#help me jonathan nolan

[faembrosia]

you write fanfic to be happy

I write fanfic to get noticed by the director and impress them so much i get offered a job as a script writer and slowly force my headcanons into actual canons and see my OTP kiss for real life while making money doing it and the actors then adopt me and we live happily ever after, everyone kissing

We are not the same.

[skintyfiia]

FINISHED!!!!!

[jtargaryen18]

Under His Skin ~ Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Words: 9.4k

Pairing: Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow (Nolan!verse Batman) x F Reader

Warnings: Stalking, gaslighting, coveting, drugging, voyeurism, and manipulation.

It's your first day in Jonathan's home. But Lexi is worried about you, a stranger came to the house but you were too afraid to answer the door, and you make supper for Jonathan.

Jonathan is one human trial (aka Ares) away from perfecting his fear toxin and Ducard shows up once it's done. He makes Jonathan an offer from the League which he finds appealing, as long as she is left out of it.

The next morning, Jonathan moved through the quiet of his house savoring the silence. The early morning shadows were long across the hallway, and the faint smell of books and coffee still lingered in the air. Just as he preferred it.

But something was different this morning and he smiled over his coffee cup just taking it in. The last part of his plans were falling into place. He was chief administrator of Arkham Asylum, his fear toxin was one human trial away from being complete and ready. And she was here now. Under his roof, in his care. He was so close to meeting all his goals, having everything he wanted.

Heading down the hall, he paused outside her bedroom. He hadn't closed the door completely last night, leaving it slightly ajar. If she woke up and didn't remember where she was initially, that sent a better message. The door is open if you need anything.

He pushed the door open quietly and stood in the frame. She was sound asleep. She peacefully lay curled on her side, half tangled in the soft blue blankets he’d chosen for her himself. She looked small and vulnerable in that temporary bed. All that was left now was to seduce her, and he would.

His.

A warm satisfaction settled in his chest as he watched her. Her body moved in a slow, steady rhythm. Flashs of her beautiful, uncovered form flashed in his mind, he couldn't unsee it. He wasn't proud of it, but immediately after putting her to bed last night, he'd headed straight for the shower. He'd jerked himself off just thinking about the beautiful contours of her body and how she'd look beneath him, taking his cock. How he'd make her beg for more. This morning when he'd jumped in the shower, he did the same. He was so close now. 

Now that she's here, I can implement new strategies to break down her defenses.

The sedative had worked well. She hadn’t woken in the night, instead getting the sleep she needed. That was progress.

There was still much to do. Her apartment and all her belongings? Not yet addressed. Ares’ apartment? Still legally hers. The wedding plans she never got to finish, the gallery she left behind, the best friend she'd just reconciled with--all threads still dangling, frayed but intact. And eventually, she’d try to reach for them.

She hadn’t asked for anything yet, but she would soon. She’d bring up needing her car, needing to help Lexi, needing to do something. It was inevitable. A mind like hers couldn’t sit idle for long before it started looking for purpose and freedom.

Jonathan would be ready. He’d have to be gentle and patient, keep her grounded here with comforts and logic, affection and care disguised as permission. He couldn’t let her start imagining herself anywhere else again. Not when he’d only just gotten her under his roof.

Jonathan returned quietly into the kitchen, placing a pre-set mug beside the French press and adjusting the timer on the smart kettle. The moment she entered the kitchen, all she’d need to do was press one button and her coffee would brew, fresh and hot. He prepped a tray with the oat milk he’d noticed she preferred, along with a small plate of fruit which he placed in the fridge. A slice of banana bread from what he'd baked last night, he wrapped and left next to the French press.

Good morning. There’s coffee ready, just press the button. I left a few things in the fridge in case you’re hungry. If you need anything, call me. Please try to rest today. 

You're safe here.

—J

He checked the clock. If he delayed any longer, he’d be late for Arkham. That irritated him because he didn't want leave at all. She’d be alone for hours. He’d instructed the house’s security system to alert him of movement, and every hallway camera fed live to his laptop at the office. Still, it wasn’t the same as being here, watching her in real time. Making sure she didn’t wander too far mentally or physically.

But duty called. There was Ares to attend to, the final human trial for his fear toxin. And beyond that, Ducard would likely make another appearance soon. The League wasn’t patient by nature. And now that the formula was perfected, Jonathan's role was no longer theoretical.

He retrieved his coat and keys, his briefcase already rested near the door. Before leaving, he glanced once more down the hallway toward her room. Still quiet and peaceful.

He gave the security app one final glance on his phone, ensured the cameras were live, and stepped out the door into the morning chill. 

“Just a few hours,” he murmured under his breath.

You woke slowly, blinking against the morning light seeping through the curtains. For a second, you didn't remember where you were. The bed was too soft, the air too quiet. There’s no creak of a neighbor’s footsteps upstairs, no buzzing gallery phone beside your pillow.

And then it hit you all at once. The break-in at your apartment. The slightly opened door. The destruction they'd left. Your kind neighbor. Jonathan.

Your fingers tightened around the blanket as it all flooded back. The chaos, the fear. The moment you ran into his arms. You didn’t even think. You just needed someone, and Jonathan had been there for you through so much over the last few weeks. Always calm and unshaken.

You didn’t remember going to bed nor getting dressed or crawling under the covers. But you must have. Here you were, clean, clothed, and cocooned in warmth. 

The fear was quieter this morning, like Jonathan's presence muted it. He had shown up, and taken control when you couldn’t. And right now, you were so thankful for that. 

But until now, you'd never really stopped to ask yourself why. Jonathan wouldn't give you the time of day when he started at Arkham, and spoke in clinical tones. He'd seemed way more fascinated by people than connected to them. How had he become your rock?

No one, at least not in your experience, did this kind of thing without a reason. He took you in, cared for you, shielded you from the world without wanting something in return. No one unless they’re family. Or they were in love with you. And Jonathan Crane was neither of those things. And Ares, before his breakdown, view Jonathan as an adversary more than an ally. You couldn't imagine Jonathan doing this out of loyalty to Ares.

You showered and dressed in casual clothes, soft jeans, a worn sweater you recognized from the overnight bag. You stood longer than necessary at the mirror, carefully styling your hair and applying makeup with a surprisingly steady hand. You didn’t want Jonathan to come home and think you were spiraling. You wanted to look… normal. Like someone holding it together.

Like someone worth saving.

But as you stepped barefoot into the kitchen and saw the note beside a neatly set mug and the waiting coffee, your heart squeezed in your chest. You picked up the note and read it. His writing was sharp and confident. Just like him. 

Good morning. There’s coffee ready, just press the button. I left a few things in the fridge in case you’re hungry. If you need anything, call me. Please try to rest today.

You're safe here.

—J

Your fingers tightened slightly around the paper.

You’re safe here.

You stood forlornly in the silence of his perfect kitchen, realizing just how much of yourself had been stripped away over the last few weeks. Your apartment was trashed and you had no idea what you were going to do with your things or where you were going to live now. You could move into Ares' apartment but you couldn't afford that. But your name was on the lease and that meant you still had to deal with it because Ares couldn't.

Ares was gone in every way that mattered. That meant your wedding plans had to be cancelled, deposits you wouldn't get back. The gallery was devastated and it would take you and Lexi a long time to restore it. If you even could.

And here you were, tucked into someone else’s life like a guest, a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit but had nowhere else to go. You folded the note carefully, like you might need to read it again later. You hit the button on the French press, eyeing the covered slice of banana bread next to it.

No one does this kind of thing unless they want something. And you still weren’t sure what Jonathan wanted. Or why that scared you just a little more than the idea of being alone.

You couldn’t imagine him having feelings for you. Right?

Shaking your head, you brushed that thought away like a spiderweb you’d walked into. Jonathan was handsome, very handsome, actually. That wasn’t the problem. He had the kind of quiet, commanding presence that made people stop mid-sentence when he entered a room. It was his intellect, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke. The way he always seemed five moves ahead of everyone.

Jonathan was brilliant. Intimidatingly so. Conversation was a challenge sometimes because you didn't want to come across as stupid. 

You were barely holding your life together. You had panic attacks, nightmares, and sleepless nights. You left half-finished teacups scattered in rooms you forgot you walked into. You hadn’t painted in months. You were grief-stricken, displaced, and clinging to someone else’s stability like a life raft.

Why would he do all this for you?

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee when it was ready, your hands were steady thanks to the hot shower and the quiet house. But your mind was still a storm.

Maybe Jonathan didn’t want anything from you. Maybe he really was just a kind person. No. He was kind but he was too smart to be that kind.

You stared down into the dark swirl of your coffee, the steam curling like question marks. What did he want?

Maybe it was control. Not in a sinister, overt way but in the quiet, inescapable kind that came with him being the person you ran to when everything else collapsed. The one who showed up and took over. The one you trusted because you had no one else left. When something in your life blew up, Ares was there for you, but he did the bare minimum. Jonathan just came in and handled everything. And at some point, you'd started literally running to him, into his arms. It only just now occurred to you that he allowed that when you'd never seen him physically demonstrative with anyone.

Maybe what he wanted was to be needed. 

And right now, you did need him more than anyone. But that realization made your stomach twist. What happened when he wasn't there anymore? Or couldn't be? What if the demons ripping apart your life got him too?

The coffee in your hand felt suddenly heavier. The silence in the house felt intentional, like it was waiting for you to come to some conclusion. Maybe one you weren’t ready to face.

You're safe here. He’d written that. But why did he need you to believe it so badly? 

You uncovered the banana bread, still warm in the center. Its scent was rich with cinnamon and caramelized sugar. Your fork hovered above the slice when the doorbell rang. 

Your entire body jerked like you'd touched a live wire. The chime echoed through the house, deceptively calm. But your heartbeat took off at a dead sprint. No one’s supposed to be here. He would have told you either in person or in his note. You moved slowly, careful not to let your feet creak against the floors, until you reached the door. You didn’t open it, just angled toward the peephole, one eye pressed to the glass.

And you froze.

The man on the other side wasn’t some delivery guy or neighborhood solicitor. He was very tall, easily over six feet. His broad shoulders were draped in a black wool coat so finely tailored it looked carved into his frame. His posture was effortless, like he didn’t need to try to own the space. He just did. Salt-and-pepper hair swept back from a chiseled face, strong jaw, and sharp cheekbones that made him look like he belonged in an oil painting or a battlefield. His beard was neatly kept, and his eyes, icy gray and focused, were almost… ancient. As if they’d seen too much and forgotten nothing.

No badge or clipboard. No attempt to look harmless. And that was the part that terrified you.

Your fingers curled tight against the doorframe. Logic warred with panic. But everything inside you screamed the same thing: Don’t open that door.

You didn’t know who he was, and everything about him felt wrong. And definitely not when every part of you suddenly wondered if he could be the reason your gallery and your apartment were destroyed. Had he done something to Ares? Was this man the reason you were hiding in someone else’s house right now?

What if he was here for you? 

Backing away from the door, you moved without making a sound. One step. Then another. And even though he hadn’t moved… You swore he knew you were there. 

Breakfast forgotten, you fled to the room you slept in last night, shutting and locking its door.

The keycard clicked in the lock, and the heavy door slid open with a hiss. Inside, the room was clinical, bare except for a steel-framed bed, a sink, and the man slumped in the corner like discarded laundry.

Dr. Ares Katsaros. Lucid today, according to the notes. Coherent enough for conversation.

Jonathan stepped inside, letting the door seal shut behind him. Ares slowly raised his head, eyes sunken and bloodshot, the bruises on his psyche showing more clearly than anything physical. He looked like a man who'd been dragged backward through hell.

The bastard spoke first.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Ares rasped, his voice thick with accusation. "You manipulated everything to get my position at Arkham, didn't you? Climbed the ladder on my suffering like a damn vulture."

Jonathan’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s what you’re thinking about,” he said quietly. “Your job.”

Ares shifted upright against the wall. “You don’t deserve that position. You don’t understand the patients. You don't give a shit about any of them.”

The faintest smile tugged at Jonathan's lips. “You know what’s fascinating about people like you, Ares? You wear your ambition like armor, but it’s paper-thin once someone starts pulling at the seams.”

Ares glared at him, but there was a shadow of fear behind his eyes. 

“I did my homework," Jonathan continued. "You barely scraped through undergrad. Your grades were mediocre at best, and suddenly, miraculously, your transcripts were spotless by the time you applied to med school. Daddy made a few calls, didn’t he?” Jonathan let him consider that for a minute. “You published what—two papers? Maybe three? All fluff. Nothing original. Nothing peer-reviewed without a co-author cleaning up after you. But let’s talk about the real skeletons, shall we?”

He moved another step closer. Ares glare was fading.

“Junior year. That rival of yours, the one outshining you in every lecture, every lab. I read the campus report. He got invited to a party at your frat house. That was the last time anyone saw him alive. Foul play suspected, but no charges filed. Why? Your father paid for a new library wing and a media gag order.” Jonathan’s voice dropped lower. “You didn’t just ride your father’s coattails. You trampled anyone who threatened to expose just how unimpressive you really are. And then, when you finally built something for yourself, Arkham, I took it from you with little effort.”

Ares let out a low, bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. Just rage barely held in check. “You arrogant bastard,” he hissed. “You think this makes you clever? You falsified patient charts. Switched my prescriptions. Altered my treatment notes to make it look like I was unstable.”

He pushed himself shakily to his feet, fury blazing in his eyes despite the weakness in his limbs. “I know what you did to me, Crane. I don’t know what you poisoned me with, but I survived it. You wanted me out of the picture, maybe even dead, but I’m still here.”

Jonathan watched him with clinical fascination. He had survived it. Impressive. The dose had been carefully calibrated, not to kill him, but to unravel his mind. Most men would’ve broken long before now. But Ares was still standing, still fighting. And somehow, that only made the victory taste sharper. He could see the cracks, though. The tremor in Ares’ hands. The dullness still lurking behind the anger in his eyes. The damage was done, and quite irreversible. Even if he crawled out of this place, he’d never be the man he was. And Jonathan had made sure of that.

Ares voice cracked with raw defiance. “I will get out of here. When I do, I’m going to make sure the board knows exactly what you are. I’m going to expose every lie, every manipulation, every patient you used as a pawn in your sick little games. You think Arkham’s yours now? You won’t hold it for long.”

