't come back to me," he admitted, his words heavy with a mixture of longing and fear, revealing a vulnerability that lay beneath the surface. The complexity of their relationship hung in the air, leaving them both to grapple with the intricacies of emotions that defied the conventional norms of captor and captive.

She was well aware of his feelings for her; he had already confessed. Every gesture, every act of kindness, was an unspoken testament to his affection. With each passing day, the evidence of his genuine care only grew stronger. Surprisingly, she found herself reciprocating feelings, not in the way he desired, but as a friend. In the confines of the warehouse, their evolving friendship became a source of solace, making the otherwise challenging situation somewhat bearable.

Y/n finished her drink, and Jonathan, being considerate, took her empty cup to the bin. "You should probably go to sleep," he suggested.

Nodding in agreement, Y/n slowly made her way towards the stairs. Before heading up, she glanced back at Jonathan. "Goodnight," she said.

Jonathan met her gaze, offering a small smile. "Goodnight, my dear," he replied.

With that, she headed to bed and found sleep easily, the sense of security and newfound companionship making the warehouse feel less like a prison and more like an unexpected haven. The nightly routine, once defined by isolation, had transformed into a shared experience that bridged the gap between the two.

Jonathan's gaze lingered on Y/n as she sat on the couch, engrossed in her book. A satisfied smile played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of his decision to place the couch downstairs. Originally, he had contemplated situating it on the second floor where she slept, but the logistics of maneuvering it up the stairs alone proved daunting. However, a more significant reason was emerging – he relished her presence. Having her in close proximity brought a sense of comfort, and now, with her belongings downstairs, she had more reasons to be near him.

His plan had unintentionally transformed the warehouse into a shared space. The atmosphere had shifted from a mere place of confinement to a peculiar kind of coexistence. As Jonathan resumed his work, he found solace in the unspoken companionship that had developed between them.

Jonathan had never been one to crave the presence of another person. His life had been one of solitude and seclusion, an intentional choice rooted in past experiences that had made his interactions with people nothing but hell. His patience was short, and his temper quick, leading him to snap and belittle those around him.

His history was tainted by strained familial relationships, particularly with his grandmother, who had cast a shadow over potential family dynamics and other close connections. High school only exacerbated his disdain for people. Growing up, Jonathan had accepted the notion that he was destined for a life of loneliness, and surprisingly, he had been content with that prospect. Until Y/n had walked into his office.

Everything within him seemed to shift on the day she entered his life. His feelings, once reserved and guarded, underwent a transformation. The desire for her presence, her company, became a profound longing. Jonathan recognized the unhealthy nature of this longing, particularly given his profession as a psychologist, where he encountered individuals struggling with similar issues. Yet, he reasoned that he had engaged in far more damaging behaviors before. Y/n's presence had, unwittingly, redefined his understanding of connection and companionship.

Jonathan grappled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he recognized the inherent wrongness of keeping Y/n locked up. He understood the ethical imperative of granting her freedom, allowing her to live her life unencumbered. Yet, desperation clawed at him, fueling the impulse to keep her close. The secrets she held about him, the vulnerabilities she could expose, played a significant role in this internal struggle.

More than that, Jonathan was tethered to her presence by a profound longing that surged through him. It wasn't easy to navigate this desire without her nearby, and the very idea of her leaving stirred anxiety within him. He yearned for her companionship, a connection that had become an integral part of his life.

Witnessing Y/n gradually acclimating to this peculiar new lifestyle brought a sense of relief to Jonathan. He knew it wasn't a sustainable solution, but for the moment, he embraced whatever semblance of normalcy he could find. The complexities of their relationship and the uncertainties of the future weighed heavily on him, but, for now, he would take solace in the fragile connection they shared.

Y/n lounged on the couch, flicking through channels as the television emitted a dull hum. Daytime TV proved to be a lackluster companion, offering little more than cheesy infomercials and forgettable reruns. The warehouse echoed with silence, emphasizing the monotony of her confinement. Y/n had been flipping through the channels for what felt like an hour, but nothing seemed to peak her interests.

With Jonathan away at work, Y/n felt an unusual sense of solitude. The newfound freedom to explore the warehouse was both a blessing and a curse. As her gaze wandered around the space, she pondered the mysteries hidden within its walls. The medical equipment, the remnants of Jonathan's research, and the memories of her time spent here intrigued her. She strolled over to his cluttered workbench, where an array of papers, vials, and scientific instruments were scattered. Initially, the documents detailing fear toxins didn't capture her interest; she wasn't keen on delving into the intricacies of Jonathan's fucked up, scientific pursuits.

Her curiosity, however, led her to the drawers beneath the bench. With a gentle pull, Y/n revealed a trove of surprises. The first drawer held a meticulous assortment of labeled vials, each containing distinct substances. She picked up one of the vials, labeled and dated with precision, recognizing the scent instantly. It was the same perfume she had often detected on Jonathan during their encounters.

Pausing to take in the familiar fragrance, she couldn't help but wonder if he had crafted it for a specific purpose. The adjacent papers provided some context, revealing various combinations of scents and their effects. Y/n noticed a sheet that stood out, titled 'Scents and Fragrances that Attract Women.' Intrigued, she perused the list, accompanied by Jonathan's handwritten notes, showcasing his dedication to understanding the nuances of cologne.

Y/n discovered a playful side of Jonathan. A sheet contained doodles and sketches of different fragrance bottles, each annotated with amusing comments. The revelation that Jonathan, the Scarecrow, had a detailed study on cologne preferences added an unexpected layer to his character, leaving Y/n both amused and perplexed by the complexity hidden beneath his fearsome exterior.

Beside the humorous list, there were various combinations of scents documented, showcasing his dedication to finding the perfect olfactory concoction. As she sifted through the papers, Y/n discovered more details about the specific fragrances he had explored, some even labeled with comments like "subtle and alluring" or "intense and captivating."

It became apparent that Jonathan had not only delved into the science of fear toxins but also applied a similar level of scrutiny to the world of fragrances. The revelation added a layer of complexity to the man she thought she knew, leaving Y/n intrigued by the unexpected facets of Jonathan Crane's character.

Y/n continued her exploration, stumbling upon another set of papers that caught her eye. As she read through the notes, her eyes widened in disbelief. "First test showed positive reactions; she became immediately distracted and clearly smelt the air." The revelation struck her like a lightning bolt. The date aligned perfectly with the second day she sought Jonathan's assistance at the office. It dawned on her—was he talking about her?

Examining the page closely, she couldn't help but smile at the small, endearing details. Little smiley faces and hearts were doodled in the corner, adding a touch of unexpected warmth to the some what stoic man. The contrast between the menacing Scarecrow and the man who took the time to create a cologne to attract her left Y/n in a state of pleasant surprise.

This newfound revelation sparked a mix of emotions within her—confusion, curiosity, and a hint of amusement. The complexity of Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, unfolded before her, revealing a person with unexpected intricacies beneath the mask of fear and intimidation.

As the clock ticked well past midnight, Y/n's concern grew with each passing moment. Restlessly, she lay on her bed, unable to find solace in sleep. The weight of uncertainty pressed upon her, and the silent echoes of the empty warehouse only heightened her unease. Her thoughts revolved around Jonathan's prolonged absence, and the shadows played tricks on her restless mind.

Suddenly, a resounding slam reverberated through the warehouse, jolting her from her half-hearted attempts at rest. With a surge of adrenaline, Y/n sprang to her feet and hurried to the balcony, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space below.

Y/n observed Jonathan from the second floor balcony, his weary footsteps echoing through the warehouse. The day hadn't gone as planned for him, and it showed. He limped toward his medical table, the weariness etched across his face. As he pulled off his mask and blazer, revealing the toll his endeavors had taken, Y/n couldn't help but be taken aback.

His body bore the evidence of brutal encounters—bloody welts and massive bruises painted a vivid picture of the hardships he endured. This was the same man who confidently walked into classrooms, teaching psychology to unsuspecting students. The Scarecrow's true form was far removed from the academic facade she had known.

As he unbuttoned his shirt, the extent of the damage became even more apparent. Old scars crisscrossed his body, testaments to the harsh realities of life as the Scarecrow. The scratches on his cheek, where a knife had cut through his mask, added a layer of vulnerability to the fearsome figure Y/n had grown accustomed to.

Witnessing Jonathan's physical state, Y/n grappled with conflicting emotions. The man before her was not just a villain; he was someone battered and scarred by the very terror he unleashed upon others. The revelation added a nuanced layer to her understanding of the enigmatic Scarecrow.

Y/n swiftly retreated to the mattress, her heart pounding as she tried to maintain the facade of peaceful slumber. The metal stairs announced Jonathan's movement, the distinct sounds of his grunts and creaking knees accompanying his movements. She sensed his presence drawing closer, and the weight of his gaze seemed to linger on her. As he reached the second floor, he paused, and she could only imagine him standing there, observing her.

Jonathan knelt beside her, his efforts accompanied by more audible sounds of discomfort. Despite her closed eyes, Y/n was acutely aware of the delicate balance between their strained companionship and the veiled tension that surrounded them.

The gentle touch of Jonathan's hand through her hair sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. His unexpected tenderness stirred conflicting emotions within her, creating a paradox between the comfort of the gesture and the unsettling reality of their situation. She lay there, eyes closed, pretending to sleep, as he continued his soft caress.

His actions were both perplexing and strangely intimate. The sensation of his fingers gliding through her hair felt genuine. The tenderness in that moment left her questioning the complexities of the man she thought she had figured out.

When he pressed a tender kiss on her head, Y/n's heart raced. It wasn't the fear that gripped her; it was a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and a strange acknowledgment of his unexpected vulnerability. As he left her side and descended the stairs, she opened her eyes.

Looking down at the floor beside her, Y/n noticed yet another addition to Jonathan's extensive collection. Evidently, this was his nightly routine – one that left her feeling grateful. Out of curiosity, she carefully picked up the book and began flipping through its pages, hoping to gain some insight into the man behind the mask.

Feeling bold, Y/n rose from her bed and descended the staircase, her eyes landing upon Jonathan slumped on the couch. For a brief moment, they locked gazes – a mutual understanding passed between them, igniting a spark of curiosity within her. Without saying a word, Y/n extended her hand, beckoning him to follow her upstairs. Surprised yet mesmerized, Jonathan took hold of her hand, allowing her to lead by her.

Silently, Y/n led Jonathan upstairs, guiding him towards the sanctuary of her bed. Once settled, she climbed onto the mattress beside him, their bodies mere inches apart. Time seemed to stand still as they stared into each other's eyes, yearning for connection amidst chaos.

“What are you doing, my Dea—" Jonathan was cut off.

“Do you need some pain relief?” Y/n asked, her gaze steady and awkward yet holding a peculiar warmth.

Jonathan looked at her for a moment, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. Her question hung in the air, a simple offering wrapped in genuine concern.

“No... I already had some, my Dear,” Jonathan replied, his smile revealing a hint of gratitude beneath the layers of exhaustion.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her eyes reflecting concern. "You don't have to pretend with me, Jonathan," she said softly. "I can see how much pain you're in."

Jonathan's smile faded, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored the weariness in his eyes. The acknowledgment of his pain seemed to catch him off guard, a stark departure from the usual interaction between them.

"I appreciate the concern, Y/n," Jonathan admitted, his gaze dropping to the scars that adorned his body. "But there's not much you can do about it."

Y/n, despite the unconventional circumstances, felt a strange sense of empathy for him. She reached out tentatively, her hand resting on his arm. The touch was subtle but carried a weight of understanding. Jonathan, in response, seemed to relax a fraction.

"Maybe there isn't much I can do," Y/n began, "but that doesn't mean I can't try to make you more comfortable."

She shuffled a bit on the bed, reaching for the bottle of water on the floor. Without waiting for a response, she handed it to him. Jonathan accepted it, their eyes locking for a moment, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them. The warehouse, once a fortress of fear, now held an unexpected camaraderie.

Just as Jonathan tried to take a sip, a low groan of pain escaped his lips.

"Maybe you should let me take a look at those injuries," Y/n suggested, her voice softer than usual.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, his guarded expression softening as he nodded in agreement. She carefully examined the wounds, her touch gentle yet deliberate. The silence enveloped them, broken only by the occasional creaking of the old warehouse. Y/n, engrossed in her task, felt a mix of emotions. It was surreal—here she was, tending to the very person who had held her captive.

Y/n delicately traced the contours of the bruise on his side, her fingers gliding down his ribs. She noticed the shiver that ran through him, and he instinctively held his breath. It was a touch so intimate, Jonathan had never experienced before.

As she worked, a thought crossed her mind. "Why do you do this to yourself, Jonathan?" she asked quietly, almost to herself. The question hung in the air, seeking an answer that neither of them seemed ready to give.

Y/n sighed, realizing Jonathan wouldn't share the details. She decided to drop the subject, acknowledging that some things were best left unsaid. The room fell into a quiet understanding, punctuated only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the creaks of the warehouse settling.

“Do you have some kind of soothing cream or something?” Y/n asked.

He nodded slightly, "I should have some in my second drawer on the right."

Y/n swiftly made her way down the stairs, her steps echoing in the dimly lit warehouse. She reached the workbench and located the specified drawer. Pulling it open, she found a small jar of homemade cream. It was clear that Jonathan had crafted it himself.

With the jar in hand, she rushed back up the stairs once more, her heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. Returning to the bed, she opened the jar, revealing a subtle, soothing aroma. The cream had a velvety texture, and she dipped her fingers into it before gently applying it to the large bruise on Jonathan's side. The cool touch seemed to bring a momentary relief to the tension in his muscles.

She watched him visibly relax as she spread the soothing gel on his side. The cream worked its magic, casting a subtle glow on his bruised skin. As she finished applying it, she took a step back to assess her handiwork. The bruise still painted a vivid picture of pain, but there was a noticeable difference. The cream had lent a certain tenderness to the harsh, angry colors.

“Are there anymore?” Y/n asked.

Jonathan lifted his arm above his head, revealing the bruise on the underside of his bicep. Without hesitation, she grabbed more gel and gently spread it on the affected area.

She couldn't ignore the vulnerability she saw in Jonathan's eyes, a stark contrast to the menacing figure she had initially perceived him to be. His pain was evident, not just in the physical bruises but also in the weariness that clung to him.

"Does this help?" she asked, her tone softer than before.

Jonathan didn't respond immediately; instead, he merely closed his eyes, seemingly absorbing the relief the gel provided. After a moment, he let out a subtle sigh. "Yes, it helps. Thank you."

Y/n nodded, her fingers tracing the edges of the bruise with delicate care. She couldn't deny the strange intimacy of the situation, a moment shared between captor and captive that transcended their roles.

"I never expected you to be so... hurt," she admitted, breaking the silence that lingered in the room.

Jonathan opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with a mixture of emotions. "You weren't supposed to see this side of me."

As she continued to tend to his injuries, a silent understanding settled between them. After applying the gel to most of his bruises, Y/n set the container down and laid back on the bed.