Ares took a step forward, rage swelling. “And if you so much as touched her, if you laid a hand on her, I swear to God, I’ll burn everything down around you.”

The idea that Ares still believed she was his to protect was laughable. Pathetic, even. As if he hadn’t already taken everything.

Jonathan's smile deepened. “Touched her?” he echoed, voice soft with mock surprise. “Ares, you don’t get it, do you?” He rose to his full height. “You lost her long before I ever even met her. While you were spiraling, unraveling… she was learning what it meant to be truly seen and cared for.”

That took some of the wind out of Ares' sails. 

Jonathan took a step forward, voice lowering almost conspiratorially. “She lives in my house now. Sleeps in my guest room... well, for now. She brings me coffee in the mornings. I fixed the lock on her studio door, carry her canvases inside when she’s too tired. She leaves her shoes by the door and hums when she cooks. Do you know what that’s like, Ares? To be someone’s peace instead of their disappointment?”

He watched the emotions shift across Ares' face at the truths and lies he effortlessly fired off.

“You were together six years, and she never lived with you. Why is that?” Jonathan pretended to ponder. “Were there other women? Or did you just prefer to keep her at arm’s length like everything else you couldn’t control?”

Color rose in Ares face, shades of rage, confusion, and indignation.

Jonathan continued. “Her neighbor, Mrs. Nelson across the hall, actually thought I was her fiancé. You know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I'm the one who shows up when she needs someone. You never visited her apartment or saw the way she lived. You never really knew her. But I do. And I didn’t take her from you. You gave her away, piece by piece, every time you dismissed her or neglected her. You just used her name as a placeholder for a future you never prioritized.”

For a moment, Ares just stood there, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. Rage flashed in the other man's eyes. Beneath it, something more fragile cracked through. Hurt and regret. A dawning awareness that hit deeper than the toxin ever had.

“You smug son of a bitch,” he growled, voice shaking. “You think that makes you a man? Creeping around while I was sick, while she was vulnerable?” He faltered, the words choking off like they burned coming out. His throat bobbed. “She never complained.” He stopped himself, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She's mine. We're going to be married. You think you know her? You think you understand what we have because you bought her dinner or snuck off to the art gallery? She loves me, Crane. She trusts me... What did you do to her?”

Jonathan watched Ares like a scientist might watch a final twitch in a dying lab rat. But then, slowly, something shifted. His satisfaction was too sharp to hide any longer.

“What did I do to her?” Jonathan echoed softly. “I saved her.” He took another step forward, his voice calm, measured, but stripped of all pretense now. “You kept her in a glass box, Ares. A pretty little thing on a shelf you could point to when the world asked why someone like you deserved happiness. But you didn’t see her. You saw a future accessory. A doctor's wife. And she was everything you needed her to be.”

“But she didn't need someone to parade her around like a status symbol. She needed someone who paid attention.” Jonathan’s voice dropped lower, colder. “You ask what I did to her? I showed her what it feels like to be wanted. Wanted.” He leaned in, and this time, his smile came back. “She comes to me now, Ares. She looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping her world from falling apart. And I let her. Because the truth is... I am. You never met her neighbors. You never picked her up from work or took her lunch. You never helped with the errands or the gallery or the thousand little things that make a woman feel safe in her own life. You gave her a ring and assumed it would do the rest.”

Ares flinched. “You think she’s yours now?”

“No,” Jonathan said. “She’s hers, and always has been. And before you’re lost to fear for good, I want you to remember she’s mine now. And she’s not looking back.”

Jonathan reached into his coat and withdrew a small, matte-black case.

Ares’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

Jonathan opened the case to reveal a loaded injector, gleaming in the light. It held the perfected fear toxin, stabilized with the rare alkaloids of the Himalayan Blue Poppy.

"You should be honored,” Jonathan said quietly. “You’ll be the first to receive the completed formula. A full, undiluted dose. Think of it as… relevance. The only meaningful contribution you’ll ever make to medical science.”

Ares’s breath hitched as the false bravado drained from his face. Only fear was left.

“No... wait...” He tried to rise, voice cracking, panic sharp in his eyes. Then, barely a whisper. raw and pleading. “Tell her I love her.”

Jonathan froze for just a second. His gaze sharpened. Leaning in, he said, “She won’t remember you.”

And with that, he pressed the injector to Ares’s neck. Ares gasped, his back arching as the toxin surged through him.

Jonathan stepped back and watched, clinical, composed, already turning the page on a chapter he’d long since rewritten.

Then Ares screamed. The reaction was instant and devastating. Ares’s limbs spasmed violently as his body fought against nothing and everything. His eyes darted, pupils blown wide, seeing horrors only he could perceive. The blood drained from his face, while sweat broke out across his brow. He clawed at the air, at his own skin, as if the terrors were crawling out from within him.

He begged and sobbed. He shrieked until his voice cracked.

Jonathan stood just far enough away, watching in fascination. He observed the progression like a professor grading a perfect exam. Every variable behaved as predicted. The fear response completely aligned with clinical expectations. His toxin worked.

And when it was over, when the screaming stopped and the convulsions faded, Ares lay on the floor in a fetal curl. Silent now, and staring at nothing. His mouth slightly open. Breathing, but he was no longer present. Just a husk.

Stepping forward, Jonathan crouched beside him, and snapped his fingers once by Ares’s ear.

Nothing. Perfect.

Standing, he adjusted his cuffs as he returned the injector to its case. His voice was soft, almost fond. “You’re no longer a threat, Ares. Not to her or to me. You should have been grateful.”

With one final glance down at the wreckage of a man who once called himself her future, Jonathan turned and walked out.

Jonathan moved through the corridors of Arkham with an eager, almost predatory energy. His mind raced, running through every detail of the experiment. Ares, once a man of power and control, reduced to nothing but a broken shell. His toxin worked perfectly. His heart beat with a sharp thrill at the thought of what it could mean, not just for him, but for his work, his vision. This wasn’t just success, it was revolutionary.

His office was quiet, the usual sterile scent of antiseptic mixing with the faint odor of the old leather chair behind his desk. He stepped in, immediately reaching for his phone to check for any updates. His fingers paused over the screen when he saw the alert: Security breach detected at home.

The heartbeat in his chest stuttered. He’d left her at the house alone. The thought of her unattended stirred something deeper, something… possessive. He tapped the alert and accessed the footage.

Kitchen.

There she was, standing by the counter, her back slightly arched and her brow furrowed in concentration. He could see the seriousness in her posture. She wasn’t doing anything in particular, just standing. But something was off. She was far too still, her gaze locked on some invisible point in front of her. The way her fingers drummed absently on the edge of the counter suggested something was preoccupying her thoughts. Maybe questions. Maybe doubts. Maybe something more dangerous. 

The camera shifted then. Front Door.

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. The frame shifted slightly, showing the front of the house. There, standing at his doorstep, was Henri Ducard. Jonathan froze for a split second, his fingers still on the phone, every muscle tensing. 

Jonathan’s mind began to race, trying to process. Why was he there?

The camera’s angle offered an unsettling clarity. He saw how Ducard stood, tall and calm, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. No one could stand there with that kind of posture without intent. Jonathan blew out an exhale.

Ducard’s presence at his doorstep meant something. The thought of Ducard knowing where she was, where he was, rattled Jonathan’s confidence for the briefest of moments. 

His mind quickly went over the possibilities. Ducard had the kind of power to slip past any security. He had influence in ways Jonathan didn’t quite understand yet. But his interest in her, in this particular situation was personal. The thought of Ducard attempting to reach her had rage tightening his chest. He didn’t take his eyes off the footage, but his thoughts swirled as he watched the scene unfold. Ducard stood there for a few long moments, observing and calculating.

And then, the unease grew. Was he watching her?

Jonathan watched closely as the camera angle shifted again catching her quiet movement as she crept down the hall. She moved with practiced care, like prey that knew it was being watched. He watched her press her face to the peephole. Fear pulled strings in her body, her reaction instant. She saw him.

Don't you dare open that door.

She backed away slowly, trying not to make a sound. There were no theatrics at all, she just retreated. 

Jonathan switched views again, tracking her path as she turned and disappeared down the corridor toward the guest room he’d prepared for her. She looked over her shoulder once, her eyes wide with dread, and then fled.

Jonathan exhaled, long and slow, his eyes fixed on the frozen frame.

Fear. She was afraid of Ducard. 

Leaning back in his chair, he tried to map out what to do next. She ran back to the room he gave her. Back to him. That quiet little act of fear-driven loyalty tightened the knot he was slowly weaving around her.

The League had just proven a useful contrast. And Henri Ducard, standing uninvited on his doorstep, had overplayed his hand. Ducard thought he could test the boundaries of this arrangement. But the girl behind that door? She was his. She just didn’t know how completely yet.

Ducard was gone now. The live camera feeds confirmed it, no lingering shadow, no subtle return. Just a brief, silent warning left on Jonathan’s doorstep in the form of presence alone. But that was fine. Jonathan remained seated, his pulse steady now. He wouldn’t rush home. If Ducard meant to confront him directly, Arkham would be his next stop.

Let him come. 

Still… today’s visit had provided something far more valuable than discomfort. Insight.

She'd frozen in place when she saw him. She didn't scream or call for help. She didn't open the door or demanded answers. No, she had run. Right back to the space Jonathan had made for her. Back to the room he had furnished, the safety he represented.

That reaction was… instructive.

The shape of a new tool formed in the back of his mind. A contingency plan. When she started pushing back, resisting the comfort of his care or suggested she wanted something different, more freedom, more space, it would be so simple to give her a nudge. Just enough to remind her of the world’s sharp edges.

Not pain or punishment because he would never hurt her. Protective fear. The kind that taught, and reinforced. His mask would work wonderfully. 

Ducard had done it for him today without even meaning to. And Jonathan had watched the entire sequence unfold again from behind his desk, like a director in the control booth of his own experiment. The model worked.

And when the time came to test her boundaries? He'd simply apply that same stimulus. Not out of cruelty but necessity. He wasn't building a prison, but a sanctuary. And she’d stay there as long as she believed there were monsters outside.

You waited almost two hours before emerging from the guest room. The house was too quiet. Maybe it was just your nerves. 

You padded barefoot down the hall, arms crossed tightly over your chest until you reached the kitchen. The blanket of silence made your anxiety escalate. You needed to do something besides sitting alone with your thoughts and the fears preying on your mind.

Jonathan worked long hours. You knew that. And now, on top of everything else, he had you to worry about. A house guest. A shaken, fragile mess who’d brought nothing but chaos to his doorstep. But he hadn’t complained once. Just shielded you, took care of you after Ares, the patient, the gallery break-in, and your apartment.

The least you could do was make dinner.

His kitchen was immaculate and well-stocked. Of course it was. You found olive oil, spices, fresh vegetables, and high-quality salmon. It wasn’t hard to figure out his preferences. Healthy, efficient, lean protein, and clean flavors. You could work with that. It helped you to focus, to chop and season and stir. It made you feel almost like yourself again.

That’s when your phone buzzed on the counter.

Lexi: Hey. I stopped by your place today. There’s police tape across the door… are you okay?

You stared at the screen, then swallowed hard. The answer wasn’t simple anymore.

You typed back quickly.

Yeah, I’m okay. Staying at Jonathan’s for now. Just until things settle down.

The bubbles on the screen that indicated she was typing appeared right away. Then disappeared.

You kept chopping vegetables, trying to focus on the sound of the knife against the cutting board. It helped calm your nerves a little.

Lexi: Are you sure that’s a good idea?

You stared at the words on the screen. What does that mean?

Before you could ask, another message arrived.

Lexi: I mean, think about it. Ares? The gallery? Your apartment? It all started when he showed up in your life.

Your hand tightening around the knife.

That wasn’t fair. You typed fast, defensive.

That’s not on him. He’s helped me through everything. He saved me.

There was a long pause. You turned the stove to low, heart pounding, breath shallow. Christ, were you having a panic attack?

You hadn’t wanted to think it. What if she was right? What if it hadn’t all been coincidence?

Lexi: I’m just saying… you always have a place here if you ever need it.

The knife clattered gently into the sink. You stood there in silence, Lexi’s message glowing back at you from the counter. You weren’t alone.

But somehow… you’d never felt more unsure.

Jonathan sat at his desk, papers spread out in front of him, but he wasn’t reading them. His laptop was open to the security feed, specifically, the kitchen. The camera, nestled discreetly in the corner near the ceiling, offered a clear view of her moving through the space. She was making dinner. And not just throwing something together. She was carefully chopping vegetables, checking a simmering pot, moving around his kitchen like it already belonged to her.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting loosely against his chin, a small, satisfied smile curving his lips. Perfect.

She wasn’t cooking because she owed him, but because she wanted to. She was starting to internalize the role already. Creating value, and settling in.

Then her phone lit up on the counter.

He tapped the feed that mirrored her messages on his own device, and watched the conversation begin to unfold in real time. Lexi again, stopping by her apartment and seeing police tape. She told her friend what happened, that she was okay, staying at his place.

Lexi: Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Jonathan tensed. He watched her on the camera feed as she paused, then typed. He watched her defend him.

Good girl.

Still, he narrowed his eyes. Lexi. Of course. The loyal friend. The doubtful friend.

Lexi: …it all started when he showed up in your life.

Jonathan’s smile vanished completely. A pulse of cold irritation rippled through him. 

She was already starting to heal. Already depending on him. And now this? Whispered poison from the outside? His fingers drummed against the desk as he watched her stop cooking, reading those words and thinking about them.

Lexi wasn’t a threat… yet. But she was an unwanted variable. One he would need to neutralize carefully.

Then came the final message.

Lexi: You always have a place here. If you ever need to.

Jonathan’s eyes stayed fixed on the screen. She stood frozen in the kitchen, not moving. The knife was gone from her hand.

And just like that, the progress of the last 48 hours teetered on the edge. He took a slow breath and exhaled.

Not yet. But if Lexi kept pushing? Jonathan would show her what fear really looked like.

He finished up paperwork for the next hour or so. Jonathan didn’t look up right away when the door opened next. The presence that stepped inside his office was too controlled, too quiet, to be anyone but him.

“Ducard,” Jonathan said without looking up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The door clicked shut behind the man. “And yet, here I am.”

Jonathan finally lifted his gaze. Ducard was as he remembered, tall, precise, and dressed in black as though he were perpetually walking away from a funeral. Controlled menace in a tailored coat.

“You went to my home.” Jonathan’s tone was low, dangerous.

“I had reason to believe you might be… distracted.”

“I’m always watching,” Jonathan said coldly.

Ducard smiled faintly, as if amused by the challenge. “Then you know why I came.”

Jonathan stood slowly, and moved to close the folder on his desk. Ares’ vitals post-toxin. “The trial was a success.”

“I know.” Ducard glanced at the laptop, at the black screen Jonathan had allowed to darken. “And we’re ready.”

Jonathan folded his arms. “What’s your plan?”

Ducard stepped forward. “Gotham has passed the threshold. It festers with corruption. It’s time for Gotham to fall.”

Jonathan said nothing, waiting.

“We plan to introduce your perfected formula into the city’s water supply. Distributed slowly, systematically. Enough to infect without immediate alarm. When the time comes, the city will dissolve into chaos and fear.”

Jonathan’s fingers twitched slightly with restrained excitement. “And my role?”

“Production and oversight.”

There was silence, but mentally Jonathan was already calculating how to improve on their plan. Ducard spoke of collapse, of fear flooding the veins of Gotham like poisoned blood. Jonathan saw the subtler mechanics. The psychological architecture, and the opportunity to not just break the city, but reshape it in his image. This wasn’t just about legacy. It was about dominion.

His formula had worked flawlessly. Ares was living proof, a strong mind shattered by fear, dismantled with precision. And if one man could fall so cleanly, what of a thousand? Ten thousand?

Jonathan felt a sharp thrill in his chest. The kind he usually kept buried beneath theory and clinical detachment. This would be more than an experiment. It would be monumental.

Ducard and the League saw destruction. Jonathan saw evolution.

The only catch was her, and he’d drawn that line. She would be untouched by the fear, preserved like a rare specimen in a controlled environment. Watching the world fall from a place of safety she hadn’t chosen, but would grow to accept.

Yes. This was more than acceptable.

Then Ducard added, “You’ll have everything you’ve earned. Funding, anonymity, and immunity from prosecution. A scientific legacy beyond anything you could’ve hoped for in academia.”

Jonathan exhaled. But his voice, when he spoke, was steady. “None of this happens unless she’s off the table.”

Ducard was silent.

“She’s non-negotiable,” Jonathan continued. 

Ducard’s gaze narrowed, but his voice remained even. “Love is weakness, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan turned back to face him, dead calm. “Who said it’s love?”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like the word itself was beneath him. But behind the stillness, the calculation, was something far more volatile. He didn’t love her. Not in the fragile, foolish way the world understood it. What he felt was purpose. She gave him structure. Focus. A reason to hold the rest of the madness at bay.

He didn’t need her. He chose her.

Ducard’s gaze narrowed, his voice calm but knowing. “You’re not nearly as unreadable as you believe.” A pause. “Call it what you like, but it’s written all over you.” There was a long beat between them, charged and silent. Then Ducard nodded. “Very well. She’s yours.”

Jonathan said nothing, but inside, a knot of cold satisfaction settled in his chest. His toxin would bring Gotham to its knees. And she would watch it happen, safe and untouched at his side.

You heard the front door open just as you were putting the finishing touches on the meal you made.

Perfect timing.

Jonathan stepped into the kitchen and you smiled up at him as you got everything you needed to finish setting the table. 

“I, um… I hope it’s okay. I made dinner.”

His gaze moved around the kitchen before returning to you. Some emotion flashed in his eyes, something you couldn’t place at first. His expression warmed, lips curving into the faintest smile, and for a moment, he looked relaxed in a way you'd never seen. 

“It’s more than okay,” he said. Walking over, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t the kiss that unsettled you. It was how natural it felt, like it was something he’d done a hundred times before.

Your smile froze for half a second, but you managed a small nod as he stepped past you, casually unfastening his cufflinks.

“I’ll just wash up,” he said.

You watched him go, heart thudding against your ribs. It was just dinner, a way to contribute. Maybe to express your gratitude. Right?

You kept telling yourself that.

The dining room felt different now. Not stiff as you first saw it, but more elegant than cold. You’d lit a couple of the low candles you found in a drawer, the kind meant for ambiance more than scent. It made the space feel warmer, almost intimate. You played some mellow music in the background. You set out the table, feeling like maybe you belonged.

You'd just placed water glasses at each setting when he returned. He wasn’t empty-handed. 

Jonathan held a dark green wine bottle, its vintage label slightly faded with age. “From the wine cellar,” he said. “One of my more indulgent vices.”

“You have a wine cellar?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

He gave a small, almost amused nod as he retrieved the corkscrew. “Of course I do. Doesn’t everyone keep a few dozen rare vintages beneath their house?”

He caught you off guard. You weren’t sure if he was joking, but his tone was so dry, so effortless, you couldn’t help the faint laugh that escaped you.

Jonathan looked up at that, and there was something satisfied in his expression. Like your smile was exactly what he’d hoped for.

You served him first before returning to fill your own plate. Jonathan opened the bottle of Chardonnay with practiced ease, pouring two glasses. When you both sat, the flicker of candlelight on the table added a soft warmth to the room, and for a moment, it almost felt normal. 

You watched him take a bite before glancing over at you, clearly impressed. “This is remarkable,” he said. “You’re a wonderful cook.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “I took lessons a couple of years ago,” you admitted with a small shrug. “Didn’t want to start a marriage burning water.”

Jonathan lifted his glass slightly in your direction, that rare half-smile returning to his lips. “Practical and thoughtful. He was lucky.”

While he'd meant it as praise, but you couldn't help but notice he used past tense.

“How was your day?” he asked.

The question lingered between you for a second too long. You hesitated, unsure what to say. Your instinct was to keep it light, but you had to mention it.

You set your fork down gently. “Someone came to the door today,” you said.

Jonathan’s gaze sharpened instantly. “Who?”

“I didn’t open it,” you assured quickly. “I just… He was tall, older, dressed in black. Very put together. I didn’t recognize him, but…” You hesitated. “Something about him... So I just went back to your guest room.”

His expression didn’t change much, but something behind his eyes darkened.

“You did the right thing,” he said finally, voice even. “Don’t answer the door again unless I’m here.”

You nodded, picking up your fork again but not lifting it to your mouth. “Maybe he was just some... solicitor?”

Jonathan tilted his head slightly. “Maybe. I’ll check the footage later.”

You took a sip of wine, trying to calm your nerves. “Sorry, I didn't mean to complicate things.”

“It doesn’t complicate anything,” he said. “It only proves why you’re better off here.”

There was something so certain in the way he said it. Like your stay wasn't just temporary until you figured your life out.

Lifting your glass, you took another sip. “The wine is amazing,” you murmured, offering a small smile. “It goes perfectly with this.”

He seemed pleased by that, almost proud.

You considered mentioning your text conversation with Lexi. The instinct tugged at you, brief but persistent. Maybe just bring it up casually, slip it into the flow of conversation. But as soon as the thought surfaced, something in you recoiled.

It felt… dangerous.

Not because of the content of the texts. Lexi really hadn’t said much beyond expressing worry and guilt, but you decided it wasn't a good idea. Jonathan seemed happy, the way he was watching you, content and invested, made you realize the evening meant more to him than he was saying. Like everything was exactly where he wanted it. And the man certainly deserved that after all the crises you'd pulled him into.

Bringing up Lexi might shift that, or make him feel… unappreciated. So you didn’t mention it. You just took another sip of wine and let the conversation move forward, pretending, at least for now, that everything was fine. You thought, briefly, about asking if there’d been any news about Ares, but quickly dismissed that idea too. If something had changed, he’d tell you… right?

Jonathan reached for the wine bottle, refilling your glass with an easy grace. “I’m curious,” he said casually, settling back in his chair. “You’re an artist yourself, aren’t you?”

The question caught you a little off guard, not because it was wrong. You just didn't remember ever telling him that. "How did you know?"

He studied you. “It’s the way you move through a room. You notice details. Just my opinion, but you weren’t meant to be hanging the work of other artists in a gallery. You were meant to create your own works.” A faint smile touched his lips, but his eyes didn’t stray from yours. “Painting, maybe? Or sketching?”

You nodded slowly. “Painting.”

“Do you still do it?” he asked gently. “I imagine such an outlet would help you process everything at a time like this."

You hesitated, fingers tracing the stem of your wine glass. For a moment, you thought about brushing it off with a polite answer. Yet, something about the way he was looking at you made it hard to lie. Like he’d know if you did.

“I used to paint,” you said finally. “A lot. I majored in studio art, but somewhere along the line, I stopped making time for it. Life got… loud, I guess.”

Jonathan nodded like he understood. “And lately?”

You gave a small shrug. “I’ve tried here and there. The instinct’s still there, but it’s harder. Everything feels... so much harder now.”

For a moment, you continued your meal in silence. You thought he'd drop it there.

“Grief,” he said gently, “and trauma. They don’t just go away. But sometimes you can silence them when you put them somewhere. On canvas, on a page. It’s not about the result. It’s about the act itself. Catharsis.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the insight, by how honestly he said it.

“You don’t have to show anyone if you don't wish. Just don’t stop creating.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “There’s space upstairs. Plenty of light during the day. I could clear it out, give you somewhere quiet to work with no interruptions if you wanted to resume painting.”

You hadn't expected him to offer something like that. “I couldn’t,” you said almost immediately. “Jonathan, I… I still don’t know where I’m going from here. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I can’t take advantage of your hospitality like that.”

“You’re not.” He said it with such quiet conviction that it stopped you cold. “You’re recovering. And creating might help. If offering you a room and some sunlight makes that easier, then it’s not generosity. It’s basic decency. You don’t owe me a plan. Just give yourself a little time to breathe.”

You smiled, small but sincere. “Thank you. That’s… so kind of you.”

And you meant it. After everything, a quiet space to create sounded like a gift. A small anchor in the storm that lasted way too long.

But as you looked at him, so calm and certain, you felt a ripple under the surface. There'd been no hesitation. Like he was waiting for you to say yes.

You pushed the thought away as quickly as it came, blaming your nerves, your exhaustion, anything but him. Still, somewhere deep in your chest, the feeling lingered.

You took another sip of wine, then set the glass down gently. “So,” you said, forcing a little lightness into your voice, “how was your day?”

Jonathan’s expression shifted, so slightly you could have easily missed it. The warmth didn’t disappear, but it cooled into something more composed. “Busy,” he said. “A few things at the hospital needed my attention. Some late meetings, one that wasn't scheduled. Nothing terribly exciting. Though I will admit,” he added, indicating his nearly cleared plate, “this has been the best part of my day.”

The compliment was subtle, but it made you happy that you earned his approval. You tried to push down how much that meant to you. 

Once dinner was over, you instinctively began to gather plates, stacking them as you stood. Jonathan rose with you, but didn’t reach for anything. Instead, he leaned one hand on the edge of the table, watching you quietly.

“I’ve got it,” you said lightly, trying to wave him away.

But as you moved toward the sink, he stepped gently into your path, not blocking you, just redirecting. “You’re my guest. Let me take care of it. I’m always up late anyway. I'll take care of them later.”

You hesitated, and he smiled taking what you'd gathered and placing them in the sink. Then he ushered you out of the kitchen, guiding you with a careful hand at your lower back. “Go. Sit down. I have something I think you’ll like.”

You let him herd you into the living room, half-expecting him to retreat to his study or the kitchen once you were settled. But he didn’t. Instead, he joined you on the couch, remote in hand. The room dimmed as he turned on the TV and navigated to an old black-and-white thriller, Hitchcock, sharp and psychological.

You raised a brow. “You’re a fan?”

He glanced over. “Human behavior under pressure. Motives and manipulation. Of course I’m a fan.”

Jonathan disappeared briefly, then returned with both wine glasses and the rest of the bottle. He refilled yours with that same smooth ease, then sat closer to you this time. The film began, shadows flickering across the room. And for a while, you let yourself relax, lulled by the rhythm of the scene, the wine, and the quiet between you. It was nice.

Then, somewhere between scenes, he draped his arm over the back of the sofa, right behind you. The edge of his knee bumped yours and didn’t shift away. He didn’t make a move that was overt, but his presence seeped into your consciousness, wrapping around you slowly, deliberately. 

You felt it, that quiet shift in energy. Your shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. Not a recoil, just the faintest instinct to shrink into yourself. A breath held too long. A glance toward your glass that lingered a beat too long, like you were looking for something safe to focus on.

And he noticed. His voice was low, but not quite casual. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

You shifted slightly, just enough to glance at him. “I’m not afraid of you,” you said softly, but too quickly. 

“That's good,” he said, and there was a trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Fear doesn’t always look like running. Sometimes it’s silence and tension. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

You turned toward him slightly, wine glass balanced in your hand. It wasn’t just what he said, it was how he said it. Like your wariness disappointed him. 

Jonathan seemed relaxed. But his eyes, those bright blue eyes, were fixed on you in a way that made you doubt yourself. Had you done something wrong? The uncertainty, more than anything, made you uneasy.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. “Should I be waiting for the other shoe to drop?” you asked quietly.

For a moment, he just looked at you like he was weighing something far heavier than your question implied. “Only if you don't trust me."

You hesitated. 

Only if you don’t trust me.

His words weren’t angry or accusatory. But they lingered, making you feel like you’d disappointed him somehow. Like your hesitation had hurt him.

“I do trust you,” you said, softer than before. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the stem of your glass. “Everything around me has changed so fast. But I’m not doubting you. I’m just…”

“Wounded,” he finished for you. “You’ve been let down so many times you’ve forgotten how to accept something that doesn’t ask for anything in return.”

The words settled over you like dust, light, but impossible to ignore. Somewhere inside, you knew he was right. It resonated in a quiet, aching place you didn’t like to look at too closely. A truth you’d never put into words, not even to yourself.

Your eyes dropped to your lap, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

Jonathan shifted closer, draping his arm over the back of the couch again. “That’s not your fault. But it's important to be mindful of it. If you question every hand that tries to steady you… eventually, you’ll push everyone away.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. Jonathan had unknowingly stumbled onto one of your biggest fears -- being alone. Through that mental filter, his words stung.