"We should probably get some sleep, especially you," Y/n suggested.

"...Thank you, my Dear," Jonathan responded, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Y/n offered a gentle smile. "Don't mention it." The weight of their unspoken connection hung in the air, a fragile bond that transcended the peculiar circumstances that had brought them together. With that, they allowed the quiet of the warehouse to envelop them as they sought refuge in the realm of sleep.

Y/n hadn't anticipated waking up to find Jonathan lying beside her. As she turned to face him, she saw him curled up, knees drawn close to his chest in a vulnerable fetal position. She couldn't help but find him unexpectedly endearing, his usual imposing presence replaced by an unexpected fragility.

Reluctant to disturb his slumber, Y/n carefully slid out of the bed and descended the stairs. There, she spotted Jonathan's burlap mask—the very one he wore as Scarecrow during their unsettling encounters. The mask held traces of his encounters, notably the slash across the cheek where he had been cut.

Holding the material delicately, Y/n searched for a needle and thread which she found tucked away in one of his drawers. She retrieved the tools and settled on the couch, turning on the TV with lowered volume to provide a subtle background noise.

With meticulous care, Y/n began the task of stitching up the two slashes on the mask, skillfully mending it in a way that made the cuts imperceptible. As she worked, her mind swirled with thoughts about the man whose vulnerability she now witnessed.

She hadn't heard Jonathan approach, his movements muffled despite his subtle grunts, until his presence loomed above her. Startled, she turned to meet his gaze.

"Good morning. How are you feeling today?" Y/n inquired, genuine concern etched on her face.

"Better. A real bed makes all the difference," Jonathan replied, acknowledging the upgrade in his sleeping arrangements.

Y/n chuckled before presenting his burlap mask. "I stitched up your mask."

Jonathan, taken aback by the unexpected gesture, managed a quiet, appreciative response. "Thank you." It was a small act of kindness, a rarity in his world of calculated motives and hidden agendas, and it left him momentarily stunned.

He settled into the seat beside her on the couch, an air of distress lingering on his features, but not the kind associated with physical pain—something else. Concerned, Y/n asked, "Is everything alright, Jonathan?"

“Your family called the university... they're worried,” Jonathan confessed, his gaze avoiding hers.

Her stomach sank, realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. She had completely forgotten about her family's feelings and the fact that she hadn't spoken to them in over a month.

“U-umm... is there any way you can tell them I’m okay?” Y/n's emotions surfaced, evident in her voice and expression.

“I’ve sent them emails, saying you attend my classes and that you’re okay, but you can imagine how much that helped,” Jonathan said, his words carrying a weight of stress.

Her lip quivered as she bit it, grappling with the emotions bubbling to the surface. Y/n didn’t want her family to worry; they had been against her going to Gotham in the first place. The lack of communication likely intensified their concerns.

Jonathan sensed her internal struggle and suggested, “Would you like to call them?”

Y/n's eyes widened in disbelief. She was supposed to be kidnapped, and here he was, unexpectedly offering to let her call her family. “Really?”

Jonathan took a moment to consider before nodding. “As long as you don’t mention this... situation.”

Y/n eagerly nodded. “Yes, yes. I promise.”

Jonathan rose from his seat, a noticeable limp in his step, making his way to his desk where he likely left his burner phone the day before. As he approached, Y/n stood, and he handed her the phone.

His intense gaze lingered on her as she quickly dialed her dad's number. Holding the phone to her ear, she anxiously listened to it ring.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end of the line asked.

Y/n felt a surge of hope and relief. “Dad?”

“Fucking hell! Where the fuck have you been?!” Her dad's voice boomed through the phone.

“I'm so sorry, Dad,” Y/n replied, a mix of guilt and relief coursing through her.

Jonathan observed her as she spoke, witnessing her gradual calmness and the visible release of stress from her shoulders.

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” her dad demanded.

“U-umm, my damn phone went to shit a bit ago, and I haven’t had the money to buy a new one. I should have said something. I'm sorry, Dad,” Y/n fabricated a lie on the spot, and a sense of relief washed over Jonathan.

“Fucking hell... well, you better go call your mum; she’s freaking out too,” her dad said, his tone slightly calmer.

“Okay, I’ll call her right after,” Y/n promised.

“Well… thanks for calling... finally,” her dad added a snarky comment, causing her to chuckle a little.

“I’ll try to keep in touch more, sorry, Dad,” Y/n said.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“I’ll call Mum now. Bye-bye, Dad. Love you. See you later. Love you. Bye,” Y/n said in a flurry.

“Yep, love you too. Bye,” he replied.

Y/n ended the call.

Jonathan chuckled, "Nice little goodbye," he remarked about how she ended the call.

Y/n smiled, "That’s how I say bye to my family... been doing it for years, just a habit, I guess."

“Your mum wasn’t there?” Jonathan asked.

“Nah, my parents are split. May I call her too?” Y/n asked.

Jonathan nodded, and she dialed her mum’s number, waiting patiently while it rang.

“Hello, Karen speaking?” her mum answered.

“Mum, it’s me,” Y/n said, feeling a lot more relaxed after talking to her dad.

“Fucking heck, Y/n! Why haven’t you been answering!” her mother exclaimed, quite similar to her dad's reaction. Jonathan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’m sorry, Mum. I’ve just talked to Dad. My bloody phone got messed up ages ago, and I haven’t been able to replace it. I’m sorry,” Y/n explained.

Her mother sighed on the other end. “Fuck, thought you were bloody dead,” her mum said, and she chuckled a little.

“I know, I’m sorry, Mum. I have to go now though. I will call you later, okay?” Y/n said.

“You better darn well. My baby, call me!” Her mum insisted.

“Okay, bye-bye, Mummy. Love you, bye-bye, see you later, bye,” Y/n said before hanging up.

“Well... your parents were quite...” Jonathan tried to think of a word.

“Aggressive bunch, they are.” Y/n smiled and laughed.

Jonathan chuckled with her. It was a rare sight as of late—Y/n being genuinely happy. She set the phone down on the couch and practically jumped into his arms. He was taken aback for a moment but instinctively held her tightly.

“Thank you so much, Jonathan. You don’t know how much this really means to me...” Y/n said, her words filled with gratitude, and she kissed him on the cheek.

Jonathan felt his face heat up, a warmth spreading from the spot where her lips had touched. Y/n didn’t seem to realize the impact of her gesture, but for Jonathan, it was a moment he couldn’t easily forget.

As Y/n held him, the pain from his injuries seemed to fade into the background. In that moment, the touch of another person, especially someone like Y/n, made Jonathan feel a warmth he had long forgotten. Despite the injuries and the struggles, he couldn't bring himself to let go. It felt like an anchor in the chaos of his life.

For a while, they stayed like that, a silent understanding passing between them. The atmosphere was both fragile and comforting, and Jonathan found himself appreciating the rare companionship he had stumbled upon.

Y/n settled back onto the couch, her enthusiasm evident. "So, I'm assuming you got a couple of days off work? Can't go in looking like that," she remarked with a smirk.

Jonathan, still a little stunned, nodded as he took a seat. "I'll give my body a rest for the day, then go in tomorrow," he replied.

Y/n's smile widened. "Well! I was thinking... we could play some card games. I saw a pack in one of the boxes you got me," she suggested.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, his voice carrying a hint of judgment, "You want to play card games?"

Y/n looked down, a mix of embarrassment and disappointment crossing her face. "We don't have to... I'm sorry."

Jonathan sighed. "Go get your cards."

Y/n lit up, her disappointment turning into excitement, and she rushed up the stairs to grab the cards. Y/n returned with the pack of cards, excitement evident in her eyes. She spread them out on the coffee table and motioned for Jonathan to join her. He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself onto the couch, sitting across from her.

As they played, the atmosphere shifted from awkward to surprisingly comfortable. Y/n's laughter echoed in the warehouse, and even Jonathan found himself smiling at her infectious joy. The card game became a welcomed distraction, a break from the unusual and challenging routine of their days.

As the game progressed, Jonathan couldn't help but appreciate the simplicity of the moment, something he had almost forgotten amidst the chaos of his life. The playful banter and shared laughter made the time pass swiftly, and for once, the warehouse felt less like a prison and more like a peculiar refuge.

In the midst of the card game, Y/n glanced at Jonathan, a genuine smile on her face. "See? It's not that bad, right?" she said, her eyes searching for a hint of agreement in his gaze.

Before Jonathan could respond, a knock echoed through the warehouse, causing both of them to freeze.

"Go to your bed," Jonathan demanded, his eyes fixed on the door.

Y/n swiftly rose from the floor and sprinted up the stairs. Peering over the balcony from the second floor, she observed Jonathan grabbing a canister of his toxin before approaching the door cautiously.

Jonathan opened the door a crack and peered through, "Fucking hell, Nigma," he muttered, his guard dropping.

Edward pushed the door open and strolled in. "Good to see you haven't moved your safe house," he remarked.

"I see you're out of Arkham. Hope you haven't come here for revenge," Jonathan said.

"No, no, I had my fun with you already," Edward replied.

He sauntered over to the couch, picked up the newspaper, and casually flipped open the crossword puzzle. As he kicked his legs up on the table, his eyes fell on the laid-out cards.

"Uh, I see you brought her back to your hideout," the Riddler commented.

Y/n took a sharp breath and hastily hid behind the balcony wall.

"Leave her alone, Nigma," Jonathan warned, heading toward his work station.

“Don’t worry your little head, Crow-boy. I have no intentions of hurting her,” Nigma said with a sinister smirk.

“Why are you here?” Jonathan asked, growing impatient.

Edward filled in the words on his puzzel, seemingly unbothered by the atmosphere. "Just thought I'd check in, see how you've been," he replied cryptically. "Word on the street is that the Scarecrow is going soft. It seems you may have some enemies that would benefit from such information."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "I'm not interested in your gossip, Nigma. Why are you really here?"

Edward sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. I need a favor. A little collaboration, if you will."

"A collaboration?" Jonathan scoffed. "Why on earth would I help you?"

Edward leaned back, a sly grin on his face. "Because, dear Scarecrow, this involves our mutual friend, the Batman."

Y/n's curiosity heightened, and she quietly edged closer to the balcony railing, trying to catch every word of their conversation.

“My identity remains unknown, so the Batman's antics don't effect me much. I prefer to stay under his radar and focus on my own experiments. What do you offer in return for my help?" Jonathan asked.

Edward leaned back, a cunning grin on his face. "With your little secret out, you might find yourself in need of protection. I can offer that, among other things."

Jonathan dismissed the notion with a scoff. "I don't need your protection."

Edward, however, persisted, his eyes flickering towards the hidden Y/n. "Maybe you don't, but she does."

"..Who knows?" Jonathan mused.

"Even though I have two wings, I'm a bird that cannot fly. I often like to swim, and on ice is where I dry," The Riddler cryptically remarked.

The reference was not lost on Jonathan. "So what? I've never had issues with him," he replied.

"Maybe not, but you've had many with his new partner..." Edward smirked, his tone laden with implication.

Jonathan sighed, realizing that the Riddler was determined to make things complicated. "And who might that be?"

Edward continued his enigmatic banter, saying, “I’m something made of metal, although I am not a bell. I am something that is round, you throw in a wishing well.”

Jonathan couldn't help but roll his eyes. “He has no right to be angry; he was the one who double-crossed me,” he retorted.

Y/n chuckled softly, appreciating the unintentional pun in Jonathan's response.

“Well, either way, you need me. I’ll be back in a couple of days,” Edward declared, rising from the couch.

“Farewell, Crane. So long, Doll,” Edward added as he walked toward the door, prompting Y/n to stand from her hiding spot behind the balcony and wave him goodbye.

Y/n made her way back downstairs, eager to continue their card game, only for Jonathan to stride toward the door. "Wait, where are you going?" she asked, concern etching her voice.

"I have to go out for a bit," Jonathan replied.

Y/n quickly caught up to him, grasping his arm to stop him. "But you're hurt! And you're always out! A-and what if the Riddler's right? What if someone comes to hurt me?" Her desperation was evident in her rapid rambling.

Jonathan looked back at her, attempting to reason, "I'm doing this for your benefit."

"But I don't want you to leave me, I'm lonely here," Y/n admitted, her vulnerability laid bare.

"I can get you a cat if you'd like," Jonathan suggested, attempting to lighten the mood.

"But I want you!" Y/n insisted. "Please! I love you!" Y/n pleaded desperately, willing to say anything to keep him there.

Jonathan sighed, his gaze fixed on her. "Don't say that. I don't want you to lie to me just for me to stay," he said.

"But...I do care about you. You're my friend," Y/n insisted, genuine emotion in her words.

Jonathan looked away, deep in thought. "I'll stay with you until you go to sleep, and I'll come back in the morning," he finally agreed.

Her face lit up with a smile, and she eagerly pulled him back to the table, ready to continue their card game.

True to his word, Jonathan stayed with her for the remainder of the day. Y/n had never felt more content. When she eventually dozed off on the couch, Jonathan gently carried her to bed. Before leaving for the night, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead, a gesture that lingered in her dreams.

Several weeks had passed since the unexpected visit from the Riddler to Jonathan's hideout. During this time, Jonathan had altered his routine, dedicating more time to Y/n when he was at home. Y/n appreciated this change, and she noticed that he had also granted her more freedom, allowing her to contact her family whenever she pleased. Surprisingly, she hadn't made any attempts to call for help, a fact that pleased Jonathan.

Y/n had always found Jonathan attractive, even when he was her professor. In these recent weeks, she had the opportunity to appreciate him even more. Up close, he was undeniably captivating, and she grew to love his personality, which was no longer hidden behind the professional facade.

She had started inviting him to sleep in the bed with her. After the first night in which she dragged his injured body to bed, she found reasons for him to join her, making excuses to have him in bed beside her. Whether it was engaging in late-night conversations or persuading him to read to her, she wanted him close. She felt guilty about him always sleeping on the couch, so now she made sure he shared the bed with her, providing a sense of comfort for both of them.

Y/n's developing crush on Jonathan wasn’t hard to spot, at least she thought so. She found herself captivated by his presence and the more relaxed atmosphere that had settled between them. It wasn't just admiration for his looks, but an appreciation for the person he was beneath the intimidating exterior.

One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Y/n couldn't help but inch a little closer. She glanced at Jonathan, wondering if he noticed the subtle shift in dynamics. The air seemed charged with unspoken emotions, and Y/n's heart fluttered as she realized the line between friendship and something more was beginning to blur.

Jonathan perceived Y/n's sudden clinginess as genuine friendliness. He appreciated her company, it was a rare and unexpected connection, given his reclusive nature and the awkwards circumstances. Unaware of the subtle shifts in Y/n's emotions, he valued her presence as a comforting and genuine friendship, even if he desired more.

Y/n laid on her bed, engrossed in her book, anticipating Jonathan's return. The serenity was abruptly shattered by the rattling of the warehouse door. A surge of anxiety coursed through her veins. Puzzled, she questioned why Jonathan, who had the keys, would resort to such fumbling with the door. The disquiet intensified as frustrated yells echoed from beyond.