In a softer tone, he said, “I don’t want to be one of the people you push away.”

You felt your throat tighten. It wasn’t fair, the way he said it. So calm, like he understood you better than you did. That’s what made it so hard to ignore, why it hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, the words falling out before you could stop them. “I’m not trying to push you away. I know you’ve done so much for me, and I...” you stopped, catching your breath. “I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

Jonathan just watched you, eyes steady, as if measuring every word you’d said, every inch you’d given. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I can be patient,” he said softly. “For you.”

You nodded, but something in the way he said it lodged in your chest. For you. What did he mean by that? Was it a kindness or a warning? A promise wrapped in pressure? You couldn’t quite tell. He spoke like someone who’d already decided where this was going, and was simply waiting for you to catch up. 

His hand moved, deliberate, but gentle, as it slid from the back of the sofa to rest lightly on your shoulder, his thumb brushing a slow, soothing arc against your collarbone. Not demanding, but there. A reminder.

“You don’t have to earn my care,” he murmured. “You just have to accept it.”

He said it like a promise. But it felt like a claim.

You didn’t pull away. His touch was warm and grounding. Reassuring in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. And his words—

You don’t have to earn my care

—wrapped around you like a blanket, soft and heavy. Part of you wanted to believe him. Needed to.

So you let yourself lean in, just enough to feel less alone. But even as your shoulder relaxed beneath his hand, doubt stirred in the back of your mind. The timing and precision. The way he always knew exactly what to say.

Pushing those thoughts out, you returned your attention to the movie.

She’d gone to bed an hour ago with a soft goodnight and that small, grateful smile he’d come to anticipate.

Jonathan appreciated the efforts she’d made tonight, more than she knew. The soft sweater that made her look delicate, approachable. Her hair, styled with care and the light, tasteful makeup. Not for show, but for him.

And the meal she’d cooked? He hadn’t complimented it just to put her at ease. The flavor profiles were thoughtful and well-balanced. It had been the first time he’d ever eaten in his own dining room. Really used it. And somehow, she’d made it feel like a home instead of a stage. The lighting, the calm music she’d chosen for the background, the way she’d plated the dishes, it was thoughtful and intimate. Welcoming.

The way she’d been standing there when he walked in, dinner ready, a soft smile waiting for him, that was the kind of thing a man could get very used to. And he would. Eventually, she’d see this wasn’t temporary.

It was the beginning.

Jonathan stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he slowly rinsed the plates, loaded the dishwasher. There was something grounding about the motion, orderly and predictable. He liked clean edges.

Yes, tonight had gone very well. Even better than he'd expected. She was starting to relax more around him. Not entirely, but enough. She'd laughed, apologized when she didn’t need to. And eventually she'd relented, allowing him to be closer to her. To touch her.

He dried his hands, reaching for his glasses on the counter, sliding them on with care. Progress.

His fingers twitched slightly, the echo of touching her skin still imprinted in his nerves. There would be more candlelit dinners, small moments of trust. And soon, she’d stop feeling like a guest in his house. She’d realize it was her home. Our home.

If Ares had made even a halfway decent attempt to court her, if he’d really seen her, Jonathan wouldn’t have stood a chance. She wasn’t the type of woman to stray. She would’ve stayed loyal to him. She may even have been happy if Ares had given her even the bare minimum. 

But he hadn’t. And now Ares was rotting in a cell in his own facility, his mind permanently lost, drooling on the floor in a straightjacket. Jonathan had dinner with the woman who once was Ares' fiancée. And every day that passed would see her forget about Ares. Every day brought her closer to surrending to him.

Jonathan smiled faintly to himself as he switched off the light.

One step at a time.

[daydreamer-much]

Fever Dreams - Scarecrow/ Johnathan Crane x Reader

The walls of the penthouse seemed to close in around her. Light filtered in through the tall windows, but it only worsened the throbbing in her head. Y/n winced as she curled further into the plush couch, her body aching, skin flushed with fever. The sound of her own heartbeat thudded in her ears, dull and heavy.

She barely registered the click of the door until she heard his voice.

“You should have called me sooner.”

Jonathan Crane’s presence always filled a room long before he said a word—but now, it was his tone that held weight. Quiet, carefully measured, but threaded with something deeper—something brittle and volatile just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” she murmured, squinting up at him.

His tailored coat was damp with rain, dark curls clinging to his forehead. He looked at her for a moment, as though committing every inch of her pale, overheated face to memory. Then he moved.

“You’re burning up.” He knelt beside the couch, his hand brushing her forehead, unnervingly cool. “Did you take anything?”

“Just something for the fever. It didn’t help much.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed faintly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “Of course it didn’t,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “You never take proper care of yourself when I’m not here.”

She tried to smile, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain washing through her skull. He noticed.

“Stop moving. I’ll get you water.” His fingers grazed her wrist as he stood, lingering for half a second too long.

He moved through the kitchen like he’d lived there all his life—because in some ways, he had. She hadn’t noticed when he started keeping things at her place. A tie draped over a chair. A bottle of his cologne in the bathroom. One day, his books had simply appeared on her shelf, tucked among hers like they belonged.

He returned with a glass of water and a small, carefully measured dose of something from a vial he pulled from his coat.

“It’ll help with the pain,” he said. “Trust me.”

She hesitated. “Is that… from your lab?”

He tilted his head, lips curving in a faint, almost mocking smile. “If I wanted to hurt you, darling, you’d already be in a very different state.”

She blinked at him, uncertain if it was meant to be reassuring.

Still, she took it. The water was cool on her throat, the mixture bitter but oddly comforting. She didn’t see the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as she swallowed it.

He sat beside her, not touching, but so close she could feel his presence like a shadow. She leaned into it without thinking. The world was spinning, and he was solid. Cold. Calm. Always watching her.

“You should rest,” he said softly. “Sleep.”

“Don’t want to,” she mumbled. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m concerned.”

“You’re always concerned. Like I’m made of glass.”

Jonathan’s jaw twitched. He reached out and tucked a strand of damp hair behind her ear.

“You are,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Glass is beautiful. Fragile. And people don’t appreciate what they have until it’s shattered.”

Y/n blinked slowly, mind growing hazy. Whatever he’d given her dulled the pain, but it left her drifting, the edges of her vision blurring.

“Why do you always act like something’s going to take me away?”

He smiled then—gently, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Because everything I love gets taken from me,” he said. “But not you. I’ve made sure of that.”

She was already asleep when he said it. But he stayed there, watching her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, his hand resting lightly over hers—just enough to remind himself she was real.

Just enough to hold on.

Find me on wattpad @daydreamermuch and I have a book of Batman oneshots/ imagines for those interested. Christopher Nolan knew what he was doing with that fine ass cast.

[anon-sect]

Picture source: internet

Tom loved watching the old tv show Once Upon a Time. He had a celebrity crush on the actor Josh Dallas who played Prince Charming or David Nolan on the show. He had since then watched other shows that the actor stared in. It was one of his fantasies to meet the handsome actor in person one day.

Tom then got a bold idea of a way to be close to the actor in person. It was a risky plan, but he definitely wanted to attempt it. He had purchased a TF Ray phone that was quite expensive. He asked his friend Jonathan to help fulfill his fantasy.

"What, you really want me to do that?" Jonathan asked confused and curious at the same time.

"Yes, I want you to turn me into a pair of shoes. Put me in a box along with the TF Ray phone and mail me to Josh Dallas with this note." Tom explained one more time, holding a handwritten note signed by him.

Jonathan didn't know if his best friend was insane or just went plain mad. "Why would you want to do that? You don't know if the guy would wear you or even release you. You could end up as the actor's property forever. You sure you want to do this?"

Tom pondered Jonathan's questions. It really was a risk, but he had a huge crush on the actor. He really wanted to do this despite all the risk that his best friend mentioned. "I know what risk are involved before I even considered doing this. And I want to do. So, will you help me or not?" He responded, showing his stubborn resolve for a reckless course of action. It was scary not knowing what fate would happen to him, but it also excited him at the same time.

Jonathan saw that no amount of questioning would change his mind. Tom was dead set on going through with it. He decided that he would help him achieve his fantasy even if he was totally against the idea. He hit the flash option on the screen of the TF Ray phone. Tom was instantly reduced to a pair of shoes. He picked him up and wrapped him in wrapping paper. He placed the shoes in a box, along with the TF Ray phone, special written note and the instructions how to use the phone. After the box was sealed. He went to the post office to mail the box off. He felt bad for helping his friend achieve his fantasy, not knowing if he would even see him again. But this was what he wanted.

Tom stayed in darkness for what seemed like forever. He could hear voice as he was being shipped out to his favorite actor. He hoped he would reach him soon.

Josh was handed a sealed box when it was delivered to his house by FedEx. There was no return address on the box. When he opened it, he saw a handwritten note on top. He read it: "Mr. Dallas, I loved watching you in Once Upon a Time and your other shows. You are my favorite actor, and I have wanted to meet you in person one day. But I came up with a better idea. What if I could spend a day with you. So, I had myself changed into a pair of shoes for you to wear using the TF Ray phone provided in the box. Wear me, please. One day on your feet will be what I want. sign Tom."

Josh didn't know if it was a practical joke or actually real. He found the TF Ray phone along with instructions on how to use it. He was shocked it was actually the real deal. He unwrapped the shoes in the box. If the phone was real, then perhaps the shoes he was holding is a former human being begging to be on his. He first thought of the moral implications of actually wearing the shoes. But then he would be the only one to know what his shoes really are. Besides just one day would be fine to fulfill this fan's fantasy, what harm could it do.

Tom was so happy to see Josh Dallas holding him. He hoped the actor would at least speak to him, but he didn't. Instead, the actor did what you would normally do with free shoes. He was put on the actor's feet without a single acknowledgement of his human existence.

Josh thought should he talk to the shoes, but that would look very strange talking to a pair of shoes like they were a person. He just hope this one day on his feet would make the fan happy. Yet, he thought the fan was crazy to want to be worn on his feet.

Once Tom was secured with string arms tied up, he saw that maybe it wasn't the brightest idea to consider. The actor's feet crushed his insole face with force as he walked around his house. It was a constant crushing over and over. The pain was beyond his imagination. Even when the actor was just sitting down, the pressure of his feet pressed against his insole face was bad enough. The wiggling of his toes showed that Josh Dallas's feet owned him completely. As the day went on, the actor had a few errands to run. That meant more walking on him. Being shoes for the actor now didn't seem as much fun as he originally imagined. He started to beg for his humanity back. It was just only over an couple of hours and he was ready to not be shoes anymore.

Josh loved the way the shoes comfort his feet. He had never felt shoes that were this good. Even when doing some errands, each step felt so well cushioned. He pondered the thought of keeping the shoes despite knowing what they are. He decided, that maybe one more day of the shoes would be enough.

The next day, the actor went for his morning run, wearing his new shoes. It was so great running in them. It was like he was running on clouds. His feet didn't feel the stress of normal shoes. He would make a decision after his run when he got back to his house.

Tom was in agony as Josh was enjoying his morning run. The sweaty sock began to saturate his insides. A strong foot odor began to develop. His insole face was being molded by the actor's feet. After the previous day, he already developed a strong foot odor of ownership. It was on supposed to be just a day. He began to wonder if the actor would ever release him. He remembered that Jonathan warned him that placing his fate in the actor's hands might not go as planned.

Once Josh got back home, he took the TF Ray phone. He found the revert to normal setting for his new shoes. He honestly loved his new shoes and saw no reason to lose them. He deleted the revert back to normal setting, making his new shoes permanent. Only he would know that his special shoes are a living person. Everyone else would only see normal shoes, even his family would think so. He took the handwritten note that he had hidden and tore it to tiny pieces before throwing it in the trash. With that all done, he could treat the poor fan as nothing but shoes since he volunteered to be the actor's shoes in the first place.

[jackiequick]

Ben Carter ~ Rebel Just For Kicks | Marvel Studios OC

Full Name: Bennett Sawyer Carter

Nicknames: Ben, Benni, Benji, Sawyer, Scout, Ace

Alias: Oliver Halloway, Jackson Harper, Dean Nolan, James Shepherd, Bellamy Wheeler, Jonathan Hunter, Leon Lance etc

——

Date Of Birth: October 16th, 1984

Place Of Birth: New York City

Place Of Residency: Washington, DC

——

Family: AGENT 13, Sharon [CLASSIFIED] — Sister

—————

“I wanted to be teacher but my father didn’t allow it. So now I live in the shadow of my older sister, but I do this job to protect her.”

“Did you really just challenge me to burger eating contest?”

“Yippee ki yay, mother-oops, sorry, there’s children present..”

“Man, I need a break. Who wants pie?”

————————

Personality: 

He is delightful blend of charm and goofiness, often bringing humor to even the most serious situations. His clumsy nature leads to lighthearted moments, endearing him to those around him. 

Beneath his playful exterior lies a fiercely loyal protector; Ben would selflessly throw himself into harm's way to shield his loved ones, demonstrating an unwavering commitment to their safety. 

With a quick wit and a knack for sarcasm, he deftly navigates tense scenarios, using humor to defuse potential conflicts. Friendly and charismatic, he easily connects with others, making him a beloved figure among friends and allies alike.

-------

Background 📖

Growing up in a family where his sister, Sharon (AGENT 13), was clearly the high achiever, Bennett always felt the pressure to live up to his family’s expectations. 

His dream of becoming a teacher was dismissed by his father, who pushed him toward a path of espionage or government work like his sister. While Sharon excelled, Bennett found solace in humor and developing a carefree persona to cope with the pressure.

—

“I don’t want to be like Sharon or you or even aunt Peg, dad! I want to teach and travel, not go around getting myself into trouble.” Ben replied.

“Son, you will be a fine young agent just like me. Being a teacher is too small of a career and you won’t be paid much.” Michael, his father, add in a stern tone. “You’re a Carter, act like it.”

“But I am not fit for that kinda job…”

“You say that now, but you will be.”

“Dad...”

—

While Ben respected his father and admired Sharon’s achievements, he couldn’t help but feel torn. More than anyone in his family, Aunt Peggy Carter had always fascinated him. She was a legend in her own right, a brilliant strategist, co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a woman who had helped shape the modern intelligence world. Yet, despite her immense legacy, Ben wondered if Aunt Peggy might have understood his desire to take a different path.