The situation escalated when forceful bangs reverberated, as if an unknown force sought to pry the door open. However, the reinforced fortifications, courtesy of Jonathan and Edward, stood resilient against the onslaught. The perplexing events unfolded, leaving Y/n on edge, contemplating the identity of the uninvited visitor.

Y/n's trembling hands reached for the budget phone Jonathan had provided her. She anxiously dialed his number, praying for a swift response. "Pick up, Jonathan, please," she whispered to herself.

"Y/n?" Jonathan's voice finally came through.

"Jonathan, I think someone's trying to break in," Y/n whispered urgently.

She could discern the sounds of hurried activity on Jonathan's end of the line. "You need to listen to me. I want you to go to my desk and feel underneath the second drawer for a key."

Y/n rushed down the stairs and followed Jonathan's instructions. She felt around the bottom of the drawer and found a key taped to the underside. "I've got it," Y/n said, her voice trembling with anxiety.

"Go to the bathroom, open the locked cabinet, move everything out of the way, there should be a nail, pull it up, and there is a hole. Get in the hole and stay there," Jonathan instructed urgently.

Y/n hurried to the bathroom, ignoring the persistent banging on the door. Unlocking the bathroom cabinet, she peered inside. The cardboard was filled with soaps and other bathroom clutter. She quickly moved everything to the adjacent cabinet, making it appear less suspicious than if it were scattered across the floor.

Just as he described, there was a nail. Y/n pulled it up, revealing a hole big enough for her to sit in comfortably. She crawled into the cabinet and closed the door, hesitating to sit down as the fear of claustrophobia began to creep up on her. She remained standing, caught between the safety of the hole and the reality of the cabinet.

“I-I'm in the hole," Y/n said, her voice trembling with anxiety.

"Stay there, I'm on my way. Put the phone on speaker; I want to hear everything. But keep quiet," Jonathan instructed, his voice calm but firm.

Y/n carefully put the phone on speaker, clutching it tightly as she listened to the ominous sounds of the intruder trying to force their way into the warehouse. The tension in the air was palpable, and Y/n couldn't shake the fear that gripped her.

"Inside the hole, you can pull the nail down, so it appears normal. If you hear someone getting close, that nail has to be down," Jonathan instructed, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.

Y/n nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and carefully pulled the nail back down. The idea of someone being so close was unsettling, and the weight of the situation pressed on her. She strained to hear any movement outside the bathroom, her senses heightened in the tense silence.

The sound of the door being forced open sent a shiver down her spine, stealing her breath away. Crouching down in the confined space, she closed the lid of the hole, her hands trembling. A sense of numbness enveloped her as the reality of the situation sank in. Though she knew Jonathan was still on the line, she had never felt so alone.

The intruders made their way into the warehouse, creating a racket of noise as they tossed items around the room. Y/n strained to hear their voices or catch any hint of their intentions, her anxiety intensifying with each passing moment.

Y/n could hear muffled voices and the thud of footsteps echoing through the warehouse. There was no light in the small space, leaving her in complete darkness. Every sound outside intensified her fear, making her more aware of her vulnerability in that cramped hiding spot.

The intruders' voices grew louder, but their words remained indistinct. Y/n strained to understand their motives, her mind racing with the possibilities of who they might be and why they were there. The uncertainty weighed heavily on her, intensifying the claustrophobia of the hidden space.

As the minutes passed like hours, Y/n's senses heightened. She could feel the tension in the air, her breaths becoming shallower. The sounds of the intruders searching the warehouse became more methodical, as if they were getting closer to her hiding spot. Every creak and shuffle outside amplified her anxiety.

Y/n heard the bathroom door swing open, and her body froze in place. The slightest movement could betray her presence. She trembled, her breaths syncing with the rhythm of her fear. While the likelihood of being discovered seemed remote, the possibility lingered..

Unexpectedly, the atmosphere outside the hiding spot erupted with terrified screams. "Get it off me!" someone shouted in agony. Y/n's heart pounded as the cacophony of panic unfolded around her. It dawned on her—Jonathan had devised a defense mechanism, likely dispersing fear gas to deter the intruders.

A mix of relief and dread filled her. The fear gas was a double-edged sword; it protected her but also induced intense anxiety in those outside the hole. Y/n instinctively covered her nose, mindful of the invisible tendrils of the gas that might seep into her hiding place. The muffled cries and chaos persisted, a testament to the effectiveness of Jonathan's unconventional security measures.

The screams outside the hole intensified, echoing through the warehouse. Y/n could hear the desperate cries for relief from the invisible grip of fear. The muffled chaos hinted at the effectiveness of Jonathan's defense mechanism — the fear gas.

Huddled in the cramped space, Y/n realized the gravity of the situation. Jonathan had strategically prepared for such a threat, deploying a countermeasure to incapacitate anyone who posed a danger. The fear gas, notorious for inducing hallucinations and terror, had effectively turned the tables.

As she covered her nose, Y/n couldn't help but feel a strange mixture of relief and anxiety. The screams continued, and she could only imagine the surreal scenes unfolding just beyond her concealed refuge. The unsettling knowledge that the gas was both a safeguard and a reminder of Jonathan's darker capabilities lingered in her mind.

Through the phone, Jonathan's voice reassured her, "It's okay, Y/n. They won't harm you. Stay in the hole until I tell you it's safe."

The minutes stretched as Y/n waited anxiously, her senses heightened by the confined space and the lingering scent of the fear gas. The aftermath echoed through the warehouse as the intruders succumbed to the fear gas, collapsing in a collective unconsciousness. The once chaotic atmosphere now transitioned into an eerie stillness, broken only by the measured steps of someone approaching the bathroom. Y/n's senses heightened, detecting a calm and deliberate presence nearing her hiding place.

The cabinet door swung open, and a knock resonated from above. "Y/n, it's me. You're safe," it was Jonathan, his familiar voice cutting through the residual tension. Y/n exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and pushed the cabinet lid open.

Greeted by Jonathan in his Scarecrow mask, Y/n wasted no time. She pulled him into a tight embrace, her racing heartbeat finally slowing as she clung to him. Panting, tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of relief and lingering fear finding an outlet.

Jonathan reciprocated the hug, pulling her out of the cramped hiding spot. He placed a gas mask over her face, ensuring she wouldn't inhale any lingering fear gas. Despite the lingering tension in the air, the embrace provided a momentary sanctuary, a shared understanding of the vulnerability they had just faced together.

"We have to go; it's not safe here for a while," Jonathan declared, urging her to stand.

"W-where?" Y/n inquired, uncertainty lacing her voice.

"Nigma's finding a place. I'm taking you to my old apartment," Jonathan explained as he guided her out of the bathroom. They made their way to her bedroom, ascending the stairs amid the scattered and unconscious intruders. The once orderly space now lay in chaos.

"Bring what you need for tonight, we'll grab the rest later," Jonathan instructed, a sense of urgency in his voice.

Y/n gathered her essentials - a pillow and her stuffed toy. As she waited by the stairs, Jonathan navigated through the disarray, picking up her current book, which had been tossed around in the commotion.

He led her out of the building, rushing through the chaos, and they reached his car. Jonathan removed his mask before driving away. It was Y/n's first glimpse outside of the warehouse, revealing a container storage area with various warehouses. Beyond the containers, the vast expanse of the sea unfolded before them.

She couldn't fathom the fact that she was leaving. Surprisingly, she found herself reluctant to part with the warehouse, but more significantly, with Jonathan. Despite growing attached to the peculiar space, she was strangely content leaving it behind, especially since Jonathan was accompanying her.

As they drove through the Narrows, they eventually arrived at an apartment complex. To her surprise, it didn't mirror the bad state of the rest of the Narrows, instead, it appeared relatively normal. Jonathan swiftly went to her side of the car, opening the door and assisting her out.

He guided her inside the building, avoiding the gaze of the occasional passerby. Navigating through the hallways, he led her to his apartment. Upon opening the door, the interior seemed scarcely lived in, giving off an air of minimalism. She could clearly see where his couch used to be and the tv that he moved to his hideout.

"When were you here last?" Y/n inquired, taking notice of the visible dust settling in the room.

"A couple of weeks ago," Jonathan replied.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of having someone in his personal space. Nevertheless, he decided to let her be there because there was no where else he could keep her safe. He took her to what seemed to be his bedroom, also with the noticeable layer of dust laying across everything.

As Y/n placed her pillow on the bed and climbed on with her toy, Jonathan followed suit, pulling back the covers and helping her get tucked in. Just as he was about to move away, Y/n clung to his hand, “Where are ou going?”

"You don’t need to worry, Y/n. I’m not going to leave you, not tonight," he reassured her as he walked to the other side of the bed, joining her under the covers.

Y/n moved closer to him as he settled into the bed, laying her head on his side. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly.

"Go to sleep, Y/n," Jonathan whispered.

Y/n closed her eyes, holding both her toy and Jonathan tightly. The rhythmic sound of their combined breaths created a soothing melody, gradually lulling her into a peaceful slumber.

Waking up in this unfamiliar environment felt peculiar for Y/n. The cacophony of the Narrows served as her alarm clock, and as she opened her eyes, she found Jonathan still beside her, seemingly unchanged from the night before.

"Jonathan?" Y/n spoke.

"Did you sleep fine?" Jonathan inquired.

"Yeah... I'm fine, I think," Y/n replied.

"I want to talk to you about something," Jonathan stated.

"Mhmm?" Y/n hummed, intrigued by what he had to say.

Jonathan turned to face her, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions. "I've been thinking, and... I believe it's time to discuss your future, Y/n."

Y/n shifted slightly, intrigued yet unsure of where the conversation would lead. "What do you mean, Jonathan?"

He took a deep breath before continuing, "it’s been long enough, I think you can go now…” Jonathan said.

“W-what?” Y/n could barely speak.

“I trust you won’t say anything that will ruin the reputation I’ve built for myself, so I think you can go back to... whatever you were doing before,” Jonathan said.

“But I don’t want to leave you,” Y/n replied, her eyes welling with tears.

“Y/n, it’s not healthy for you to be locked up with me,” Jonathan tried to explain.

“Oh, fuck off! You didn’t give a damn when you took me in the first place!” Y/n yelled.

“Y/n, please... I don’t want you to be fucked up like this,” Jonathan said, looking away, his face hardened.

“That’s not fair! You should have thought about that before!” Y/n yelled, standing up from the bed and stomping her foot on the ground.

“I took you for selfish reasons, I will admit that, but you were never meant to be with me forever,” Jonathan said.

“Then why can’t I stay for selfish reasons?” Y/n asked.

“And why would you want to stay with me, hmm? I’m your professor who’s obsessed with you! I’m the one who kidnapped you! I’m the Scarecrow!” Jonathan yelled back, frustrated.

“Because I love you, Jonathan!” Y/n cried, tears pouring from her eyes.

Jonathan shook his head. “You can’t just say that, Y/n.”

“Yes, I can! Because it’s true!” Y/n yelled.

“But it’s not. You don’t really love me, Y/n. You’re confused,” Jonathan said, coming closer to her. He held her face in his palms as she cried.

“No, I do love you, Jonathan!” Y/n insisted.

“Y/n, I can’t keep you hidden,” Jonathan said.

“Then don’t! Just don’t leave me!” Y/n cried.

“I…I don’t know if our relationship will stay the same, Y/n. I don’t know if I can control myself,” Jonathan confessed.

“So! I don’t want it to be the same, I want more!” Y/n insisted.

“W-we’ll just see how it goes,” Jonathan said, not quite looking at her.

Y/n sighed with relief, “Thank you.”

“We will just stay here for a while…just before we find a new place to live. You’ll be allowed to leave whenever you wish, and you can do whatever you please. I won’t hold you back any longer,” Jonathan explained.

Y/n nodded, jumping back on the bed. Jonathan sighed, still wrestling with his internal struggles. He sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. Y/n scooted closer to him, her eyes searching his troubled expression.

“I just don’t want to hurt you, Y/n. I've done terrible things, and I can’t promise it won’t happen again,” Jonathan admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of his past actions.

“I can handle it. I want to be with you, Jonathan,” Y/n said, determination in her eyes. “We can work through it together.”

Jonathan glanced at her, his eyes revealing a mix of gratitude and concern. He remained silent for a moment before finally nodding. “Okay. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Y/n smiled, relieved that he was willing to give their relationship a chance. They spent the rest of the day in the apartment, discussing their plans for the future and enjoying each other’s company without the confines of the apartment.

Edward had found a new hideout a week later, nestled further on the outskirts of Gotham, which bore a semblance to the warehouse they had left behind. Jonathan meticulously arranged the space to mimic the comfort of a home while maintaining the necessary elements for his work. The dimly lit room now had a certain warmth, thanks to a few strategically placed lamps, and the air carried a faint scent of a vanilla-scented candle that Y/n insisted on bringing.

As Y/n explored the room, she noticed familiar items from their previous hideout, each carefully placed to recreate the atmosphere they had grown accustomed to. The bed, although a bit sturdier, still held the same comforting aura. The bookshelves were adorned with a mix of academic literature and some novels Y/n had enjoyed.

Jonathan, usually reserved and focused on his work, couldn't help but crack a small smile as he observed Y/n's appreciation for the effort he put into making the new hideout feel like a home.

“We should be safe here for a while,” Jonathan commented, glancing around the room. “Hopefully, no unexpected guests this time.”

Y/n chuckled, “Fingers crossed. But if they do show up, we can handle it together.”

The understanding between them had grown, forged through the challenges they faced together. Jonathan appreciated Y/n's resilience and her willingness to stand by him, despite the risks involved. As they settled into their new hideout, the sense of companionship and shared purpose became the foundation of their unconventional relationship.

Y/n embraced the newfound freedom to live her life as she did before, with the added company of Jonathan. The bed, once solely hers, now became a shared space where they both found comfort and solace. The boundaries between their personal spaces blurred, and the room echoed with a shared sense of belonging.

In the soft glow of the lamplight, Y/n curled up on the bed with a book, the rhythmic turning of pages accompanying the occasional sound of Jonathan working on his experiments. It was a harmonious coexistence, where the solitude of their individual lives melded seamlessly with the shared moments in their hideout.

As Y/n glanced over at Jonathan, she couldn't help but marvel at how their lives had intertwined, creating a tapestry of shared experiences. The room, once a sterile workspace, now bore the imprints of their cohabitation—a testament to the unconventional but genuine connection they had formed.

She brushed aside the notion that their relationship had a fucked up start, cherishing the imperfections that had paved the way for something beautiful. In her eyes, the unorthodox beginning only added depth to the intricate tapestry of their connection. Despite its unconventional nature, their relationship had blossomed into a perfect blend of shared moments, understanding, and genuine affection.