Sometimes, when the pressure became too much, Ben found himself wondering, What would Aunt Peg say if she were here?

Deep down, he believed she would have told him to follow his own path, to be his own person. Unlike his father, Peggy might have recognized that having goals—big or small—was important. But Ben never had the chance to ask her. And that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Would Peggy have supported his choices? Or would she have dismissed his dreams like his father had?

This question haunted Ben, even as he tried to balance his own desires with his family’s expectations. He longed for a mentor who would understand him, someone who wouldn’t see his dreams as "too small."

Though he eventually followed the path set out for him, Ben’s inner struggle never fully disappeared. He carried the question of Peggy’s approval with him, both as a source of strength and as a reminder of what he had given up.

---

-------

—Relationship with Sharon Carter 🛠️

Growing up, Sharon and Bennett shared a close bond. As the older sibling, Sharon was protective of her little brother, often looking out for him when their father’s strict expectations weighed heavily on him. In their early years, they had a lot of fun together—playing games, pulling pranks, and exploring the streets of New York. Sharon was always the more confident and adventurous one, while Ben was more cautious, happy to follow her lead.

But as they got older, the gap between them began to widen. Sharon embraced the world of espionage with determination, diving headfirst into training and missions. She became the perfect soldier in their father’s eyes, the embodiment of the Carter legacy. 

Ben, on the other hand, grew unsure of himself. He admired Sharon’s strength and skill but resented the fact that her success only made him feel more inadequate. Often feeling torn between his personal dreams and the family legacy.

Despite their differences and the tension that arose from their father’s expectations, Ben and Sharon deeply cared for each other. Sharon was fiercely protective of Ben, even if she didn’t always understand his reluctance to embrace their family’s legacy. Ben, in turn, admired Sharon’s strength and independence, even if he resented the comparisons made between them.

As Ben began to settle into his own role in intelligence work—whether by choice or circumstance—Sharon continued to watch out for him. He didn’t want to live in Sharon’s shadow, but he also didn’t want her to get hurt. Part of his decision to follow the family path came from his desire to protect Sharon—to make sure she never faced the dangers of their work alone.

—

"I do this job for a lot of reasons," Ben once confided in a rare moment of vulnerability. "But mostly? I do it to protect you."

Sharon, uncharacteristically quiet, nodded. "I don’t need protecting, Ben."

"I know," he replied, looking down shaking his head and then looked straight at her. "But I’m still going to try."

——

—-

They weren’t as close as they had been in their childhood, but they had come to respect each other’s choices. 

Sharon continued to work in her career, while Ben had found his own way, even if it wasn’t the life he originally wanted.

————

———————

——

| CARTER — S.H.I.E.L.D. Associate | ⚖️ |

While Bennett initially resisted the idea of following in his family’s footsteps, particularly those of his father and sister, he eventually found a place within S.H.I.E.L.D., albeit on his own terms. He didn’t strive to be a leader or a figurehead, but he knew that protecting those he cared about—and finding his own way to make a difference—was important.

Reluctant Start, Natural Talent

After years of pushing back against his father’s expectations, Bennett’s path eventually led him to S.H.I.E.L.D. He realized that, whether he liked it or not, his family’s legacy wasn’t something he could easily escape. Yet, when he decided to join S.H.I.E.L.D., it wasn’t out of a desire to live up to the Carter name exactly—it was about finding his own purpose. He just wanted to make his mark in a way that felt authentic to him.

Though Ben had always been reluctant to pursue espionage, he discovered he had a natural talent for certain aspects of the job. He wasn’t the best strategist or mastermind like other agents, but he excelled in the physical and tactical elements of the work.

——

"Watch it, Carter. You're like a kid in a candy store," Maria Hill remarked dryly, watching as Ben eagerly examined the array of weaponry laid out in the SHIELD armory.

Ben scoffed, flashing a grin. "Hill, lighten up. It's a wall full of guns, knives, and other weaponry! Look at this," he said, picking up a sleek new handgun and examining it with gleaming eyes. "And ooh, is that a new set of bows and arrows? Bet Clint would love this!"

Hill shook her head, but she couldn’t hide the faint smirk on her face. Ben's enthusiasm, though sometimes overwhelming, was infectious.

——

~ Role within S.H.I.E.L.D. ⚙️

Active S.H.I.E.L.D. Associate: Bennett works as a simple, yet kind field agent, engaging in various missions and tasks for the organization.

Hand-to-Hand Combat: Skilled in close-quarters combat, always eager to improve and test his fighting abilities.

Weaponry Enthusiast: Excited by weapons, particularly guns, rifles, knives, and advanced tech. He enjoys trying out new gear.

Scouting Missions: Loves scouting and reconnaissance missions, especially because they let him travel and explore new places.

Undercover & Surveillance: Although reluctant at first, he secretly enjoys undercover work and surveillance, finding it both challenging and exciting.

——————

———

————————————

—Strengths & Weaknesses 🖥️

Strengths

1. Charisma and Charm

2. Loyalty and Protectiveness

3. Wit and Humor

4. Adaptability

5. Combat Skills

6. Empathy and Understanding

Weakness

1. Self-Doubt

2. Emotional Burden

3. Reluctance to Embrace Leadership

4. Tendency to Avoid Conflict

5. Clumsiness

6. Difficulty Accepting Help

——————————

———

———

Fun Facts & Quirks! 🧲

- Foodie at Heart -> This man loves burgers, pies, ice cream, donuts and etc. Depending on where he is, Ben will find some sort of food to eat.

“Did you seriously go and buy milkshake?” His teammate asked.

He shrugged and pointed, “What? You were takin’ too long. I got hungry.”

- Clumsy Charmer -> He is notoriously clumsy at times, often stumbling on his own feet or bumping into something by accident.

“Who put a damn step there? That wasn’t there before!” He shouted almost tripping over but caught himself quickly.

- Tv & Film Fan -> He is often found quoting a line from his favorites or referencing a form of media. However he doesn’t always like to repeat the same thing, more than twice.

“No more Punzel! If I have to hear Zachary Levi’s voice one more time, I’m done.” He shouts during moving night.

His friend gasps, “How dare you? Flynn Rider is wonderful!”

- Dreamer -> Despite having to cut out being a teacher in his life, he always wondered what he might’ve showned those young minds.

“I could’ve been a History teacher or English..? Not math, I suck at that subject! Hell, I might quit this job and find out..”

- He talks to favorite things -> He will talk to his car, his guns and jacket. You already know if Ben had a pet he will be chatting with that animal too.

He grins seeing his favorite handheld gun and picked it up, “Hello sweetheart, gods, I missed you.”

Other things include: Ben is a music lover, mildly superstitious, enjoys collecting items, fear of heights etc.

————

—————

Additional information | 📬 |

-> Favorite Hero

Bennett will never admit it but he enjoys the heroes he seems on the streets and in his line of world.

You would think because his aunt Peggy association to Captain America, automatically that’s his favorite. He admires and respects Steve Rogers greatly, hell he hopes to have enough goodness in his heart to be like him, but not his favorite.

He actually secretly admires Spider-Man for his wit, willingness to help out, relatability and kindness towards others. He only seen the hero from afar but he can tell why people online like him.

~~~

-> Dating Life

When it comes to dating, Bennett tends to casual date. Nothing serious. He enjoys meeting new people and exploring connections without the pressure of committing or wanting to make they both hit it off well.

He has had serval crushes over the years, nothing notably strong or anything. However he once had a significant crush on a fellow agent, but he never acted on it, fearing it could mess up their professional relationship. He didn’t to push anything.

His flirting style is light-hearted and humorous. He tends to use playful chill banter and finding whatever he can as a simple ice-breaker. His charm is evident in his ability to make others smile, and he often employs self-deprecating humor to put his crushes at ease.

Currently, Bennett is single and he doesn’t mind it actually. Honestly, he thinks no one can compete with his notorious lack of skills and put up with him half the time to his bad jokes. But hey? We might be wrong and there is a certain someone out there for him.

~~~~

~ Hobbies and Interests |🛋️| ~

Cooking: Bennett enjoys experimenting in the kitchen. He loves trying out new recipes, especially when it comes to making burgers and desserts. His friends often joke that he should open a food truck.

- “Who needs a Michelin star when you can make the perfect burger at home?”

Movie Buff & TV Binge-Watcher: Bennett has a soft spot for action flicks, buddy cop movies, and classic comedies. He often spends his free time rewatching old favorites or discovering new series to binge.

Collecting Vintage Memorabilia: Bennett enjoys collecting vintage movie posters, old records, and retro tech. His apartment is littered with relics of the past, from vinyl records to an old-fashioned radio. He particularly loves hunting for rare finds at flea markets and antique shops.

- “You can laugh at my vinyl collection all you want, but there's nothing like listening to the Life Is A Highway on the original record.”

Tinkering with Cars: Bennett inherited a love of cars from his father. He spends weekends tinkering with his car, working on engine repairs, or upgrading parts. He’s not a full-blown gearhead, but he enjoys spending time in his garage fixing up his old, reliable ride.

——

————

-> Fears and Insecurities |🪤| <-

Fear of Failure: Bennett often worries about not living up to his family legacy or his own potential. This fear sometimes holds him back from pursuing more serious relationships or challenges.

- “What if I’m just not cut out for this? What if I let everyone down?”

Insecurity About His Role & Fitting In: Sometimes he can feel like he’s qualified to be an agent, and to overcompensate that with humor.

- “I mean, I’m just a guy who likes burgers and makes a lot of bad jokes… how did I end up here?”

Fear of Not Finding His Own Path: Bennett has always wanted to follow his own dream of being a teacher or traveling, but the weight of family expectations and his current career pulls him in another direction. He’s afraid that he’ll never get the chance to live the life he truly wants, and instead, be stuck in a role he didn’t choose for himself.

- "Maybe it’s too late to figure out what I want. Maybe this is just who I am now…"

Insecurity About His Intelligence: Though he’s smart and capable, Bennett sometimes feels overshadowed by more academically inclined people, like the tech geniuses or strategists he encounters in SHIELD. He’s more street-smart than book-smart, and while he’s skilled, he occasionally doubts whether he’s as sharp as others around him.

- "Sure, I can shoot straight, but can I crack codes and come up with genius plans? Not so much. Maybe I’m just the muscle here."

~~~~~

-> Signature Style

Bennett tends to dress in casual, comfortable clothing—jeans, graphic tees, sweaters, thick jackets and sneakers.

He has a penchant for customizing his gear and equipment, adding personal touches that reflect his personality, such as stickers or playful designs.

~~~~~~

-> Habits

Midnight Snacker: Bennett has a habit of raiding the fridge late at night, often resulting in humorous situations when caught.

- “Don’t judge me, if my stomach is craving a handful of cereal at 1 in the morning.” He mumbled as he eats the mouthful of Honey-Nut Cheerios.

Movie Marathoner: He loves binge-watching movie series and often tries to convince friends to join him, complete with snacks and drinks. Sometimes he is found watching classic footage he got stored away somewhere while sipping a nice cup of coffee. Such as old race car footage.

Non-Stop Talker: Ben has a real habit of making one handed comments, give a witty compliment or over speaking in a conversation, especially when it’s not needed. Sometimes he can’t help it but spit out a few sentences and split out of the room just as quickly. Or if he gets nervous, he might ramble until someone shuts him up.

Short-Term Memory: He will never admit it but Ben has a tendency to forget things easily or get distracted, which results in issues for himself and others. People need to often repeat what they said a few times or Ben has to write it down somewhere to make sure he did it. He wonders if it’s on-set early Alzheimer like his aunt Peggy has but tries not to think about it too much. 

- “Can you repeat that? I only got caught half of what you said…” He replied looking up at you with a soft smile.