A/N: The ending was a bit boring, I will admit, but I couldn't think of how else to end it. But I did enjoy writing a little part two for this one so here it is! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to request! 💚

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aangarchy · 1 year

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post atla toph should have become a robin-hood esque crime lord... or a vigilante (?) who adopted feral ragamuffin children...

what r ur thoughts

I feel like that's slightly more accurate than straight up being a cop, but it still doesn't really fit with what i understand about Toph's character. Maybe it's because she hasn't really had that much character growth in the comics (it's been awhile since i read them i could definitely be wrong here) but to me she doesn't really seem like the type to look out for the little guy.

When we meet Toph she's a spoiled selfish little brat who got her first taste of true freedom. It results in her being reckless and destructive. She became a scam artist for her own personal gain. It seems like her morals are very black and white. "This person is a scam artist so it's okay for me to scam them back." Even though she was never a victim of the scam in the first place. "This person abused her bending abilities, so it's only right for Aang to take it away." This is something that happened in the comics btw. She has a strong sense of Justice, but it's not like she's ever gone out of her way to help people. Katara on the other hand has gone rogue in order to help, even when being told it isn't the smartest or safest choice to make (the earthbenders in the metal prison, the town in the painted lady).

But Toph really only seems to help people when the problem is thrown onto her path. Examples i can think of is freeing Hama's prisoners (she heard people under the mountain, would she have gone to investigate on her own if Sokka hadn't been suspicious of Hama, and if him and Aang didn't want to investigate the stories of the malicious spirit) and putting out fires created by the meteor (would she have suggested putting out the flames herself if Katara and Aang hadn't first?). And it's very clear that when she does help, she expects to be praised for it (she complained about not receiving love from the villagers after they put out the meteor fire).

In the first few comics Toph owns a metalbending school, where she basically kinda bullies her students into becoming metalbenders? So i do see her taking in more apprentices, being a metalbending teacher, maybe even expanding the schools and having a chain of them across the earthkingdom. That's the kind of career i see for her. She does have the bones for business, seeing as her father is one of the most successful ones in the world (they reunite and make up in the comics so i can see Lao Beifong giving her pointers on business here and there). But nothing where she goes out of her way to help, and definitely not law enforcement.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar #toph #toph beifong #toph bei fong #ask dori #anon

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dirtyvulture · 6 months

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😎 I woke up this morning and I finished the Darkest Knight Au Part and it was as amazing as always and I loved seeing all the little pieces of the contributions that I made with my silly little thoughts. I also loved seeing the relationship between Wolvie and R evolve. I also wasn’t expecting the almost sexy time 😏. And of course Wolvie help the kids pack / bringing their stuff to the buses and probably carried the youngest kids to the buses too ( Nat watched on melting at the sight and was planning on sitting on Wolverine R’s lap after her shower anyways but seeing the wet and ruffled hair was probably a bonus 😉) .

I am melting at R seeing Rouge again and the cutest little detail of Rouge giving Nat a journal. I am laughing at the meeting of Kitty and Nat/ R !!!!! R most be so worried about Rouge and the older students that was set on staying to fight ( R loves all the kids but Rouge is HER KID ) and I think while they ( Nat and R and professor X ) were talking a bit about a game plan and a way to get all the kids off the school grounds without alarming or scarring them that is when Kitty eaves dropped on them and then ran off telling the older kids. Obviously Kitty and the older kids didn’t tell the others but that is how we got these older student volunteers because they basically ran in bursting through the door insisting that they were to stay and fight . R would be trying so hard to convince them to leave with the other kids that something like this could be easily handled by the teachers, Nat and R Herself but of course they didn’t have any of it . Wolverine only relenting when she made the kids promise that if things get too complicated or too dicey they would take the tunnels along with Nat and with the teachers/ stuff that stayed behind then take one of the armored vehicles and drive until they made it out of the city with the others while Wolverine stayed behind and dealt with the RR soldiers ( Nat and Rouge opposed this and the part of the main plan where Wolverine is at the forefront of their defense/ counter attack of the RR soldiers but Wolverine shot out that out of all of them who is the one that can take a shot to the head , lose a limb , or any other god forsaken thing and still bounce back. Rouge and Nat understand that R was being a bit harsh because she is worried about everyone and mad/ frustrated that people are going to attack what she loves) .

The main plan was for the adults ( ie the teachers/ stuff that is staying behind and R herself . R handling most of the soldiers ) were to stay in the front and handle the bulk of the RR soldiers while the kids and Nat hang back and to the sides, Bobby and Peter were to be the bulk of this back line defensive watching out for Rogue, Kitty and Nat . This is because both boys have more of a offensive rather than defensive ability ( and if Peter is who I think his is , being this world’s Colossus than he has a very good protective edge in keeping the others safe. Plus makes for an excellent human batting ram ) like Kitty phasing in and out of objects (actually she can make her atoms light or heavier . She can phase through things when her atoms are light but can also rival the hulk when she hits something/one when her atoms are heavier. She is also can touch rogue without any I’ll affects because she can make her herself only half tangible) or Rouge who has to literally be close enough to touch people. Nat in the absolute back because one she is who they are after and two she hasn’t any powers nor weapons to protect herself with ( because a school isn’t going to have weapons and in this school the kids themselves would be the weapons if nothing else), so the plan is as soon as anyone can disarm or could gather a weapon give it to Nat to use . Wolverine is to be going full Cryptid of War ! Wolverine and also full blown guard dog protecter . You know that The RR had to have their own stories/ run ins with Wolverine ( she has stated she is familiar with it and it has been proven this isn’t her first rodeo with them ) as well as telling stories to the RR widows to scare them , they may not call her Wolverine or Cryptid or any other of the numerous titles she collected. They might know her as / call her Baba Yaga ( in the John Wick movies it is the boogie man but it is actually slavic folk lore of a terrifying witch or sorceress or something else . It is always a woman- an old one generally - and sometimes she is nice and helpful but mostly she is out to get people. Baba is a Slavic word literally meaning “ old woman or grandmother” and Yaga means “ Snake or Wicked” . What Russians actually call the boogeyman is “ Babay , Babai” ) . I am imagining all these terrified soldiers calling out “ Baba Yaga” and while the others have no idea what is happening Nat and R do ( this isn’t the first time people have called her this and Nat ….. for her it is all clicking together. This is THE BABA YAGA that the RR always threatens the widows with and tries to frighten them with. If they were bad , couldn’t compete orders or whatever else) but for the first time in Nat’s life she isn’t afraid of the “ Baba Yaga” because she isn’t here for Nat ….. no she is here for THEM . This Baba Yaga is one of the friendly helpful ones but for this soldiers ….. may god help them .

I can see that this plays out kinda like how it did in the manor attack of the X-men movies but I can’t wait to see the spin on it that Vulture makes . This is just going to be my closing thoughts and I will be doing other thoughts at a different time. This had a very ….. southern feel. What I mean is that the phase “ Bless their heart” was used , darling and other such things . While I am NOT SOUTHERN by any means I have some cousins who are so I know some of the southern sayings .

There is not way in hell that Kitty didn’t tell EVERYONE that she saw R with Nat so Rogue knows that her mother figure has a new partner and Rogue seems ok with that. I have many many more thoughts but I will go over them next time. Just know I enjoyed everything and my new laptop works great 👍.

I'm so happy you liked it and saw the little Easter eggs I left in from all of the ideas you've shared. I wish I could've put it more, but with the direction the story went, I couldn't fit them all, but I'll definitely continue to do in future parts!

I have this imagine in my head that there were definitely multiple children who packed wayyyy too much stuff, so R was stuck carrying 50+lbs of unnecessary bedding and clothes for them, but she didn't even have time to complain because Professor Xavier told her that they needed to just get the kids out as soon as possible lol. And yep, I don't think I've mentioned it too much but R's tufty hair is 100% a turn on for Nat, she just won't admit to it.

I'd like to think that Rogue gave R a journal too because journaling helps her in stressful times and she thought it would help R. 🥺 But R isn't much of a writer unfortunately, so it went unused. But Nat, who has never gotten to keep a journal before (the Red Room wouldn't allow it so there would be no record of their training, missions, etc.) was so happy and loves putting all her thoughts to paper.

I mentioned in a comment that R is the best babysitter who's ever graced the X-Mansion. 😉 And even though this is the Red Room soldiers they're facing, R trusts the skills of her students and that if they are in danger, her or her colleagues will come to their aid.

Good catch on Peter, you are correct. :) Nat certainly feels like the weakest link because she's the only one without special "powers," but she is no weakling and still a highly trained and disciplined spy who could probably kill someone just as easily with her jacket or shoe.

If you've watched "Logan," that scene at the end where he's running through the forest screaming and all the soldiers are shouting "Look out! It's the Wolverine!" and then scattering in pure panic is how I imagine the RR agents will react to seeing her. I know she's supposed to be scary AF but hearing the words "Baba Yaga" always make me laugh 😭 I bet R would be laughing if she hears the soldiers calling her that right before she cuts into them.

You'll have to wait and see what I have in store for this one. :) And I'm not southern either actually, lol. Although in the comics, Wolverine is infamous for using the word "darling" (or honey, etc.) when talking to younger women (that he views in a daughterly way, but sometimes to a partner too), so that's why I wanted to include it here.

Well, we know Kitty very much approves of Nat as R's partner. And I'm sure Rogue did too, although she was more subtle about it.

Can't wait to hear more thoughts, anon! Have a good night!

#😎 anon #vulture answers #darkest knight au

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balanceoflightanddark · 2 years

Text

Azula Week Day 6-Friends

Azula snarled as she tripped over her robes, not used to the constrictive garb of a Kyoshi Warrior.

Suki just smiled while offering a hand to the fallen princess. "Take it easy," she warmly said. "I had issues with the skirt when I first started out." The gesture turned out to be fruitless though as Azula just brushed the grass and dirt off her clothes before getting back up on her own. She took a combat stance, getting ready for the next exchange.

Her teacher just shrugged. "Alright then. Again."

Ever since Azula had helped out the Warriors with the arrests of a number of rogue Fire Nation army groups, Suki offered the princess a chance to be an unofficial member of the Kyoshi Warriors. Granted she got a lot of questioning looks when she extended the invitation towards a former enemy, but there was something about her that seemed...she wouldn't say pitiful, but it was clear Azula wouldn't be happy if she just went back to the Fire Nation and her old life.

That being said, Suki was understandably the only one who trusted her. And the feeling seemed to be mutual. Azula didn't train with the others, only either by herself or with their leader. The others in turn didn't go out of their way to call her their sister. Again, understandable with their history.

Still, Suki took it upon herself to give the disgraced princess a chance. It didn't seem right to deny her the opportunity to better herself.

And so here they were, circling one another as they looked for an opening.

"Remember. Move with your robes. Don't try to fight against them. They're an extension of who you are." Azula nodded, her face focused on her sparring partner. She didn't have much trouble with applying the robes and makeup, not after Ba Sing Se. The problem was that...well, the Warrior armor was as much a formal dress as it was armor. Almost as if her mother decided to be an armourer.

Her mother...

Azula hissed, throwing a wild punch as her mother's face came up into her mind. The punch was easily sidestepped, Suki able to smack Azula's back with her palm before the princess could retaliate.

It was when Azula turned with a frustrated look that the leader cut a time out. "Is everything alright?" Suki asked.

A sigh left Azula's painted lips as her teacher saw right through her. "No. I...it's nothing really. I'm just not used to this sort of garb." There she was making excuses again. Father always counted on her being a quick learner, but here she was. Trying to explain to a former enemy why she couldn't get the most basic of movements down-

Her muscles eased up when Suki put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Relax. Nobody's gonna judge you. Now...why don't you really tell me what's going on?"

...well, her pride's already in the drain. What else did she have to lose?

"I...I'm just thinking of my mother."

She expected a rebuke, but was surprised when Suki nodded her head to go on.

"My mother probably would've been used to this sort of thing. I know being a girl is a big part of the Warriors but...I never fit in with the rest back in the Capital. Mother always wanted me to be some kind of doll. Someone only to look after my brother. I wanted to do my nation proud. We...didn't see eye to eye.

"I just...I had so many questions of who I was. I couldn't please my mother no matter what I did. Seems like I still can't."

"...so you don't want to be defined by your brother, right?"

"I...suppose so."

Azula was ready for some stern lecture about how awful she was for not worshipping her brother. Like everyone else in her life. While Azula did appreciate he was trying to mend the bridge on his end, she still felt...off. Seemed like everyone was fawning over him these days. Was there...any place for her?

To her surprise though, Suki just gave a shining smile. "Azula...you're a warrior. That's who you are at your heart, and nobody can take that away from you. Your mother...I don't think she understood you. You didn't fit the mold of what should be a proper lady, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. At all. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't just pretend to be a boy or somebody else either. That's what being a Warrior is all about. It's embracing that spirit rather than trying to wrangle it or fight it."

"I...I see. I think. It's just...why are you giving me this chance after what happened?" Azula asked, not understanding where she got this forgiveness from.

Suki just rubbed her shoulder. "I'll admit, I was...mad at you for a while. Disguising as us and all. But...I don't think you're the same girl that brought down Ba Sing Se. Just helping us out with those war criminals is a sign of that.

"Besides, imprisoning us was hardly the worst thing the Fire Nation did to my people during the war. At least we were cared for in prison."

That got a good laugh out of Azula. To think that her former prisoner didn't hold it against her for her confinement. It was...illuminating.

And it did feel good that a former enemy could become a dear friend.

With that, they trained on into the afternoon. Eventually, Azula began to best her mentor in sparring.

It...certainly felt good to have a friendly sparring partner after so long.

@azulaweek

#azula #princess azula #suki #azulaweek2022 #azulaweek day 6 #short fic

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boopsterliv · 2 years

Text

Me: Alright, time to see what Captain Canary is doin’-

My brain: Rainbow Raider as a girl.

Me:

Me: Like a gender-swapped Roy G. Bivolo or...

My brain: No, she is his sister. She’s an art teacher with powers related to the emotional spectrum. She’s got two kids and was the art teacher of teenaged Barry and Iris.

Me: So, is she doing this for revenge or...?

My brain: Eh, occasionally. Most of the time it’s just for kicks, and there’s the rare rescue here and there. But I mean, sometimes she does it out of revenge if you mess with her family. It’s to be expected when you are part of the Rogues. Most of the time, she just takes what she needs and nothing else. Not much of a luxury person.

Me: Okay, that sounds cool, anything else?

My brain:

My brain: She’s married to our dorky himbo Arrowverse oc.

Me: You’re a genius.

#i'm having thoughts again #i mean come on #i get flash wanted to be serious and all #but have a little fun with it #rainbow raider #oc #arrowverse #arrowverse oc

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padfootdaredmetoo · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Feel free to add or change anything!! Can I please request a (John lives au🥺) Tommy Shelby x Mutant!fem!reader (X-Men/Peaky Blinders crossover) where she is a mutant that is a part of the X-Men and She can control the Earth’s 4 elements (fire, ice, wind and earth) and has telekinesis. The X-Men have to travel back in time to various points (in order to stop something bad in the future), each mutant going to a different time (like if Days of Future Past mixed with Endgame), and Y/n goes back to the time to the Peaky Blinder’s time and runs into the Shelbys while she’s trying to stop something happening that will badly effect the future? I can so imagine Thomas, John, Arthur, and Finn trying to bring her in for questioning after finding her snooping, but she kicks their butts because she has world saving to do lol😂😂 After a while spent with the Shelbys/Blinders, she ends up not wanting to go back to her time because She and Tommy fell in love?