Vintage Fashion Enthusiast: One thing he will never admit nor you will ever except is for Ben to find fashion a causal factor in his life. He has a habit of wearing or finding timeless pieces whenever he went. Either a classic leather jacket, wrist watches, a necklace and or thick sweaters for colder temperatures. They’re simple items but a small part of him gets excited to wear them.

~~~~

~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~

Hope you like him! I might consider to continue his story soon hehe 😉

Let me know what you think

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @djs8891 @starkleila @aidanxsophxoxo @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @rickb-chaos @topgun-imagines @hardballoonlove @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @ximehs @savemewattpad @theonlyblackcanary @terry-perry @triptuckers @daughter-of-melpomene @superspookyjanelle

[apollogeesss]

ONE LAST GOODBYE.

Nolan!Jonathan Crane x fem! reader

summary— When Crane goes out to hunt for a potential victim to test his toxin, finally leaving homeless aside, he finds himself in a bar talking to a mysterious woman who tells him about her melancholy. Crane decides to give it a fitting, warmer ending. To his twisted form.

Warnings— DEAD DOVE— DO NOT-EAT, reader's murder!!!, very short???, chronic sadness, The reader is naive as hell, mention of a bad relationship with family and friends, the reader is 27 years old just like Jonathan, murder, Jonathan being weird, cruel and mean? and killing reader under his own moral principles, btw, I think he's a little out of character 😭 ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

Notes— I haven't written much lately, I'm dealing with personal stuff, but I wanted to do Jonathan by 'honoring' the sadistic personality disorder mentioned on the Jonathan of Nolanverse wiki. I think this is really bad, I writes it in a rush and I won't correct anything since I just wanted to do something quick 💔

Jonathan had left work early that morning, not because he was in a hurry or because the job was done, but rather because he was anxious to get to the small apartment he called home. No. Like many nights every now and then, he had prepared to 'go out for a walk' as he called it.

The discreet instrumentation under the second-hand suit that made him look elegant but that he knows didn't quite fill his shoulders, a dispenser hidden under his wristwatch. And finally, his briefcase where he hid the precious burlap mask he used to protect himself from the gas.

Jonathan had tested his toxin on people before, of course, all patients with criminal records or screaming homeless people who knew nothing about his past. Tonight he was beyond excited to find an open mind, someone to share their secrets before he crushed their wings.

That's why he was in that bar, sitting at the counter in silence, looking at people like someone looking at incompetent animals or pond scum. In front of him was a glass of liquor that he hadn't even touched, not wanting the effects of the translucent liquid to affect his enjoyment of the experience. That's when he saw her, in a corner of the bar, sitting like a cornered animal.

She was pretty, sure, like those American magazine girls in her own way, wearing a dress and a coat that he deduced was a cheap attempt to look like a proper woman.

Jonathan took a long, quiet moment to analyze her, as the expression in her barely visible eyes demonstrated distress and the different glasses indicated a delicate state. He stood up, leaving his drink alone and sad.

As Jonathan approached her, his shadow covered the dim light that was barely there for her.

"Excuse me, miss," he said, his tone soft and velvety like someone dealing with a wounded lamb.

She blinked like a lost sheep, her delicate-looking hands rising to the table, and she straightened her back slightly. A small smile tugged at Jonathan's lips.

"I couldn't help but notice you look sad and lonely. Would it be okay if I kept you company?"

She remained silent for a long time, which Jonathan handled patiently, but in the end she nodded and gave him permission to sit opposite her. Any other guy would have taken advantage of the opportunity to flirt, try to take such a pretty sad girl home and spin her around on his cock like a Merry-Go-Round.

But Jonathan, Jonathan would always be better than that. His mind was set on a better purpose.

No one spoke at first, Jonathan stared at her like a wolf waiting for the moment to jump on its prey, and she didn't do much more than look at him, her lips curved in a sign of anguish.

"Why are you here alone so late? A woman like you shouldn't be drinking so much alone in a city like Gotham," Jonathan said, his hand rising slightly on the table and taking the empty bottle of wine nearby.

"I just wanted to go out and clear my head."

She shrugged, her hands sweating while her feet couldn't stay still under the table either. The strange man's gaze was both terrifying and fascinating. A blue as pure as the sky.

"And that's why it's an incompetent decision to go out drinking alone?"

"If it bothers you, you shouldn't have come near. In Gotham, these things aren't your problem."

Jonathan nodded silently and carefully took off his rectangular glasses, sighing as he folded them, leaving them on the table before smiling a little.

"I'm afraid I don't want to leave, Miss...?"

She gave him her name in a murmur.

"Nice, appropriate name. I'm Jonathan, Dr. Jonathan Crane."

"What's a doctor doing in a place like this?" she asked mockingly.

"Just like you, seeking to soothe the sorrows."

They both smiled knowingly. Jonathan had cast the hook effortlessly, and she took it. What happened was Jonathan, they talked for hours, she told how that same day she had been told that her mother had died of a stroke— although Jonathan couldn't help but think that she was just another case of divorced parents where the child is not treated appropriately which generates an eventual rejection by both parents.

A part of him remembered his childhood, one he had tried to bury for years because it only brought anguish and oppression. The woman in front of him spoke of her loneliness, of how she longed for company to soothe that pain, and he saw himself still in shorts and crocodile tears every time his mother changed her opinion about him.

'I'm doing this because I love you, Jonathan,' 'don't touch me, Jonathan,' 'don't talk to anyone, Jonathan.'

He felt sick even when she started rambling about how complicated her relationship with her friends was, how they tried to help her but she always found a way to walk away because she felt a deep sense of distrust towards these people, and she was afraid of being hurt by those who loved her. It was certainly an avoidant attachment.

Jonathan reconsidered why he did this, the less academic part of him didn't enjoy hearing others talk about their troubles with him, he hated it— but he also remembered that he was supposed to be there to see what the toxin was like in the mind of someone ordinary, someone he knew even a little about to guess what he saw in their nightmares.

He interrupted her when he saw his wristwatch read 11:30 at night.

"Would you like to continue the conversation in my apartment?" he said, in a bold move he reached out and took her hand on the table.

"I think you're a wonderful and interesting person. I feel sorry for the distress you've been through, and I understand. And I'd love to keep you company, at least tonight. I promise not to cause any trouble."

His voice sounded low like the caress of a lover dedicated to the well-being of his beloved, the expression on the woman's face seemed to go from confusion to charming surprise with rosy cheeks. Stupid enough to believe that the only man who decided to listen to her complain about her somewhat troubled life in a dive bar turned out to be an angel of comfort.

Jonathan paid her bill like a good gentleman would, offering to let her out first and holding his arm as he walked her to her car. The walk was somewhat long, he excused himself by saying that when he arrived there were a lot of people to which she smiled shyly and nodded.

Zero survival instinct.

He led her to a somewhat damp alley with the excuse of shortening his path, it was there when she finally stopped before entering with an expression that undoubtedly doubted Jonathan's sanctity.

"You didn't say I was so far—" she murmured and took a few steps back, as if the gentle dizziness of the wine in her system was dispersing to bring her senses.

Jonathan turned to look at her and stifled a groan, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, leaving his briefcase on the floor not far from his reach before approaching her gently. When she tried to move away, he put his hands on her arms and held her close to him, their faces close enough to feel her warm breath.

"I'm so sorry, I just wanted a moment with you. I've never met such a wonderful woman."

He said before staring at her, her eyes moist, poor creature, Jonathan thought. So alone, so desolate, and yearning to be loved despite her fear. Jonathan gently pushed her against the wall, like someone handling a pet, and she let out a soft gasp before Jonathan joined their lips in a short, awkward kiss.

She didn't push him away like he thought she would, her cold hands tried to caress Jonathan's neck but he quickly pulled away, looking at her with a soft expression.

"What a lovely expression you have now, darling... Will you have an equally lovely expression when you see your worst fears?"

She blinked a little, quite confused but still delighted by the intimate closeness with Jonathan. Her eyes followed Jonathan's silhouette as he turned his back on her for a moment to bend down and search for something in his briefcase, she kept her back against the alley wall perhaps waiting for more.

"What are you talking about, Jonathan?"

He didn't respond immediately, standing up, hiding something behind his back like a shy child.

"I'm a man of science, you know, and for a long time I've investigated fear and its power over the mind and body."

He said in a serious tone, then she certainly felt that something was wrong, trying to see if there was a weapon in that hidden hand but the darkness did not allow to see well.

"Hey, I don't know what game this is, but I think I'd better go..." she said and tried to move towards the exit of the alley, but Jonathan got ahead of her and grabbed her forearm tightly, pulling her.

"No, no, where are you going? Why are you afraid?"

He said in a sardonic tone, approaching her and raising his hidden hand. An old-fashioned, worn burlap mask, like the heads of scarecrows.

"Look, it's not a gun, you don't have to be so scared. Although it's common for children to be afraid of familiar human figures, you know?"

"Jonathan, let me go, you're hurting me!"

She said and tried to struggle to what Jonathan could only express his annoyance because they would have to work faster than he would like before she threw a tantrum. With one hand he put on the mask, his blue eyes disappeared leaving the shadow of two black holes for eyes.

"Don't get so worked up! It's your fault for being so stupid. Do you know how many women disappear after blindly trusting men who talk to them in bars and invite them home?"

He didn't think to delay any longer before spraying a good dose of fear toxin in her face, the cloud of gas accumulated in her face and she coughed, trying to move but he pushed her against the wall. For a thin man, he had a remarkable strength.

She screamed almost immediately, like a fox caught in a trap, screaming in pain from its injured paw. A smile spread beneath Jonathan's mask.

Her screams were like applause to him, watching his precious toxin work quickly on her, in seconds, not like the previous prototypes that took minutes to react in the human body. He didn't even have to hold her tighter when in her own panic she fell to the floor on her knees, covering her head between sobs and cries for help.

"What are you afraid of? What's inside your head?" Jonathan said. "Are you thinking about your mommy? About how she died without ever asking for your forgiveness, or about your father who found another family?"

Her voice sounded distorted by the effects of the fear toxin, and she writhed as if gasping for air. God, she did. She was sobbing, she felt as if her skin was burning and as if her lungs were going to explode along with her heart, her body was shaking uncontrollably from the desperate wave of fear that had her paralyzed.

"Help! Someone help me!"

She screamed, but Jonathan just sighed in delight as he looked at her, standing beside her. She was so beautiful like that, with those tears streaming down her face and her mouth open as she screamed. Those beautiful eyes almost bulging with the panic that consumed her.

"Cry and scream all you want, darling, no one is coming to save you. You're alone in this, alone as you've been all your life."

He sneered and ducked down, noticing how she looked at him in complete terror. If only he could see every person he passes on the streets of Gotham like that, he'd be happy. He's so hungry to see them succumb to fear.

But his moment of satisfaction was cut short when the screams of fear and tears changed to an ugly gurgling in her throat and her body began to convulse against the ground. A small line of blood ran down her nose as she shook, her eyes rolling back like a woman possessed.

"What the hell?" Jonathan said and put his hands on her shoulders, trying to keep her in place.

That shouldn't be happening, surely, he was supposed to have perfected the dose and the substance to destroy the mind but without killing the individual. After all, who wants a test subject if you can't see what their mind looked like after the exposure? A total waste!

Clearly helpless, he watched his test subject disintegrate in an ugly way, not the beautiful way fear makes your mind melt. He removed his mask, leaving it on the side of the floor.

He couldn't just leave her there, god, of course not, even if she died from complications he couldn't just leave the body there. He felt so humiliated as if he were reduced to a ruthless killer, it was not his purpose to really kill her, perhaps he would leave her alone and totally destroyed, yes, but not dead.

He couldn't leave her like that. He knelt beside her, trembling with frustration, with disgust — not at her, but at himself.

He had miscalculated. He had failed.

With a trembling hand, he took off his coat, the one he never removed, and gently placed it over her face. Not to hide her from the world, but to hide her eyes from him.

Her breathing was shallow now, just little jerks of life clinging on. Her mouth moved, but there were no words, just blood and air.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He only watched as her body spasmed once more, and then he reached out — steady, almost tender — and did what needed to be done.

It was quick. A correction, nothing more. A cold act of mercy in the form of pressure and silence.

She stopped moving.

He stood up slowly, eyes hollow, and picked up his mask from the floor.

Jonathan remembers the rest of the night as confusing and disappointing, lifting her body in his arms and carrying her to his car, not as he had really planned, he laid her down in the back seat and he drove to the farthest docks of Gotham, where the mob used to hang out.

Jonathan carried her to the seashore, but not before searching through her clothes to find anything that might identify this woman with beautiful eyes. In the darkness barely comforted by the moonlight he could see her face— her expression was horrible, yes, that was the best way to put it, she had those bulging eyes, her mouth and chin covered in dried blood although her body retained its warmth.

He felt sad, he would have loved to see her with an expression of terror, to see her dried tears, her expression frozen in a scream, not in that wild look. Nothing beautiful or proper for a woman like her. He threw her into the water, standing there with a feeling of dissatisfaction, his big mistake when he thought he had succeeded and the price was an unnecessary death.

As he returned to his car and sat in silence, he liked the thought that at least she might be found, and that she would finally receive the attention and love she so longed for, would say goodbye to her fear of loneliness.

She would overcome her worst fear even if it wasn't in life.

[jung-green]

Tea for three. Prologue

Summary: You have been a patient/prisoner of Arkham for several months since you were charged with a crime you did not commit. But what happens when you meet Batman's latest enemy? the man of the hour? In which you help Batman on his cases, you're Edward's new favorite person, and Jonathan is part of your past that you want so badly to return to.

Edward Nashton x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader, Jonathan Crane x reader.

A/n: Holaaa everyone! here I am posting another story that I thought of in a sleepless night, I think it's one of my most ambitious fics that I've been planning but that makes it cooler! I should clarify that this fanfic is mixed with the 2022 movie with the Nolan saga (but in such a minuscule way that it's barely imperceivable). I'm back from my vacation so I'll update my other work soon! ♡

I also want to clarify that English is not my first language, so an apologize for the spelling mistakes. ✧˖°. (My English is rusty :´p).

(Also this fanfic is published on AO3) ✿

Warning: Fluff and angst, Obsessive Behavior, Canon Compliant (the flood occurred, sorry) Movie spoiler (Batman 2022) if there is another warning I did not put, please let me know.

Words: 5,400

You stroll as two guards lead you to a room, you don't know where they are taking you but it's not like you could complain either. The guards behind you ignored you all the way chatting with each other as if they were not watching an Arkham patient, they let you into the individual visiting room. Still, you nicknamed it the interrogation room because you only come here when that person requests your presence.

You sit down without a problem in the stiff metal chair, the approving noise of the iron partition sounds throughout the place, and you hear one of the guards closing the door leaving you alone with him.