I would imagine they would be pretty shocked to find out about mutants and time travel 🧭

Thank you so much for this request! I was unsure about how I would wrangle the two stories together as they are my two favorite fandoms. This was true labour of love. I hope it's what you were looking for. I honestly had to write it in chunks. I could have put together a full novel about the ideas I had.

Hope you enjoy bestie! XO

Summary: Reader is a mutant who has to follow her family back into Erik's past to save the world. She accidently falls back into Birmingham 1920's surrounded by the Peaky Blinders, which happens to be her favorite TV show....

It sounds tacky when I put it like that but I promise it works.

Rated - Teen: Heart break. So much pain, but also so so so much fluff. Mentions of death, grief, major character death of sorts, mentions of violence, mentions of Nazi Germany.

If you don't follow the X-Men it pretty much just reads as a time travel romance fic

Things had gone from bad to very very bad in a short span of time.

Six months ago Magneto went rogue again. Leaving the X-Men to make a more aggressive stance against the new mutant legislations that were coming into action.

That’s the exact moment we went from bad to worse.

The government was ready for the attack and used it as an opportunity to strike against him hard with their new weaponry. They now had these freaky gigantic robots trying to hunt us down. They hadn’t yet found out the location of the school but you and everyone else knew that the days were becoming limited.

Like most of Charles and Erik's fights, everything ended with Erik outside the front door looking defeated. Charles sobered up and they were back to being a power couple ready to save the world.

The two of them had sat down tracing back through time to the exact points in history that lead us all here. You sat in Charles' study looking between him, Erik, and the overwhelming bulletin board. It was covered in pictures, letters, maps, and a lot of rainbow yarn you feared had come from your personal collection.

“That better not be my roll of rainbow yarn.” You said sternly, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

“World is ending bub, keep it focused.” Logan said, looking as unimpressed as you felt.

“Alright. We don't have much time so I appreciate everyone's undivided attention.” Charles said in his most calming teacher voice.

“Here is a list of what's expected of you.” Erik said sternly and you thanked him as he handed you your individual paper. You quickly looked it over and internally started to freak out. It was all about Europe in the late 1930’s…

The meeting went into full swing and it did nothing to make you feel better. They expected the people in this room, your family. To divide and be sent back in time to fix certain events leading to the current weaponry that was about to destroy mutant kind, and potentially the whole world.

You were shaking by the end of it. Everyone cleared out, there was three hours till go time. Erik called you to stay and you watched him motion Charles out of the room.

You looked at him and resisted the urge to throw a temper tantrum. Erik and Charles had become something like parents to you over the many years you’d been here. Erik was someone you were especially close with, and he fucking left. He fucked this all up. Deep down you knew it was for the better that he had forced the government's hand, it gave you time to prepare this seven layer dip of a plan to stop them.

But still he left you here. He might not be your actual father but your heart didn’t know the difference.

He looked at you with eyes that tore into your soul.

“I know I fucked up but please understand, if I thought there was any possible thing I could have done but leave. I would have. I won’t have you, Peter, and Wanda in a camp. I just wont.” His voice was dripping with poorly concealed emotion making his accent thicker. Suddenly you burst, you wished this confrontation didn't happen right before you needed to have your shit together. You went over to him and wrapped your arms around him tightly. You didn't need to say anything because he knew he was forgiven.

“You're going back to Germany, when I was little.” These words hurt him even more and you held him tighter. “It’s not a very happy place. But look at me.” You did as you were told, looking up into his blue eyes. “You come home safe to me.” He said it in German and you couldn't help the tears that started to fall.

“I put everything down on that list. You keep it close.”

“I will.” You responded back in German. Now you knew why you were picked for this. Trying to meddle with Nazi Germany was a task better suited for someone like Logan, who had actually fought there. Not that he would remember it though..

“You're a smart kid, I have no doubts in my mind that you're capable of this” Charles said entering the room, having read your mind. With the current climate you didn't chew him out for it. Erik held you tighter for a moment, then let you go after placing a kiss to your forehead.

They were asking you to be tough and strong yet they were tearing you up with all this affection. Erik cleared his throat and grabbed a thick leather notebook.

“Take this too. Forgive some of the more personal stuff. It was from my life after the war but it has some stuff about what happened during. Thought it better to send you with too much than not enough.” You accepted the book and nodded at him sadly.

“I have to go and apologize to the others now. But I’ll see you again before you go. Let me know if you think of any questions.” He strode out of the room and you silently said a prayer that your family would all make it back safe.

Charles gave you an empathetic stare before giving you a big hug.

“I love you. We love you.” He said softly.

“I love you both too.” You thought to him in your mind.

Then it was time for the action. You had similar, rather tense emotional moments with your adoptive siblings and other members of the team.

Even Wade came over and gave you a big hug.

“You give ol Adolf an extra one between the eyes for me kid.” Somehow his mask winked at you and you gave him a nod and a sad smile.

They had you in a cotton layered outfit that was surprisingly accurate to the time period which was good. The last thing that 1930’s Europe was ready for was you in one of your brothers stolen Led Zeppelin T-shirts and a pair of mom jeans.

You held your leather purse close to your side and mentally ran through everything inside. You weren't allowed to take much outside of the notebook and list from Erik. You realized that in a few short moments you would be in a whole other world, with no money and every single person you knew wouldn't be reachable.

You would be completely alone.

They got you sorted into the machine and you watched as Erik and Charles both watched your body disappear with a pain that only parents could feel when their children were about to go far away for the first time.

Everything went dark. Suddenly you felt like you had a horrible case of the bed spins. You tried to relax but you had to force every breath of air into your lungs.

Then suddenly you were in an old alleyway. Two large brick buildings were on either side of you with people's laundry above your head. Why they had laundry out in this damp weather was beyond you.

Gunshots rang out in front of you and collided with a man standing further down the alleyway.

Oh Fuck

You watched his body crumple, but what could you do? You could see he was dead and you resisted the urge to rush over and help. That would only draw attention to yourself when what you needed to do was keep a low profile.

Two very tired, but well dressed men emerged from the fog and looked at you standing there.

Normally you wouldn't feel afraid but your body felt different, like your powers were still slightly out of reach.

“You didn't see nothin!” One of them exclaimed in a very British accent, while pointing a gun at you. You nodded in agreement, turning on your heel making your way down the alleyway.

“You can't just let her go. Tommy will want to make sure she keeps ‘er fuck’in mouth shut.” The second man said a little bit too loudly. You picked up your pace.

“Tommy isn't going to care about some woman Arthur.”

“What if she’s with ‘em though, she might know something.” The second man only let out a long string of cuss words.

“Eh! Miss. Don’t move.” You stopped because you knew that he had a gun to your back. You turned around slowly.

“By orders of the Peaky Blinders.” The taller one called out. The words cut through you like glass.

Peaky Blinders?! Like the show?! Oh no. no. no. no. This was very bad.

“Shut up Arthur”

They both came towards you leaving the dead man’s body long forgotten. You didn't resist them, mostly because you were in shock. They put you into the back seat of a car and you just looked around you. Birmingham. Blinders.

Damn, props to the casting manager, and to the costume people. Not to mention the prop people. This was like falling into the TV.

You were brought into the betting shop. It was really different from the show, but it still felt the same somehow.

Peaky Fucking Blinders

Speaking of fucking. The rather distressed man in front of you must have been Thomas Shelby.

Your face flushed and you tried to remind yourself that this was real life. Your family was out there doing their part, and somehow you’d fallen into the wrong time…

These people weren’t the ones you watched on TV with your dad, or stayed up reading fanfiction about. These were the real deal.

His eyes settled on you.

“What the fuck is this then?!” He shouted.

“She was in the alleyway with the Russian.”

“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?” He screamed at you and you jumped.

“I was just in the wrong place. I swear.” He looked at you with a piercing look, suddenly you really did hope that Cillian Murphy won hundreds of awards for his performance.

“You are lying. And I don't have time for lying.”

“We’ve got to get to the Train.” One of the men said, drawing his gaze away from you.

“Go, I’ll take her with me.”

You were pushed into another car, this time with Thomas driving.

“Look I know you know something I can feel it. Just tell me and I won't kill you.”

“I swear if I knew something I would tell you” You answered calmly.

“FUCK” He was driving recklessly and only started to push the car faster.

He got out and dragged you into a field where men had a tent and some kind of mining operation happening.

“Tommy there’s no way we are going to get through this quickly.”

“I need everything out by sunrise. They have Charlie.” The two men looked at each other and you assumed that Charlie must be very important to them.

“Don't let her out of your sight.” He motioned towards you before starting to strip down.

“What do you need to get out? I might be able to help.” You mentally kicked yourself, this was so Charles of you. Now was not the time nor the era to be using your mutant powers to help gangsters.

“How on earth are you going to help?” Suddenly you realized that you were by far the most powerful person in the setting. And probably the whole city. The shock was finally gone and you could feel the elements around you humming like you usually could.

“I can get you whatever you're digging for in less than five minutes, in exchange for information.”

The man he was talking to let out a laugh. But Tommy only stared at you with those perceptive eyes.

“Jewels, they are ten yards in that direction in an underground cellar.” As he spoke you could feel them vibrating exactly where he said they would be.

“Why am I doing this?” You asked him seriously. You didn't have time to play heist with them no matter how many hours you spent reading about it.

“Because they have my son” He looked desperate and it twisted up your heart.

“Take everyone out of the tunnel and have them turn away from me.” You instructed him and he gave the order. The men were looking at the two of you like he’d finally snapped. But they did as they were told.

You pushed your mind through the earth till you could feel the jewels. You moved the earth aside, extending the tunnel in one swift movement, then pulled the jewels through. Your feet met the ground again and you realised he didn't turn around. He stood there eyes wide with a stone-like expression.

The guy just watched you levitate and saw your eyes glow brown and bright white. But still he just looked at you like he always knew you’d been a part of this world.

You used your powers to place all the loot into the bag in his hand.

“Thank you.” You could see in his eyes that he meant it.

“What year is it?”

“1928”

“Fuck!” You were going to be stuck here for at least ten plus years. Panic washed over you.

“Help me get my son?”

“Sure” you answered realising you had all the time in the fucking world to chase Tommy around.

In the span of a few short hours you’d rescheduled someone’s abortion, helped the father of that baby kill his molester, rescued what might be the cutest baby ever if not for the horrible hair cut, and stopped some kind of train from exploding.

For some reason this made some Russians very mad. So you’d handled that too.

Now you were sitting in Thomas Shelby’s kitchen with a glass of whiskey in your hand as he held his sleeping child in his arms.

“What are you?”

“Pretty sure I just did all the heavy lifting so I could ask the big questions” You didn't mean to be that sassy with him, the man looked like absolute shit, but the smallest smile crept onto his face. That stupid smile pushed that soft spot in your heart a little. You let out a long sigh.

“I am a mutant from the future. I can control the elements earth, water, fire, air, and I can move objects with my mind.” You added more whiskey to the glasses with your mind, watching him struggle to contain his expression. “I have to stop something horrible from happening in Nazi Germany.”

“Nazi’s?” He rolled the word around in his mouth. “I don't know much about mutants.”

“I didn't think you would.” You said with a small smile.

“And you know me well then?” He asked with a raised brow.

“In some ways I feel like I do, but deep down I know that I really don’t” He studied you for a moment and you saw the many questions burning in his eyes.

“How about this. You help me with the Nazi’s when the time comes, and I’ll help you as much as I can until then” He thought about it, eyes making your skin burn.

“But I’m not in control of when they pull me back so I could just disappear at any moment.”

“Deal.” He took a sip of whiskey.

“You must be tired, but I’m also happy to answer questions if you have any.” Really you just didn't want this to end. Any second Hank could realise his mistake, you hated yourself for it, but you wanted this to last for a bit.

You expected him to be tired, and worn out after everything. Instead he asked you questions about your abilities, the future. All the stuff you’d expect. He said his mother had told him about people like you when he was small, that’s why he didn't doubt you.

You told him that he was remembered in the future very well. A blush crept onto your face, embarrassed and slightly guilty about all the thoughts you’d had about him. Well fictional him anyway.

This only pushed him to want to know about it. So you told him that there was a television show about his family that you were very fond of. You gave a brief description of film and television.

“And you like me in that show?” He asked.

“Ah, yeah. You could say that.” But the burn on your cheeks gave you away.

“Hmm and the man that acts out my character, he’s alright?”

“Oh yeah. He does a good job.” You could feel the amusement rolling off of him.

________

Weeks passed and Tommy adjusted to having you live with him. These were hard weeks for you as you were worried sick about being stuck here while your family was across time and space potentially being murdered or imprisoned.

It was the kind of stress that led to a lot of nightmares. Nightmares that had the potential to shake the whole house…

After the first two times of him tearing into your room waking you up and holding your shaking body tightly, he recommended you just sleep next to him.

One tremor he could blame on an earthquake, two tremors - well stranger things had happened, but the superstitious maids were starting to get uneasy. Three tremors and he was sure they would assume the place was haunted by his late wife.

You took him up on his offer feeling very embarrassed every single piece of “there was only one bed” fanfiction you’d read flashed before your eyes as you laid there next to him.

Strangely enough you both slept better like that. Till one morning you woke up tangled in his sleeping body. That was an incident that led to a lot of kissing. Then courting. Then a full blown affair.

He often asked you about the various stories you’d read and written about him. Laughing at how sappy you made him, teasing you about it relentlessly.

_________________

Family was an interesting aspect of your time here. You missed yours so badly that you tried to insert yourself into his every moment you could.

You laughed and learned a lot from the women you became so close with.

When you looked back on it you’d like to think that you helped them all get along better just as much as they helped you grow up. Little Fin and Charlie looked up to you as some sort of God. Too wise to be an older sibling, and not strict enough to be a mother. It broke your heart knowing that eventually you’d leave them potentially without even getting the chance to say goodbye.

This prompted you to write out a notebook much like your fathers. Something to leave them with. Nothing about the future, but just love for them. Stuff they could read when they were in need of comfort. From what you knew of the up and coming war they would need it. You had birthday cards written out for the children till each of them turned 60.

_________

A year had passed and while you missed your family dearly. You had lots of daily tasks to keep up on providing for your family here. Between the family and Tommy you rarely stood still long enough to be sad.

Tommy proposed to you in the woods behind the house. You knew a public wedding and engagement wasn't possible with your potential to leave at any moment.

After trying to convince him otherwise you agreed.

A secret wedding was held in the fall with only your closest family.

_______________________

Ten years passed and you helped Tommy try to take out the British Nazi Party while also getting ready to travel to Germany.

The clock was ticking on your life here and the time had come to put the future world above what your heart wanted.

Tommy could feel it coming and took every possible moment he could spare to be around you. Both of you desperately clinging to what pieces of happiness you could hold onto before it was all ripped away.

You warned him about the stalk market crashes and about every part of the up and coming war and future that might impact the family.

_______________________

Then it was go time. The family sent you off with heavy hearts, only Polly and Tommy understood the task that lay heavily on your shoulders.

Tommy insisted on accompanying you as far as possible. You already knew that he fully intended on staying with you the whole time. You could always tell when he was lying.

You left him sleeping in a hotel just before you’d reached Germany. The morning light sprawled across his tattooed skin. You looked at the arms that carried you from being a child into becoming a woman. The hands that helped shape you and showed you how to overcome your worst fears. You’d stolen 12 years of this man's life, 12 years he should have been settling down with a wife and a mother for his child.

12 years of laughing all night, dancing in the kitchen, yelling with his family, night walks in the woods, more sex than you thought humanly possible, murder, money, gabling, horse races, drinking, and cocaine. All of it was about to be ripped away.

You shut the door leaving him a letter saying goodbye. Explaining everything, and how you were leaving him there to protect him. You told him where to find the many journals you’d written and the letters for his family.

Then you were off to find Shaw.

___________________________

It was a horrible task, you watched Erik’s mother, someone he said watched over you with the tender gaze only a grandmother could manage, die. Your heart broke there and you hoped that Erik was right, that she did watch over you and your siblings, that she understood why you let her body crumple to the ground.

You couldn't kill Shaw, or Hitler. Something that would weigh on your consciousness for the rest of your life. All the power to stop some of the most horrible things in history, and you had to walk away.

That didn't mean you couldn't raise hell though. You did what you were instructed to, passed the appropriate information on to the right people.

Freed as many Jews as you possibly could on the side…..

But no one needed to know about that.

You eventually rescued Erik, and saw the full extent of how Shaw had mutilated him. You comforted him and gave him the instructions he would need.

Despite him being a boy, and receiving an impossible amount of information about his future he still grabbed your arm before you left him there.

“Are you my daughter?” He looked so hopeful. The promise of a child meant the promise of a home, and true love.

You didn't have the heart to tell him that his wife and first daughter would be murdered in front of him. Or that I would fall into his lap as an orphan desperately in need of a father, that his two biological children would be kept from him till they were in their early twenties. The amount of collateral damage and problem fixing he had ahead of him. Not to mention his on and off again relationship that had caused the world to end more times that any other threat to the planet. A part of you wanted to. but Future Erik made you swear you wouldn't.

“You are a good father. Just keep your head up.” You kissed his forehead like he had done countless times to you. And left the freshly mangled boy in a hotel bed in a foreign country just like you’d left your husband a few short weeks ago.

__________

The task was filled but you didn't instantly fly back to the present day. So you got on a train back to Birmingham to spend whatever last sliver of time you had left next to your husband. After all the horrible things you had seen, the only thing you wanted, the only thing that could put you back together, was your husband's arms. You desperately wanted to fall apart, but you kept it together out of hope.

You wanted one last kiss.

You stepped off the train platform in Birmingham. One body amongst the busy sea of people, you looked at the train platform and it was the last thing you saw of your life there.

________

Horrible bed spins, and suddenly you were back in the basement of the mansion. Everyone was present, looking just the same as it had been 12 fucking years ago.

You immediately fell to your knees. Your body twisted in at the harsh realization that it was finally all over. A sob ripped through your chest as you crumpled to the floor. Erik’s hands reached you first as your family frantically tried to figure out if you’d been injured.

You wanted to tell them that it was only your heart being broken. That your mind was slowly fracturing into a million unrepairable pieces. A valuable part of you was left in Birmingham and your body didn't know how to breathe or pump blood without it.

You prayed for death. You realised that the words tumbled out of your mouth between sobs. Begging them to let it kill you. That you didn't want to live in a world without him.

____________

Time passed and it didn't kill you. Eventually you came to terms with the fact that if you died, they would only kick your ass right back into existence. The Shelby family fought as hard as your family did to live in a world of opportunity like this and to give it up would be a disgrace on their names.

So you lived on. Charles, Erik, Peter, Wanda, and the whole team did everything they could to comfort you through the loss. Everyone else was sent back for about two days, so they stayed relatively the same.

You watched as your parents mourned the loss of their bubbly ambitious 20 year old, as she was now filled with a 32 year old depressed widow.

Suddenly you understood the pain that constantly ran through Erik’s veins. Logan’s constant night terrors searching for a red headed woman hit too close to home. Watching Wade’s fists clench every time someone with long black hair walked by. It all made too much sense. The new awareness of grief had exposed you to how the people around you truly lived their lives.

Charles had bought Arrow House for you, hoping it would ease the pain. Something physical from that time to hold on to. The place was going to be demolished, and you were very grateful he had thought to look for it before it was lost like everything else.

Eventually you had to visit his grave.

Erik stood by the gates of the cemetery while you walked along trying to find him. It was a crisp autumn day much like the day you married him. And there he was, black marble with gold lettering.

What was left of the man that used to hold you every night lay six feet below you.

His tombstone was brief, and classy much like himself. But in small letters at the bottom you saw the song lyrics of your favorite song engraved. Song lyrics you left in the journal you’d stashed for him.

He found it.

And buried next to him was his wife. You thought you would feel jealous, but relief washed through you. He was looked after, Charlie had a mum. His life ran its course with someone next to him in his bed every night.

He moved on so you could too.

#Peaky Blinders #X-Men #Peaky Blinders X-Men AU #Peaky blinders x X-men #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders AU #X-Men AU #X-Men Request #erik lensherr #Dadneto #charles xavier #SO MANY FUCKING FEELS MAN #I don't know how to tag this!#X-Men fic #X-Men oneshot #x men days of future past #X-Men request

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Imagine if Meng Shi begged and bargained and collected favors till she was able to send her A-Yao to education with the Lan Sect, perhaps even become a cultivator with them. Would he take that change? Would he become a rogue cultivator? Would the strict rules help curb his inner muderimpuls or enrage him or teach him to hide better?

A Good Fit - ao3

“The…Lan sect?” Meng Yao said doubtfully. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” his mother said, her mouth tight. She looked upset, the way she always did these days when he referenced, intentionally or otherwise, the original plan that she had had to send him to join his father, sect leader of Lanling Jin. She’d raised Meng Yao on a steady diet of stories of what his life would be like when his father finally took him back the way he’d promised her he would, stories that had filled his days and nights for years and years and years, and then just last year she’d suddenly stopped talking about it entirely. It was as if the person who’d told those stories had nothing to do with her.

Meng Yao didn’t know what had happened, but he assumed it must have been pretty bad.

“It'll be a good fit,” she added.

“Then I’ll go to the Lan sect,” he said, and pretended not see the way his mother relaxed a little, relieved that he wasn’t asking too many questions. “I’ve heard they are gentlemen there, righteous but gentle; it will be the best match for my personality, I’m sure.”

A lie, of course. ‘Gentlemen’ were just as likely to come to the brothel as brutes, and they were all the same once they had a cup of wine and a beauty in their arms – Meng Yao tried not to have any illusions.

“Can we afford it?” he asked instead, since that was something he was sure his mother would have thought of, would have expected him to ask. “Gusu is so far away…”

“I have obtained a letter from the local sect recommending you to their sect leader, Lan Qiren,” she said. “He’s the one that teaches the classes – the one that sent out the summons asking the subsidiary sects to look for individuals with raw talent to join his classes and offering them an extra seat for their sects for each nameless orphan they find that lives up to Lan sect standards. Only the Heavens know why he’s doing something like that…I assume they’re trying to expand.”

That seemed like the most reasonable explanation. Meng Yao nodded. “So I’ll be traveling with the local sect?”

“That’s right,” his mother said, and raised her chin a little. “At least this much, your mother was able to do for you.”

She’d begged and bargained and traded favors for it, then, Meng Yao thought, and yet taking him along was to their own benefit: if they were looking for inherited cultivation talent sufficient for the Lan sect, then the bastard son of another Great Sect leader would be a better bet than some random nobody. She’d probably humiliated herself for nothing.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, more concerned with that – it was too easy for women of ill repute to disappear into the depths of the city if they didn’t have someone to watch out for them.

Even someone as young as he was. He wished he was older.

“You can come back to visit me during the Spring Festival,” she said, which meant no. “I’ll be all right, A-Yao.”

Meng Yao wasn’t so sure.

Still, not having him around would at least remove a visible reminder of his mother’s age – she’d been kicked out of the better brothels because of him, because no one wanted a woman who was a mother. Leaving would at least do that for her.

“I’ll write,” he finally said. “I’ll write as often as they let me.”

“And I’ll write back,” she promised him, kissing his cheek. “I promise.”

With that, Meng Yao supposed he had to be satisfied.

The Lan sect was both exactly like what Meng Yao expected and absolutely nothing at all like anything he could have dreamt.

For the first, his cynicism was almost immediately confirmed: the boys raised there were snobby as anything, looking down at the rest of them as little better than barbarians, and many of the adults were the same way. It was clear that this whole business of recruiting talented nobodies was a project of the sect leader’s – the interim sect leader, no less, not even the real thing – and nobody else’s; they were only just barely going along with it. Adding to that the fact that there were dozens if not hundreds of rules, and Meng Yao could glumly foresee a future of having his lack of knowledge held over his head as a fault, even with his marvelous memory to act as his backing.

For the second…

Well, there was Lan Xichen, who was – as unbelievable as it seemed – to actually embody all those things that people said about gentlemen, all kindness and gentleness and fierce upright pride, except only for real. There was Lan Wangji, who was basically perfect in every way and kinder than he gave the impression he was, willing to help tutor anyone who asked if only they dared disturb his solitude long enough to do so. There was the boy Meng Yao shared a room with, Su She, who’d punched the boy from the Yunping cultivator clan in the mouth for calling Meng Yao a son of a whore and pretended it was because they weren’t allowed to talk about that sort of thing, when actually it’d been because he hadn’t wanted rumors to get around that might make Meng Yao’s life harder in the future.

There was Lan Qiren, who was strict and a little boring but fair, painfully fair, handing out punishments with an equitable hand no matter that it meant that he was punishing the locals as often if not more often. It’d been his idea to bring people like Meng Yao into the Lan sect, and defending the idea was the only time he truly seemed moved to passion. Now that they’d passed the initial examination and been judged to match Lan sect standards, Lan Qiren announced, as far as he was concerned, they were Lan sect just as if they were born there, as if they’d been children of his own.

And he even seemed to really believe it, too.

Today, Meng Yao’s head was still warm from when the stern Teacher Lan had put his hand there, gentle and approving, and his ears still burning from the murmured “Well done, Meng Yao, as expected.”

“I think I would kill someone for him,” Meng Yao said dreamily to Su She, who snorted.

“You’ve got such father issues,” he said disdainfully, as if he didn’t have entire family issues. That was just Su She’s way, though – he bitched and moaned and complained without end, and he’d probably kill someone for Meng Yao if Meng Yao so much as hinted it was something he’d want. They’d made friends for a reason. “You know the bit about the poor kids being his own children is a lie, right?”

“I know which sect’s leader is my father, thanks,” Meng Yao said, rolling his eyes. “I’m well aware it’s not Teacher Lan. Like he’d ever have kids of his own, anyway.”

“That’d require noticing when someone’s flirting with him,” Su She agreed, all solemn for just a moment, and then he dissolved into sniggering giggles. Meng Yao couldn’t blame him: it was, in fact, extremely funny when women (and sometimes men) tried to flirt with Teacher Lan, mostly because of the way that he very genuinely and completely missed that that was what was happening each and every time.

“Laugh all you like,” Meng Yao said peaceably. “You’d kill for him, too.”

“Probably,” Su She agreed. “But only because of you.”

That was fair enough. After getting the lay of the land, Meng Yao had arranged for them to ‘accidentally’ be overheard by Teacher Lan while talking about the misconduct of one of the teachers who was the most biased against guest disciples, one of the ones that had been harassing Su She in particular for over a year before Meng Yao had arrived, and despite Su She’s initial nervousness about the plan, it had all gone splendidly. Sure, they’d been punished to do five copies of a treatise on upright conduct because they’d breached Talking behind the backs of others is prohibited, but the teacher in question had been sentenced to two hundred strikes with the discipline rod for abusing his position and three months of enforced seclusion to contemplate his misbehavior, and then, Teacher Lan had said, his expression dark and threatening, they could discuss what role would be the best fit in the future.

The other teachers had taken notice and shaped up very quickly, after that.

Comparatively, those five copies made in the nice cool Library Pavilion instead of having to do chores on the hottest days of summer? Practically a pat on the back for bringing it to his attention.

Su She would never have dared to raise anything if it was just him, Meng Yao thought; he had a strange fear of authority figures that combined envy and misery in an explosive combination – he would have just suffered and suffered and suffered until he’d been pushed too far and then it would have all burst out at once. He wasn’t like Meng Yao, who was unwilling to keep to his “proper” place and was more than willing to use his greater-than-average share of brains to get what he wanted, no matter what rules he broke in the process. He was the sort of person who was willing to do whatever it took to obtain his desires – no matter what it took.

Well, maybe not no matter what. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Lan Qiren too much.

(Okay, so maybe Su She was right and he had some unresolved father issues. So what if he did? Whose business was it but his?)

It’d taken Meng Yao a while to fully adjust to the Cloud Recesses.

Some parts he’d figured out right away – the way they all flattered themselves as gentlemen even if they were actually little more than hypocrites (Teacher Lan and his personally taught nephews exempted, of course), which of course meant that Meng Yao’s ability to act pitiful at the drop of a hat and cleverly turn black into white made him a teacher’s pet at once. The vegetarian meals were easy enough to adapt to, given that his mother hadn’t had the money for meat all that often, and the training and cultivation and all that wasn’t any challenge for his excellent powers of retention – he had ambitions of becoming one of Teacher Lan’s aides one day, and worked assiduously towards that goal. Even waking and sleeping early, which was practically the opposite of his schedule at home, was something he could adjust to, given time and incentive.

It was his mentality that took some time to adjust.

Meng Yao had perhaps grown up with too many of his mother’s stories, painting an image of a matchless paradise – at the start, he looked at everything around him, serene and elegant but not quite as rich and shining and thought that it would do, for now. When he’d first arrived, he had had every intention of making a good reputation for himself and using that reputation to get his real father’s attention – he’d liked Teacher Lan from the beginning, despite his best attempts to not let his heart be swayed, but he’d reasoned that if a teacher was like this, then a blood-related father would be even better.

And so, for the first half-year, he’d treated his time at the Cloud Recesses…not lightly, no. He was extremely serious about making sure to get the maximum benefit he could. And yet, at the same time, he still was not really committing himself to the place.