At first, it was tedious, even traumatic in a way to come to this room to talk to the person who captured you and brought you to Arkham without hesitation. You couldn't refuse to see him, not when the caped man is a colleague of an important commissioner. No matter how many times you told him, how many times you yelled at him that you were innocent, he either didn't believe you or just wouldn't listen. You got tired of telling everyone around you that it wasn't your fault, none of them listened to you.

The metal partition rises completely, and little by little you see the almost imperceptible figure of the knight of the night. He kept silent without sitting down, standing in front of you analyzing you as everyone does nowadays, but you no longer care what he thinks of you, you are practically a hopeless case for him.

"Hello?" your greeting sounded confusing, you were not expecting a visit from him, but you have an idea why he comes to you, on certain occasions he shows you cases of different indoles, also that he has found some clue of the…

"I'm looking for the Riddler" He doesn't greet you and moves closer to the glass that separates them, you can take a better look at him, he's still the same since the last time you saw him, his attire nor his face have changed at all, but you notice something different in his voice, is it tiredness you hear?

"The Riddler?" you look at him unclear as to what he means "Who is that?".

"A serial killer" he informs you, you often hear those terrible words from him, how often does Batman chase killers like that, it's like there's one every week, it's cruel but it's the truth, Gotham is the cradle of evil, hell on earth, some would say.

"And what have I got to do with him?" you ask hesitantly.

Batman leaves a gray folder in the crack that connects the two rooms as if it were a mailbox "I need to know your perspective".

For a moment you thought about rejecting whatever is in that folder, but your curiosity won you over, you slowly grabbed the folder somewhat heavy because of the many sheets stored, on the cover of the folder you can see a CLASSIFIED in capital letters, that fuels your interest even more and you open the folder.

It's a lot to take in at once, you open your eyes from the initial shock, you haven't seen so much blood since your clinical internship days, you close the folder for a few seconds to recover, and you look Batman in the eye with a frown, he didn't even warn you how grotesque the case could be. 

Batman looks back at you completely seriously, he looks immutable and silent. You open the folder again and are greeted by the same disturbing images "Wow, it's something " you comment uneasily.

You see the evidence, black and white photos of the murders stapled to the autopsy reports, it is amazing how this man can have such information. the more time you spend reading the events and the evidence the more disturbed you become. 

Mayor Don Mitchell Jr, mayor of Gotham for several years, you saw him once at a social event done by Gotham University, he was happy and smiling maybe because of the excess alcohol in his veins. but now you look at the crime scene, his face completely wrapped in duct tape.

"No more lies..." you whisper reading the message on the corpse of the mayor, then that was with an already established motive, to give a statement.

On the other hand, Commissioner Savage's body is barely recognizable, the cage on his head says it all.

This is no ordinary killer.

What have you gotten yourself into, batman?

"why are you showing me this?" you manage to ask him even with the murders fresh in your mind, you don't think you will sleep tonight.

The already-seated masked man repeats to you "I need to know your perspective".

"As a patient or as a psychologist?" technically you can no longer practice your career since they took away your degree, but he doesn't correct you, you peruse everything that was offered, the riddles, the pictures of all the letters he has left for Batman, descriptions of the crime scene, write-ups of the witnesses who found the bodies.

"Both" he declares.

The handcuffs on your wrists do not give you much freedom to move your arms but do not prevent you from handling the documents in the folder, if Batman thought this might interest you he was right, for better or worse you did not stop seeing file after file.

"How extravagant," you say your first impressions "Brusque with his victims, he really is angry" You turn the page to see the pictures of his riddles "But he is also ingenious, this is not prepared from one day to another, he has been planning this for a long time, I would say years".

"Angry at who?" the man in front of you asks but you don't answer him instantly, you take your time carefully reading all the research, it's a lot for only one killer and few victims, but it's nothing that can be used to find him.

"With the world" you turn the page to see Commissioner Savage's crime scene photo "The pattern is evident, the mayor...the commissioner...does not kill ordinary civilians." 

"Do you think it's political?".

You barely smile at the mere idea that this is just politics "No, this is too intimate for him, riddles are an essential part of his life that he knows how to use to his advantage...and I only come to one conclusion..." you shut up and rearrange the documents to close the folder. 

"What is it?" batman questions you with intrigue in his voice.

You see him again, he must be desperate somehow to find this Riddler who asks for the opinions of third parties, of "crazy" people like you, something he dislikes, he prefers to work alone, that's his emblem. Deep down it angers you to no end, he hasn't caught your living nightmare and he's already looking for another asshole.

"That" you passed him the folder through the crack in the partition between rooms, and he retrieves it in his hands "Is revenge, Batman, and a very wicked one."

"Give me a diagnosis" he speaks faster, and the anger starts to seep into his face and it satisfies you to sometimes see him like this, frustrated Batman...yeah that's a first.

you smile and relax in your stiff metal seat "You should ask Dr. Crane for that, he's more prepared than I am, don't you think?".

"He refused" You'd know he'd turn it down, he's not like Batman or you, he doesn't even like to play Clue.

"yeah, he doesn't have the hobby of playing detective" you shrug your shoulders "I can't give you a diagnosis because it's little, he has left only what he wants us to know, maybe he includes you in this because he admires you or because he wants to kill you, who knows" you blurt out everything you think without any shame, in your mind you are already putting together a criminal profile with only what he gave you, but you won't tell him that, he doesn't deserve your help.

The masked man's posture tenses and he begins to clench his fists, your smile grows. 

"all that, all those little clues he leaves you make me think this is all a big riddle on his part" You pointed to the folder held by one of his gloved hands.

"I don't think he's going to stop until he sees everyone on his list dead."

What you told him seemed to affect him, because he suddenly gets up and goes to the door without looking at you, and he found no news "I can't waste time" he whispers with disdain, he leaves the room and you stand watching the door where he left.

So it's a riddle against the clock, huh? you think.

The sky in Gotham looks like a landscape worthy to take a picture of, from here you can see the buildings of different heights, the traffic between highways, and the bridges, even if you force your sight you can see people walking.

"Do you like the view?".

You continue to look through the window reinforced with bars and tempered glass, the bars cover part of the landscape but you can still admire the beautiful gray sky full of clouds ready to rain.

"yes..." you say putting your hands between the bars without stopping to think how happy you would be just to be out of this abyss. you didn't appreciate the beauty of the freedom you had before you were here.

"What do you like most about the view?".

You take a few seconds to respond, the handcuffs on your wrists started to itch on your skin, that itch so normalized on your skin that you don't do much to get rid of that itch, you didn't look away from the window, this simple reinforced window brought you comfort for all these months.

"Everything."

"You hear the voice of your therapist repeat your answer and nod, will your cafeteria still be open? The Gotham Library will have finally added new books? the university will have already changed that horrible lamp in one of your favorite classrooms? 

Batman already caught the Riddler?

"What a good answer actually, but I need you to sit down for a further conversation, soon the session will be over" The doctor's professional tone makes you tense up, you feel like you are not talking to a human but to a fucking robot, that's how you have thought them since you were imposed to this therapist.

You listen to what you say and sit in the other chair where you are supposed to be for the whole session, however, Mr. M has let you have the sessions while you watch from the only window, you are grateful for that, even if you didn't like him at all.

"I have been informed about your good behavior this week, if you continue like this you can be given more access through the hospital" Mr.M speaks calmly looking through several documents held by a wooden board.

Fuck you, you thought but didn't tell him, you don't have the luxury of being rude to him. you'll never get the same freedom you got when you were still an average citizen of Gotham and it saddens you, it makes your blood boil to remember every moment of your existence that you're here unjustly.

"Thank you" You speak as little as possible because you know you would break down in tears just remembering that you are another day of your life wasted locked up among so many criminals.

"But" Mr.M stops looking at his documents to turn to look at you "I was also told that you refuse to take your medication, why is that?".

"Why don't I need them" you speak cuttingly again, the itch in your wrists grows and you scratch with your fingernails without realizing it.

"you have to take his medicine...it will make your recovery process more enjoyable" he grabs his tablet with documents and writes again, Mr.M does not scold you but you perceive it like this, you want to go back to your cell, you feel so ashamed that your skin gets hot, how did you come to this? How did you fall so low that you are the one they have to medicate? 

"Fine" you lie to him, you dislike the taste of the medicine they force you to take, you know perfectly well what they prescribe you, you studied for it after all.

But everyone seems to forget that.

Only Batman can recognize your abilities, but he does not help you at all in your case.

And well, you paranoidly believe that Jonathan is only talking to you out of unconscious guilt.

"Okey" Mr. M gives a soft smile "Just one last question before our time is up" he checks the time on his wrist watch "Have you made a new friend? Have you managed to get along with anyone?".

You avoid the gaze of your therapist "No" you denied, another issue you don't want to address, your notorious loneliness in this hospital. If it weren't for your unique best friend who works here, you would be all alone.

"Why?."

You don't answer him, you also question the same thing, you haven't had an interest to socialize with the other patients since you arrived, and there are still things that are not clear to you.

Mr. M sighs dropping his papers in a file cabinet near him "Well, I'll leave it as homework for you to start seeing new people, making a friend sounds excellent."

"I'll try" You don't lie to him.

"Perfect."

It's been a day since Batman visited you and you had your weekly session with Mr.M, you haven't been able to sleep due to the tremendous curiosity of the new assassin the bat is looking for.

Just when you thought nothing could surprise you in this city since your accident, along comes a man with a question mark and puts the whole city in check, that's the city to him, a colossal chessboard, the DPGC, the Gotham elite, the citizens, they are all pieces in the game, and Batman and he are the only players.

Batman said he didn't have time, Does that mean that he has to catch him these days? how curious, with the Joker, it took months to find him, you were only intercepted in a couple of hours, and the Scarecrow...

no, you don't want to think about him.

You get distracted thinking about the Riddler again, you do your daily service arranging books in the small library of Arkham, your safe place where few or no people stop around these parts, here it is not necessary to use your wrist and neck cuffs, but your uniform is still on, and the plastic bracelet with your information identify you as a patient.

You yawn as you place a couple of worn-out books on the shelf, you felt like a bookstore worker, sometimes you usually fantasize that you are one to take away your boredom, but others usually burst your dreamy bubble.

Today, one of the guards decided to turn on the old-fashioned TV set in one of the upper corners of the library, you stand near a bookcase to see what channel they put on this time, usually they only put on the sports channel to watch the game of the moment.

But on this occasion, the guard put on the news channel, and you immediately put down the books you have to accommodate to concentrate on what is shown on TV.

The guard is still standing and so are you, both watching a live breaking news broadcast. The news anchor reports a new Riddler attack.

He bombed a prosecutor at the mayor's funeral.

The guard's face looked more and more frightened, you watched the news with morbid curiosity. Batman's new opponent seems more sadistic than you thought, that detailed report confirmed it.

But seeing their repeated acts on TV was shocking, you even heard the guard who put on the news say in a low voice " We are doomed. "

You silently agree with him, for the first time you are relieved to be locked away from all the chaos going on right now.

You saw how the explosion managed to reach Batman, surprising you as the guard, the man takes off his distinctive security guard hat when he sees the video, on the other hand, you are still stunned, not believing it, somehow you forgot that this man dressed in black and wearing a cape is still a human of flesh and blood, he simply can't die like that, not when he has things to save, people to capture.

He hasn't found your living nightmare yet.

Before you pull your hair out in frustration the news anchor states that Batman is still alive, the guard satisfied by the information puts his cap back on and returns to his guard position which is the entrance to the library.

You are still looking at the report, and suddenly the image of the man who calls himself the Riddler appears. You hadn't seen him in such detail until this moment, the photos in the Batman report were extremely blurry images, but this time he is in HD, he is completely wrapped in green clothes, and the only thing you can see of him, is his eyes. 

His voice is altered but you can notice that venomous tone of his he asked prosecutor Gil Colson some riddles, but in the end, he couldn't answer what Riddler wanted.

You sigh while grab another couple of books and start arranging them one by one. If Batman is still alive it means this isn't over.

"I knew I would find you here".

"It's not like I can go many places" You smile slightly turning to look at the man who spoke to you. 

Jonathan Crane, the living legend of the hospital, with tailored suits, no wrinkles in his coat, and a well-made tie that matches the sweater he wears under his coat. There isn't a single time you haven't seen Jonathan without his perfect appearance but maybe it's just you idealizing as usual. 

Jonathan gives you a polite smile "Right" Just by hearing that you know he won't stay to chat for long, he tends to contradict you most of the time just to annoy you and agree with you when he's busy.

"Are you coming to get a book?" you ask him the first thing that comes to mind.

"No, I wanted to talk to you before I left," he says adjusting his glasses "I'm going away for a couple of weeks to blüdhaven University to give lectures, it will be a simple thing" Your smile doesn't falter, you are touched that he lets you know when he won't be able to see you, and how he manages to keep the conversation so casual. 

As if they were still colleagues.

"Is that so? What will you talk about?".

"Childhood traumas" he reveals looking at you without any shyness, he has a barely perceptible smile but you notice it. 

"why am I not surprised?" you resume your work in arranging books "Although you know how to pick interesting topics, I wish I could attend" You recognize that Jonathan has been too devoted to his work and student life, he is that kind of strict professor who gives his students nightmares from the assignments and exams he gives. His lectures are fascinating, to say the least, you attended many.

"I'll tell you about it when I get back, in the meantime" From inside his suit he pulls out a  flyer in half "It's something extremely summarized but it'll do" You take the piece of paper and stuff it in one of your pockets. It's not the first time Jonathan smuggles things to you, god, you can even be sure he gives you something every time you see each other. 

"Thank you" you thanked looking at his face, he also remains silent looking at you, the eye contact between you is not something out of another world either, on your part, it's a habit that started when you were still studying, you can't help but want to observe everyone around you, analyze them somehow, see their behavior.

Jonathan does the same, but more rigorous and practical, he is direct and not afraid to say it, you see his hair combed to his liking, his glasses clean without any smudge, his eyes examining you. 

You leave your admiring mode when you diverted your gaze a little to the old TV that is still on, the news keeps showing the latest events of the hours, repeating the most recent crime of Riddler.

Your smile dims as you recall the video of the explosion, the prosecutor begging for mercy and the bomb stuck in his chest.

"Did you see what happened at the mayor's funeral?" you whisper to him in a low voice trying not to let anyone hear them, you look with your eyes for the guard on duty but you can't find him, Jonathan must have asked him for some privacy time, at times you forget the influence that the man in front of you has generated with years and effort.

He turns his head for a few seconds watching the news on TV and turns to look at you again with a sensible and neutral face. 