This wasn’t where he was going to live his whole life, he reasoned; it was just a stepping stone to a better future. That meant he would exert himself to point out things that made him look good, to eliminate obstacles in his path, to win himself allies, but not bother with those longer-term problems, the ones that really ought to be fixed but which would take a great deal of effort with little reward other than annoying people.

His feeling of superiority and emotional distance lasted right up until the first discussion conference.

From a distance, Jin Guangshan was everything Meng Yao could have imagined – perhaps a little too similar to the clients that his mother often saw, a little dissolute to pull off the air of a refined scholar he affected, but wearing more gold than Meng Yao had ever seen in his life, with a retinue of servants that dwarfed the other sect’s. Each of those servants were dressed more finely than even main clan cultivators in some of the smaller sects, and though Meng Yao’s Lan sect guest disciple clothing was of such quality that he didn’t need to fear their disdain, he couldn’t help but be secretly impressed.

He'd exerted himself more than usual to trade away all of his chores and duties, freeing himself up to take on patrol duty near the Jin sect. He’d perhaps daydreamed about some sort of encounter – nothing active on his part, of course, but he couldn’t quite resist playing through some fantasy of catching someone’s eye by chance, getting called over, a “You have a familiar set to your chin, who’s your father?”, a shy halting admission, recognition, a joyous reunion…

Instead, his father spent the entire night getting drunk and cursing the Lan sect’s hospitality for not providing him with girls to go with his liquor, calling Lan Qiren a miserable prude with a stick up his ass right in front of the Lan sect disciples that clenched their fists in barely concealed rage. He’d seen Meng Yao all right, ordered him to come forward, but it’d only been to mock him in front of all of his servants – and not even for being his bastard son, no, that would involve bothering to pick him out from the crowd or to ask who he was. No, he’d mocked him simply for being one of the poor disciples that Lan Qiren had taken in, all because his accent was marked with the distinct tones of Yunping rather than the sweetness of Gusu.

“Tell me, boy,” he said, breathing fumes into Meng Yao’s face and making him feel suddenly as if he’d never left the brothel – that the Cloud Recesses had all been a vague dream, and now he’d woken up and lost it all. “How does that old fart Qiren expect you to pay him back for all he’s done for you? I heard the Lan sect includes a pretty face as one of its standard requirements…”

Meng Yao put his gaze above his father’s head and pretended to be deaf.

“It seems like rather a lot of effort,” one of his father’s attendants remarked. “Even if Second Master Lan wanted a boy to warm his bed, couldn’t he just buy one like any normal person?”

“Bah, boys,” his father said, and leaned back, waving his hands in dismissal. “Why would anyone bother with a boy when you could have a soft woman instead? Just as long as they’re stupid enough – you know, there’s nothing worse than a woman who’s talented and knows it, too smart, always trying to get above their station…”

“You’re thinking about that whore in Yunping again, aren’t you? The one that interrupted your dinner and made a scene, claiming you’d promised to take in the son she bore you?” the attendant said, laughing. “I told you, you should’ve just killed her for her impudence rather than just having her beaten and thrown out. That way the matter wouldn’t still be bothering you…”

“Go away, boy,” another servant said to Meng Yao, who was frozen stiff in belated terror, nausea churning in his stomach as he realized his mother could’ve gone out one day and never come back, and he would never have known why – or maybe it was that he’d been spending his considerable time and brain on pleasing someone who would have done that, who nearly had done that. “Your accent’s brought back bad memories, don’t you see?”

Meng Yao left.

No, to be more blunt: he fled. He ran away, hot tears filling his eyes until he couldn’t see – belly full of regret and disappointment, crushed dreams feeling like broken shards of glass in his mouth and throat.

He tried to tell himself that it was better to find out now, when they were still distant, before he'd sold his soul for the futile chance to get that horrible man's affection, but he couldn't quite throw off the shame of knowing that if he hadn't heard such a thing up front, he probably would have done that. Would have humiliated himself like that, and for what? A man who regretted not murdering his mother?

He ran right into Lan Wangji, who was also on patrol.

Lan Wangji took one look at him and grabbed his wrist, dragging him away from the main pathway and all the way to his uncle’s rooms.

Lan Qiren was still awake despite the late hour, writing something at his desk, but he set aside his brush at once. “What’s going on?” he asked, frowning. “Wangji – Meng Yao – one of you report.”

“Meng Yao was on patrol by the Jin sect,” Lan Wangji explained as Meng Yao furiously tried to dash away his tears using his sleeve.

“Who permitted that? First year disciples aren’t permitted to patrol during discussion conferences,” Lan Qiren asked, his frown deepening. “It wouldn’t be proper – ah, but no, I recall now. I suppose it was inevitable. Wangji, well done, and thank you. You are dismissed.”

After Lan Wangji left, he turned his eyes on Meng Yao.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?” he asked.

Meng Yao felt his back go cold: Lan Qiren knew, then. It had never been said out loud by anyone as far as he knew, and yet it was clear that Lan Qiren knew who his father was – and probably his mother, too.

He knew that Meng Yao was – that he wasn’t anything more than –

“You are one of my most promising disciples, Meng Yao,” Lan Qiren told him, and poured him a cup of tea from his own pot, pressing it into his hands. It was finer tea than Meng Yao had ever had in his life, full of smoke and flavor. “The rules say Be loyal and filial, but they also praise reciprocity. You have not been recognized, and have not received your forefathers’ grace. You can fulfill your obligations to chivalry through your respect for the parent that raised you.”

Meng Yao stared down at the teacup. Lan Qiren had completely misunderstood the nature of Meng Yao’s concern – he was disappointed in what his father was, not worried about not living up to his obligations of being a filial child. And yet it was a little nice to hear that as far as Lan Qiren was concerned, the rules said that he could tell his father go hang for all he cared…

And that he ought to honor his mother, which was something no one who knew her had ever said to him.

“Even if she –” His voice stuttered. “Even if she’s a…”

He couldn’t say the word.

“Appreciate the good people is not qualified by class or profession,” Lan Qiren said, and his monotone voice was blissfully without emotion, as if this were just another lesson in class, and not the deepest hurt of Meng Yao’s life. “I have never met your mother, Meng Yao, but you are a good child – diligent, organized, sincere, with good judgment, and you clearly adore her. That tells me everything I need to know.”

Meng Yao burst into tears.

Meng Yao liked Lan Xichen a lot, but he also had to admit that sometimes, the older boy was, well…

“Dumb as a pile of rocks,” Su She announced.

“Do not criticize other people,” Meng Yao said piously, but then chuckled, shaking his head. “Say, rather, that he’s naïve and sheltered, and overly inclined to believe the best in people.”

“Like I said: dumb as rocks. How many times is going to get himself swindled into being someone’s sword or shield before he figures out that the problem is him?”

“Some people don’t have the capacity to understand the depths of humanity’s foulness –”

“Yeah, dumb ones.”

“Su She, please.” Su She held up his hands in surrendered. “At any rate, if Lan-gongzi is going to keep falling for people’s tricks, it’s beholden on us to help protect him.”

“You just don’t want Teacher Lan to be sad about something serious happening to his nephew,” Su She said knowingly, but he was already nodding. “All right, what are we going to do about it? He outranks us. We can’t exactly tell him to his face that he’s being…”

He paused.

Dumb as rocks went unsaid, but then, it didn’t need to be said out loud for the meaning to be clear.

Meng Yao sighed.

“You can only trick someone so many times,” he said. “If we want to keep him from getting tricked by other people, then we have to trick him first. And better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lan-gongzi likes to save people,” Meng Yao explained. “He really sees himself as a chivalrous gentleman – he puts chivalry first, even though Teacher Lan says Learning comes first. That’s why he always sides with whoever he perceives to be the underdog in a given situation, no matter how wrong that impression is. That’s how most of the people who’ve been tricking him have gone for it: playing the victim, appealing to his sense of righteousness, pulling the curtains over his eyes to obscure what’s actually happening.”

“Okay. So?”

“So, we’ve both got miserable backstories – you being taken from your family at a young age and then bullied, me with my mother and, even worse, father. If we get him on our side, early on, he’ll side with us over anyone else – that way we can keep him from getting roped into other people’s private grudges.”

Su She frowned. “That seems a little manipulative.”

“It’s for his own good, and that’s what’s important,” Meng Yao said, and smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Su She jumped, turning around just in time to see Lan Wangji, who had been standing in the shadow of a nearby tree, step out.

He had a serious expression, as always, but a thoughtful one.

Meng Yao waited patiently.

“You cannot take advantage,” Lan Wangji finally said, and Meng Yao knew he’d won the most important ally in the battle to save Lan Xichen from himself. “That would change it from a virtuous act to a selfish one.”

“Like we need anything from him,” Su She said haughtily. “Maintain your own discipline.”

“Arrogance is forbidden.”

“It’s not arrogance if it’s justified! It’s just self-confidence!”

“Do not argue with family,” Meng Yao quoted, and was pleased to see both of them drop it at once. “Listen, we all share the same goal, and we have to start somewhere, don’t we? We’re stronger together than apart. Together, we can do anything, even protect Lan-gongzi.”

That and more, he thought as the other boys nodded, following his lead. Lan Xichen is just the start.

“The Wen sect will make trouble sooner rather than later,” Meng Yao said thoughtfully, one day. His friends turned to look at him. “Yes, I’m serious.”

Lan Wangji nodded, serious as always, but Su She scoffed.

“You can’t even convince that Wei Wuxian boy to leave poor Lan-er-gongzi alone,” he said snidely. “How exactly are you expecting to bring down the Wen sect?”

“I don’t convince Wei Wuxian to leave Lan-er-gongzi alone because Lan-er-gongzi doesn’t want to be left alone,” Meng Yao said. “Obviously. Isn’t that right?”

“You should call me by name,” Lan Wangji said, which wasn’t answering the question and definitely wasn’t denying anything. “You were saying, about the Wen sect?”

Meng Yao smiled.

“What brings one of Teacher Lan’s most promising disciples to the Unclean Realm?” Nie Mingjue said, peering at him thoughtfully. “You’re at the wrong time to be one of the usual messengers.”

Meng Yao smiled at him.

“I think you’ll find that we have similar goals, Sect Leader Nie,” he said. “When it comes to making sure that certain people in our lives don’t get hurt by the bad decisions of others, I mean. In your case, it’s your younger brother, who’s a friend of mine –”

Friend, source of information, it was all about the same thing in the end. Meng Yao didn’t have real friends outside the Lan sect, but he’d been very careful to cultivate good relationships with all his most important peers.

“- and for me, well. A teacher for day, a father for a lifetime. I’m sure Sect Leader Nie can understand the importance of protecting one’s father – right?”

“You don’t need to use any sophistry on me,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes. “If you have an idea on what we can do to stop the Wen sect before they go and burn someone’s house down, I’m all ears.”

By chance, Meng Yao did.

It was a good plan, too, daring and brave in equal measure. If it worked the way he hoped it would, he’d win enough fame to get Jin Guangshan to beg for him to join the Jin sect – not that he would, of course.

Meng Yao knew what he wanted, and he knew how he was going to get it, too.

“This is a lovely house, A-Yao,” Meng Shi said, running her hand along one of the soft tapestries on the wall. “Truly lovely. Whoever you rented it from has good taste.”

Meng Yao bowed. “Thank you for the compliment, Mother. I put a lot of thought into it.”

“You own it?” she asked, surprised. “But don’t you live up the mountain, with the sect?”

“I do. This is for you.”

“For – me? A-Yao! This is too much – how much must it have cost–”

“I saved the Lan sect’s core texts from being destroyed,” Meng Yao said. “I’m an inner sect disciple now – I could ask for a dozen houses like this, and they’d grant them to me without blinking twice. Teacher Lan would insist on it.”

“Teacher Lan,” his mother murmured. “That’s the one you’ve taken to treating as your own father, isn’t it? You’ve spoken so much of him, in your letters…”

“There’s no need to scheme,” he told her. “He wouldn’t notice your flirtations, anyway.”

His mother arched her eyebrows at him.

“He’s really oblivious.”

“Still…”

“Really no need,” Meng Yao said, and couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Lan Qiren pulling him into a hug when he realized that the books – and Lan Xichen – were all safe from the Wen sect’s attempt to burn down the Cloud Recesses, and, later, again, that Wen Ruohan was dead. He may have deliberately schemed for that second hug, and he might or might not have plans for more. “He already takes me as a son.”

His mother relaxed.

“Good,” she said, and smiled herself. “So, A-Yao, was I right, all those years ago? Was the Lan sect a good fit for you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Meng Yao said. “Yes, it was.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #lan qiren #su she #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #a good fit

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

I Can’t Fight This Feeling

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

He just came here for a fucking break. Somewhere none of the people he normally works with would be caught dead. Which is the only reason he was in an art museum right now. Because Black Mask aside, none of Gotham’s rogues or henchmen had the slightest interest in art and Black Mask would never deign to be in the presence of Gotham’s unwashed masses.

So here, this place, it was a safe haven. A relaxing place. A place where he could let his mind wander and his guard down, as much as you could anywhere in Gotham. It had absolutely nothing to do with the painting of a dark haired, blue eyed woman glancing hopefully into the distance that he had been staring at for the last hour, the same painting he ended up in front of every time he visited.

But his peaceful reprieve was being intruded upon. He couldn’t see the person, but he could feel their eyes boring into him. They’ve been on him for at least the last ten minutes. That meant it was more than just someone who wanted to hit on him. They would have made their move already. He would give them five more minutes to move on before he acted, but he could feel his rage rising with each passing second.

After another five minutes, he rounded on them, ready to threaten them until they regretted even breathing in the same building as him. “What are you fucking…” he hissed out, but his anger dissipated when he was met with the same blue eyes that had consumed his mind for the last hour. Or rather, if he were being honest, for the last three years. “…looking… at.”

“Oh, sorry,” her eyes widened in surprise before she looked away awkwardly. “That must have seemed so creepy. It’s just… you look so familiar? I could swear I know you from somewhere.” Her eyes returned to his, searching them for familiarity.

He stared at her wide eyed. She couldn’t be here. Why would she be here… in Gotham. She didn’t belong in Gotham. She was supposed to stay in Paris where it was safe, now that Hawkmoth was gone and the League couldn’t track her, where she could stay innocent. “Marinette,” he breathed out.

She gave him a brilliant smile and let out a relieved breath. “Oh good. You do know me.” She laughed nervously. “I’ve never remembered anyone from that time before. And it has to be from that time, right? Otherwise I’d remember how I know you.”

“What are you doing here?” He continued to stare at her still in a haze. She had somehow gotten even more beautiful in the last few years, her eyes brighter. God, they had always been mesmerizing, but now they were positively hypnotic. Maybe that had more to do with getting away from the Hawkmoth situation, being free again, not bogged down by the responsibility of protecting millions of people as a child, being in a whole new time in her life. He was so lost in thought, it took a second for her words to register. “What do you mean ‘that time’?”

“I was looking for a little design inspiration.” Her voice was unsteady, slightly shaking. She tapped her fingers together nervously. “I have, um… a commission I need to figure out and homework and I have no idea what to do for the homework. The direction was so vague or maybe it wasn’t and it’s just me. It’s just not something that registers with me, you know.” Her voice became stronger as she babbled. “Like, I can design a thousand dresses based on a flower, or the rain, or a building, but design based on a heart? I can’t do it. Ask for something based on a star? I got it. A circle? Hundreds of designs. A square? Got that too. Even a triangle would be fun. But a heart? So cliché.”

“I meant,” he interrupted harsher than he intended to. He let his voice soften. “What are you doing in Gotham?”

“Oh!” Her eyes widened in surprise and embarrassment. “I go to school here. My best friend and I moved here last year for school. I go for design. He wants to be a teacher.”

“In Gotham?” he asked incredulously. “Of all the places you could have gone, why Gotham?”

She tilted her head to the side in consideration, weighing her words carefully. It was the first time since they started talking that her body seemed to relax. He studied her body language a bit more. No, not relax, slump. Her shoulders slumped as she thought of the reason that brought her here. “Because Gotham doesn’t judge,” she answered quietly. “Because you can just disappear in Gotham. No matter your past, as long as you aren’t actively trying to hurt them, nobody cares. There’s no hostile looks, no glares, no thinly veiled insults or completely unveiled insults. You can just be.”

Jason’s heart clenched and his anger started to build. He took a step closer to her. “Why was that important to you? Who was looking at you like that?” He kept his voice even and calm, but he was sure his eyes were starting to show hues of green edging in.

She shook her head and looked down. “Not me. My best friend. He tried moving to London and New York, but it just… seemed to follow him everywhere he went. I mean he still had all his friends but… they started getting into trouble too because they were getting into fights defending him and… yeah. So we applied to transfer here and both got accepted to our different schools.”

He nodded in understanding. That seemed like something she would do; uproot her entire life for a friend. “Gotham is good like that. They let you rebuild yourself. We’ve seen too much pain to judge too much.” He looked away for a few seconds before he realized something. “You never answered the second question. What did you mean ‘that time’?”

“Oh… um…” she looked away awkwardly again and shuffled her feet a few times. “I have amnesia? I lost a few years of my life a few years ago.”

“Amnesia?”

“Yeah, it was super weird. I wasn’t even in an accident. No physical injuries. Just memory loss.” She was rubbing the back of her neck and looking up at him sideways as she spoke.

He stared at her for a few more seconds. That made no sense. Why would she lose her memories like that? The League could have done something, he supposed. But if the League had been involved, she’d be dead. So it must be something else, something related to the miraculous was most likely. A few years ago would put it right around when Hawkmoth was caught and Ladybug and the other miraculous heroes disappeared.

His eyes flicked to her ears. She wasn’t wearing earrings. She wasn’t wearing her miraculous. He reached up toward her ears where they should be, but realized a few centimeters from her what he was doing and pulled back his hand like he’d been stung. She lost being a hero. Could the miraculous really do that? Remove any parts of a memory that related to the miraculous?

“Um, speaking of losing things. I don’t remember your name,” she prodded shyly.

“Jason. Jason Todd,” he answered, still somewhat in a daze, still focused on her ears.

She smiled at the answer, but her lips quickly turned down into a slight frown. The shift caused his hear to stutter. Why was she frowning? Did his name bring back who he was? No, that couldn’t be it. She never knew his name. So why the frown? Did she… had she heard of him? Was she disappointed in him? Was she scared of him? Was she aghast at the approach he took to cleaning up Gotham?

The thought pressed against his chest like a vice. Every decision he’d made since he left her in that park had been touched by her. Would she approve? Would she understand? It didn’t change how he acted… usually. He still did what he needed to do, what needed to be done. But the thought was still there. Would she think he was the evil villain he tried so hard to be? He knew she would be disappointed, but seeing it reflected on her face was something else. He steeled himself and rolled his shoulders in false nonchalance. He gave her a forcefully charming smile. “What’s the matter, don’t like the name?”

She quirked her head to the side as she watched him. Jason braced himself for whatever her next words were going to be. They had to be how disappointed she was in him, right? Disappointed in what he became. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just disappointed.”

Jason drew in a breath. There it was. The reaction he was expecting. Even though he knew it was coming it still hurt more than he thought it would. Why was he letting this person he didn’t even know affect him, damn it! She didn’t even know him. She had no right! He tried to meet her eyes so he could deliver a devastating glare, but she was staring ahead blankly. His eyes softened involuntarily. That’s why it hurt. Because she was the best person he’d met, the most forgiving, and if even she thought he was disappointing, he must really be.

“I don’t remember your name,” she continued, oblivious to his reaction. She looked back up at him with an adorable pout on her soft, pink lips. “I was so excited that seeing you sparked something. I guess I was hoping your name might help recover more memories. But my head, you know?” She tapped her head with her knuckles gently.

Jason gaped at her. She was disappointed in herself? Not him? “No!” he cried louder than he meant to, he just couldn’t let her think this was her fault when it had to be some kind of magic. “You never… you didn’t know my name. And, I’ve known lots of people with amnesia. Living in Gotham, people get their heads rattled or hit frequently. Memories are hard. They don’t come back the way you would think they do. Sometimes they don’t ever come back at all.”

She scrunched her face in confusion. Her lips turned down sadly. “But… you knew my name. And I remember you.”

Jason opened his mouth to try some kind of explanation. He snapped his mouth shut. What could he say? How was he supposed to explain how he knew her? This is where his years of training in bullshit and condescension would come in handy. Except he didn’t want to be condescending with her, so just bullshit then. He sighed heavily. But he didn’t want to lie to her either, not to her. She was the one good thing he’d done since the Pits. Helping her was his one saving grace. “We… we weren’t friends. We weren’t close. I honestly have no idea why you would remember me. I wasn’t a good person. You knew that.”

She stared at him in surprise. Her brows furrowed in thought, but she stayed quiet as if waiting for him to elaborate. He opened his mouth again, but snapped it shut again quickly when the sound of gunfire echoed through the museum. Jason’s head immediately snapped to the sound and he moved before he realized it to put himself between Marinette and the doorway.

Marinette sighed at the shots. Jason whipped around to look at her. A sigh is definitely not the response he was expecting. It was not the normal response. That was much closer to an emotionally damaged response, a tired of life response, a response he had tried to save her from having. Granted his reaction wasn’t normal either, but he knew why he reacted the way he did.

She shrugged. “The Walker Emerald,” she explained. “It’s in the Ancient Art exhibit.” When he still looked confused, she continued. “It’s an Incan artifact. They used emeralds in some of their works. The Walker Emerald is the largest emerald they’ve found in excavations. It’s held in place by a solid gold setting. It’s huge. They named it for the archaeologist that discovered it. What bullshit is that?” she grumbled, seeming more upset by that than the gunfire. “I stayed away from here for weeks after they opened the exhibit because I figured this would happen. But I thought it would have happened earlier. Guess they were waiting for people to put their guard down and it worked. I did.”

Jason moved to the doorway and peeked around the corner. “But why now? Why during the day when there would be people here?”

“Because security at night is a lot worse for it,” Marinette said as she peeked out next to him. He grabbed her and pulled her back into the room behind him. “Just my luck they would do it when I finally visited again.” She tried to move to the doorway again but Jason pulled her back again with a scowl, moving them further from the door. She really had no self-preservation instincts. She rolled her eyes, but didn’t fight him, instead slumping into his side to wait for everything to blow over. “If you remember me, then you probably already know how bad my luck is.”

He barked out a laugh at the irony. He stopped immediately when they heard more gunfire and someone behind them call out. Marinette peeked past him again. She cursed quietly and took off running. Jason cursed loudly and ran to the doorway just in time to see Marinette slide into the feet of one of the goons, knocking him off his feet and into the goon next to him, knocking him down as well. Before the second guy landed, she’d jumped back up and swept a little boy who had been in their path off his feet. Fuck! She was still acting like a hero, but without the suit or magic to help her.

He groaned to himself. Bad luck his ass. That was either extreme skill or luck… or both. But considering she hadn’t thought to follow it up by making sure they couldn’t follow her, if it was skill, it was subconscious remnants of her time as a hero, not something she could pull on at will. And she probably hadn’t intentionally trained to be able to defend herself, because she didn’t remember being a hero, so why would she. Which meant she had no self-preservation skills. She was acting purely on her emotions. She was going to get herself killed with her good heart. Where was her friend who came here with her? Why weren’t they protecting her? Somebody had to, since she clearly wasn’t going to do it herself.

He moved before he thought too hard about it. The goons were already standing up, guns out and cocked, and had their eyes trained on the statue’s pedestal she was hiding behind. He punched one in the temple, knocking him out immediately, and grabbed the gun from his hand as he fell. He pointed the gun at the goon and was about to pull the trigger when he heard the gasp behind him. He heard Marinette quickly fussing over the kid and telling him not to look. He groaned silently and tightened his grip on the gun. He couldn’t kill him in front of the kid… or Marinette.

He motioned to the gun in the goon’s hand and held his hand out. “You know who I am, yeah?” The goon nodded slowly. “Give me your gun and get the fuck out of here and I won’t come after you.” The goon dropped his gun and backed away, never turning his back on Jason until he was out of the room and rapid footfalls could be heard.

Jason took a breath and slowly let it out to calm himself before moving to Marinette’s truly terrible hiding spot. He silently reached out for her hand to help her stand and escorted her and the kid back into the room they had been in. The kid immediately perked up and reached out for a woman in the corner with two other kids. She thanked Marinette and him with tears running down her face, clutching to the boy like a lifeline before bringing him back to the other two kids and holding them all the same way.

Jason yanked Marinette into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. He watched the door for any indication they were going to send more goons after them. After a few seconds he pulled away just enough to look at her. “Stop doing that!” he whisper yelled. He pulled them into the corner where they were at least partially hidden by marble statues. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“You ran after me,” she pointed out with a roll of her eyes. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I… you…” he scowled at her. He opened his mouth to lecture her more articulately, but snapped it shut again. “Let’s get you somewhere safer,” he gritted out.

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving them and I already feel safe. I feel safe with you. I trust you.” Jason scoffed at her. How was she still alive? Why was her friend not watching her at all times if she was this trusting and bad at judging people? “I remember you. You’re the only thing I’ve remembered. That must mean you were important to me. You wouldn’t have been important unless you did something I thought was significant. So that means I thought I could trust you. And I trust myself that I can trust you.” She smiled confidently at him.

Jason groaned and motioned to himself. “Do I look like someone you can trust?” he exclaimed as loudly as he felt he could safely. He may not be in his Red Hood suit right then, but he was definitely dressed in mob boss chic, designed to emanate a powerful asshole vibe and cultivate fear and respect.

She kept her eyes focused entirely on his, not bothering to take in his carefully crafted vibe. Just staring at his eyes, staring into his soul, and seeking out that part of him that he thought had died years ago. That part the League had trained out of him. The part the Joker had beaten out of him. “Yes,” she said immediately and confidently.

He stared at her blankly. Why would she trust him? He was untrustworthy. He was a killer. He was brutal. He had cultivated that reputation. It was well deserved. Hell, he’d attacked her. And yet here she was, looking up at him with those big, bright, trusting, blue eyes. “Okay.” He swallowed hard. Those blue eyes were more deadly than half the rogues in Gotham. Those blue eyes could get him to do things nobody else had ever been able to.

It only took half an hour for the police to clear the museum and let them back out on the street, likely because some of them had been in on the heist in the first place. It felt strange and unsettling to wait for the police instead of acting. His skin itched to act in a way other than decking the officer that had been staring at him with distain since he came to tell them they could leave.

He escorted Marinette and the small family to the sidewalk outside and stuck next to them to make sure the police didn’t harass them. He was determinedly not looking at Marinette, but he could feel her staring at him again. When he finally looked over at her, he lost his breath for a second. She was staring at him with such adoration and respect, his lungs couldn’t function correctly. Jason frowned. “You've got to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm a hero,” he groused. “I don’t deserve it. I haven’t earned it. I’m not a hero.”

Marinette blinked at him a few times and cocked her head to the side curiously. She smiled sweetly at him. It seemed vastly out of place considering the situation they were in and yet perfectly in place on her lips. “You’re that kid’s hero. And that mom’s… and mine.”

Jason stared back at her breathlessly. “Look… you don’t remember me. If you did… I’m… It’s dangerous to be around me. I’m dangerous to be around. You shouldn't be seen with me. It's dangerous for you to even talk to me.” She smiled softly at him. “And why are you smiling? I just told you to go away.”

Her smile got brighter his indignation. “Because if you were as evil as you seem so intent on convincing me you are, you wouldn't care. But you do, so you're not. So I was right.”

“Pixie, you have no idea how hard I worked on my reputation, what I’ve done to deserve it.”

Marinette nodded in faux seriousness. “Right. Terrible person that almost died protecting a kid he never met and would do it again in a heartbeat and stayed with us to make sure we were safe.”

“Who intimidated the henchmen out of harming us, because they knew what I could do, because they knew I’m not a good guy.”

Marinette laughed. She had the audacity to laugh at him. He was one of the leading crime bosses in the city. “Oh yeah, okay, Wreck it Ralph. Whatever you say. I bet you jaywalk and everything.”

“I do!” he exclaimed throwing his arms out in exasperation. “I’m going to do it again when I leave here.” She laughed harder at him. He stopped and thought about what he just said. “No. I mean…”

“Truly terrifying,” she agreed, cutting off his objections, still mocking his seriousness.

Jason hung his head in defeat. His head snapped up when he heard the batmobile arrive. “And you are safe now. But, I have to go.” His eyes stayed on the batmobile, analyzing the threat to him.

“Now?”

He looked back at her with a wry smile. “Batman and I don’t get along so well. That should tell you something.”

“It tells me even heroes make mistakes,” she said defiantly.

Jason let out a long suffering sigh, but nodded. “Stay safe, Marinette.”

“Will I see you again?” Her eyes were brimming with hope, but her voice was fragile. She tucked a piece of her hair that had come undone while they were escaping behind her ear. Jason’s eyes traced her hand as it moved.

He hated to kill that in her, but he couldn’t allow her to be in his life. He couldn’t bring her down like that. He couldn’t see her again and he couldn’t lie to her. He opened his mouth to answer her, but got a reprieve. “Marinette!” She hadn’t bothered to look at the source of the call, keeping her eyes on Jason. But, the eye contact was broken when she was tackled by a blonde man. “I came as soon as I saw! Are you okay?”

Jason disappeared into the crowd before she recovered from the onslaught. No matter what she believed, he wasn’t good and he wouldn’t be good for her. He vowed to himself that he wouldn’t look for her. He wouldn’t follow her. He wouldn’t give any rogues or henchmen in Gotham any indication that she was special to him. He would protect her in any way that didn’t make her a target. He gave one last look over his shoulder just catching a last glimpse of her searching the crowd. He turned away and continued forward.

Chapter 4

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @jayjayspixiepop @aespades @how-to-function-properly @pawsitivelymiraculous @maribatserver

#maribat #jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - trust

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