"yes, I saw it, I was there when it happened".

"What?" you utter with surprise "You were there?" there was no sign of a lie on his face to make you think he wasn't telling you the truth.

"Some teachers from the university we went to give condolences when the show happened" Jonathan clarifies simply, you approach him to talk closer, he doesn't seem upset "So it's true? Riddler attacked that prosecutor?".

"He killed him."

You shut up for a moment because of his statement, it's true, Riddler killed him, and almost Batman too.

"And Batman? Did you see him in action?" at this point you sound like first-rate gossip, but still Jonathan answers your questions, but is no longer as pleased doing so, the moment you mention Batman. 

"He arrived when most of the people had already been evacuated."

"Wow" you blurt out surprised, if you didn't know him better you would have been uneasy with his calmness when talking about the experience, he says it without any fear because that's exactly what's so special about Jonathan in your eyes, he's not afraid of anything.   

"Batman looked you up, didn't he?" Jonathan changes the subject quickly and you nod your head, you move away from his side to reach for a cart full of books to be arranged "He wanted my opinion on the riddler, can you believe it?" you laugh "I told him to look you up better, but you turned him down."

"That's right" he assures leaning on one of the bookcases for comfort, he looks at you picking up a book and you place it among several other books on another bookcase "I don't lend myself to that sort of thing".

"I know, killjoy Crane" you scoff boldly.

"Whatever you say" he sighs "I have to go, there will be a meeting at the university" Before you could say goodbye properly, he approaches you to give you an extremely momentary hug, it was so fast that you couldn't return the hug because he had already separated from you. You swore you could smell some of his cologne.

"uh yeah, see ya" You are barely able to utter the words without getting over the small contact they made, he has said goodbye to you like this, but you are still not used to it.

Jonathan smiles at you picking up his briefcase that you didn't see in the first place, walks to one of the tables where the TV control is, picks it up, and turns off the TV "I don't like you watching that" he tells you already heading for the exit where the guard re-enters the library.

You wrinkle your forehead due to irritation. Sometimes you don't understand Jonathan.

You genuinely thought your head was going to explode from the pain. 

Being in Arkham meant being cut off from the outside, you had no idea of the chaos that erupted overnight, the perverse game of Batman and Riddler was so forceful, that Arkham unexpectedly came into the spotlight when the green-masked man was captured. An alert in your head went off when you heard from a very nervous guard. You thought it was almost impossible for Batman to catch Riddler, and that he's here being processed to this hospital gives a lot to suspect.

The report Batman showed you are not wrong, the madman of riddles is too elusive to be caught in such a short time.

Why? You ask yourself, why did he let himself be defeated?

The hospital was in chaos with the arrival of the new patient in the middle of the night, nurses running around, and security guards moving patients to different cells temporarily, you were taken out of your small cell to another one just as small and almost the same.

Even with suspicion in your being, you don't understand what all the fuss was about, not even when they paraded the Joker through the main hall in a straitjacket as if he were a villain from some movie did they get as upset as they are now with Riddler.  

You sat on your new bed just as hard as the one in your previous cell, not wanting to catch the social panic you try to meditate, Mr. M advised you to do so and since then you put it into practice.

Maintaining a state of relaxation is difficult but you have practiced it for months, you started the breathing exercises, and as you slowly inhale and exhale your thoughts begin to melt one after the other, calming you down, and making your anxiety about all the fuss disappear.

You exhale again and inhale hard again, you could be doing this all day, you have nothing to worry about, you're in your world, locked away from society, and must be recovering from whatever Riddler did as his closing snap.

You open your eyes and stop doing your breathing exercises, you hear a laugh. But not just any laughter, but a loud and annoying laughter, you instantly get up from your bed and run towards the door with a small glass window. The laughter was not your imagination, and you can recognize it now that you are closer to the door.

You don't see any guards guarding this section of cells, how strange. The laughter continues unabated. It must be some neighbor of your cell because of the proximity of the noise and you have an idea of who it might be but you ignore it for only a few minutes, you can't take it anymore and yell "Can you shut up for once?".

Your cell neighbor stops laughing and you can finally feel at peace, but instead starts a conversation.

"Scarecrow?" you close your eyes just hearing that horrible nickname he gave you at some point during his hospital stay. relatively the two have been in Arkham for a similar amount of time, both trapped by Batman and calling them the dark knight's worst enemies. 

But you could never compare yourself to someone like him Joker. 

You had a chance to get to know each other when you let him participate in common activities, you don't want to remember the first time you spoke to each other, it ended badly, period.

"Don't call me that, asshole" you insult him and he sounds pleased with your response.

"Ah! Are we sensitive today? It's a holiday! Let's celebrate!" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"our guest of honor has arrived, only his final trick is missing!" he continues to speak in that animated voice that irritates you.

When you talk to the Joker you get that feeling that he is speaking in another language, but he is not, you understand what you are saying but at the same time, you don't. You also realized that he knows too much to be just an Arkham patient. 

But everyone at the hospital can assure you that your neighbor is not an ordinary patient at all.

This time you managed to understand his words, Riddler still has an ace up his sleeve, how could the Joker find out about that?

"Did Batman interrogate you too?".

"Of course he did...I'm his favorite!" he replies in the same arrogant manner as always "but I don't forgive him for being so crude on our anniversary."

"So you saw it, huh? I don't think this is a coincidence" You suppose the Joker must have seen it too, of course, he may be reciprocally insupportable but he's not stupid.

The clown laughs, but you don't, you didn't say anything funny in your opinion.

"Poor little Riddler, he thinks he can be just like him."

You ponder what he says, returning to your bed as you sit up again, the sky begins to clear and you can see it through the tiny barred window.

What if this assassin wanted to imitate Batman in some way? 

"What a bizarre introjection you've made, Riddler" you whisper.

First, there was an explosion.

You felt the whole cell rumble, you woke up instantly and got up from your bed to run to the door even with your eyes swollen from sleep, naively you thought it was some kind of earthquake. You stuck your face to the glass of the door in search of a guard or nurse, whatever it is that will help you get out of this cell, you don't want to die here.

However, the section was still empty, there was no one in the guards' small surveillance cubicle, and you could only perceive the monitors on, showing the news. 

You heard a completely strident noise, there was no earthquake. You turned slowly to the window, the color was changing from gray to orange.

It can't be.

you rush to see what's going on, you grab a piece of your bed to climb on it and reach the high window of the cell, you level yourself by holding your hands on the rusty metal bars, and you catch a glimpse of what caused such a noise. 

You saw the light of an explosion, the combination of yellow and red colors coloring the sky, the smoke, the fire. The explosion happened far away from Arkham, but you can still see it in detail, then the noise became present, and you grimace at the impact on the walls, but it was not over yet.

Explosion after explosion went off all over the city, from bridges to seawalls, a scene so hard to believe if you weren't watching it right now.

The sight takes your breath away, you are so stunned that you almost fall to the floor witnessing such an act, this is what the Joker is referring to? the Riddler's final trick?

not even the scarecrow did so much damage to this city, you underestimated the man with the riddles.

You could not take your eyes off the explosions, there were too many and well-armed to generate so much destruction. The second thing was the water, the waves and drains getting out of control and flooding several streets.

You grip the metal bars tighter, not believing this is real, but it is. Not just bombs but a flood, was that what he had under his mask? Is Gotham drowning with innocent people? 

It makes sense now, his cooperation when caught, the guards' restless attitude, and Batman's uneasiness.

All.

Suddenly you focus on the bustle of what seems to be your cell neighbors, you didn't notice when they put the other patient in the cell next to yours. The noises came together to form a horrifying atmosphere. The laughter of the Joker, the excited laughter of your other neighbor, and the explosions that went on and on. Even with your breathing exercises, you could not relax in the face of this horrifying event.

Slowly you let go of the bars and stop looking in the window, slowly you understand one thing.

Someone beat Batman.

Thank you very much for reading! And sorry for the mistakes!*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧.

[ghostboyhood]

plstell me what do i watch ‼️‼️

also hii 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 hohoho merrey christmas bevause im watching elf rn

HELP WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ELF IN JULY??? merry christmas 😍😍😍

omg so many recommendations...

velvet goldmine!!! its on youtube for free if you look it up its around two hours, iggy pop/david bowie fanfic from the 90s with christian bale, ewan mcgregor, and jonathan rhys meyers.. its soso good

american psycho, christian bale loses his mind and gets bloody but looks so hot doing it

the machinist!! another christian bale movie, psychological its really good, hes also losing his mind in this one PLUS christian bale lost a shit ton of weight for the role

inception, one of my favoritest movies ever, psychological dealing w going into peoples dreams and shit, its so good, leonardo dicaprio, elliot page, cillian murphy, joseph gordon-levitt, tom hardy

memento, another christopher nolan movie, it fucks w your head and perception of time plus lenny is hot as shit

night crawler, jake gyllenhaal stalks crime scenes to get good footage for the news and his acting is so fucking good and creepy

another country, kind of like dps but less of a friend group, canonically gay main character, communist best friend

okay sorry thats a lot.. i think it depends on ur mood, i can suggest more specific things depending on what kind of movie ur in the mood for 😘🤭

[doloresabernathysworld]

Finished Person of Interest season 3, and boy oh boy what a ride! I'm honestly kicking myself for not having watched when it was airing, but I really thought it was just another procedural crime drama like we had at the time (and like there's still plenty of those, but they're not really my cup of tea).

But that sent me kind of into a rabbit hole about its end and why I've never seen reruns of it where I live. I mean, I get it that there are factors in TV distribution and licencing, but to this day I see constant reruns of shows like Castle, Criminal Minds, CSI, NCIS, and the such. The fact that the network seemed to stop having interest in POI after it became more of a serial than procedural and the fact that viewership also declined after that is very telling imo.

It also made me really mad, because it reminded me of what happened with Westworld, and I can't help to feel sad and angry on behalf of Jonathan Nolan since capitalism and network policies seem to keep getting in his way and not letting him finish the stories he (alongside with other people) wants to tell.

I really do hope that the upcoming Fallout series is successful, and most of all I really hope he gets the chance to finally fully realize his vision.

[skell3]

ten people i'd like to get to know better

Tagged by: @ml-nolan ;A; Thanks!

Last song: I am listening to all kinds of things almost at all times, but my last Spotify play was Sesamoid's version of Don't Fear the Reaper (LINK) (Sesamoid is a fictional band with real music from Far-Fetched that @radiantgardenprince got me into)

Favorite color: Turqoise/Cyan/Teal (Blue-greens)

Last book: I have a copy of 1984 I keep at work for when I feel like reading...

Last movie: Caddo Lake- which I highly recommend. The twist wasn't quite what I was expecting and I loved that.

Last show: Finished Agatha All Along and am tempted for a re-watch

Sweet/spicy/savory: I'm big on Umami- so a combo of these kinds of things, tbh. Really like making a sweet/soy/spicy sauce for things like noodles and to have with chicken and stuff. Or, like, A sweet/salty is combining Miso, Maple Syrup and ginger and putting that on salmon before baking it.

Relationship status: Taken. We're at about 1 and a half years, but we've known each other for more like... 3? It's hard for me to keep track of time;; Long distance makes that a little difficult, too, but we make it work!

Last thing I googled: 'hand ref' to help me with a drawing of 'random femboy i'll probably only ever draw once or twice' #300

Current obsession: Getting back into Pokemon stuff; restarted Violet and also got the expansion stuff so I can really play it out. My first shiny this time was Goomy and I think that means this will be a good run ;3;

Looking forward to: My partner's reaction when their early Xmas present gets in this next week. I can't afford to buy them gifts often, but I really wanted to be able to get them something this year.

tagging: (Only if you want to!) @radiantgardenprince @finzphoenix @batmanfruitloops @sarcasticscribbles @initial-lime @jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear @occudo @izuris @focsle @sadmages

[kristenswig]

Best Picture

The Holdovers

Oppenheimer

Killers of the Flower Moon

Barbie

Poor Things

American Fiction

Maestro

Past Lives

Anatomy of a Fall

The Zone of Interest I think it might actually be this easy but just in case! - The Color Purple, Saltburn, Origin, Air, Napoleon

Director

Christopher Nolan - Oppenheimer

Martin Scorsese - Killers of the Flower Moon

Yorgos Lanthimos - Poor Things (most likely to get Denis Villeneuved, however)

Alexander Payne - The Holdovers

Jonathan Glazer - The Zone of Interest Alt for Payne - Greta Gerwig - Barbie (I never thought she was getting nominated but now that more people seem to agree I'm suspicious!) Alt for Glazer or Lanthimos - Justine Triet - Anatomy of a Fall JUST IN CASE - J.A. Bayona - Society of the Snow

Actress (optimism!)

Lily Gladstone - Killers of the Flower Moon

Emma Stone - Poor Things

Carey Mulligan - Maestro

Sandra Huller - Anatomy of a Fall

Greta Lee - Past Lives they'll reward her for producing the biggest hit of the year but take the performance for granted - Margot Robbie - Barbie I simply do not buy it! - Annette Bening - Nyad Well, - Fantasia Barrino - The Color Purple

Actor

Paul Giamatti - The Holdovers

Cillian Murphy - Oppenheimer

Bradley Cooper - Maestro

Jeffrey Wright - American Fiction (is he the secret snub?)

Leonardo DiCaprio - Killers of the Flower Moon (I was expecting him to get The Irishman-ed but I think Lily switching to lead will make them a pair) Will look the best on the red carpet - Colman Domingo - Rustin No<3 - Barry Keoghan - Saltburn On the off chance they're interested in nominating a single good performance in this category - Andrew Scott - All of Us Strangers

Supporting Actress

Da'Vine Joy Randolph - The Holdovers

Emily Blunt - Oppenheimer -----BAR OF CERTAINTY-----

Danielle Brooks - The Color Purple -----BAR OF SEMI-CERTAINTY------

Penelope Cruz - Ferrari (she's been nominated with less support?)

Rosamund Pike - Saltburn no legitimate awards body has nominated her without Annette Bening and I'm not predicting her either! - Jodie Foster - Nyad it's definitely not a rage stroke - Julianne Moore - May December do they care about the acting in this? - Sandra Huller - The Zone of Interest nice try! - America Ferrera - Barbie DJR is sucking up so many number 1 votes something wild is bound to happen - Rachel McAdams - Are You There God? It's Me Margaret

Supporting Actor

RDJ - Oppenheimer

Ryan Gosling - Barbie

Robert De Niro - Killers of the Flower Moon

Dominic Sessa - The Holdovers

Willem Dafoe - Poor Things When there's two from the same movie they go with the older one - Mark Ruffalo - Poor Things If they have to nominate someone under 50 in this category it certainly won't be for someone this pretty! - Charles Melton - May December cannot conjure the image of a single person putting this at number 1 on their ballot - Sterling K. Brown - American Fiction

Adapted Screenplay

American Fiction

Oppenheimer

Poor Things

Barbie

Killers of the Flower Moon This is for my people who just lost someone - The Zone of Interest, All of Us Strangers, Are You There God? It's Me Margaret

Original Screenplay

The Holdovers

Past Lives

Anatomy of a Fall

Maestro

Saltburn They can't do three good screenplays - May December Congrats on the WGA nominations - Air, Asteroid City

Cinematography

Poor Things

Oppenheimer

Killers of the Flower Moon

Maestro

The Zone of Interest honestly wasteful to have shot this on film - Saltburn am I an Ed Lachman FAN? - El Conde

Costume Design

Barbie

Poor Things

Killers of the Flower Moon

Napoleon

Oppenheimer (if EEAAO could do it) COIN TOSS - Maestro

Film Editing

[REDACTED]

Killers of the Flower Moon

Poor Things

The Holdovers

Anatomy of a Fall enough - Barbie Tar voters I know you're out there - The Zone of Interest get some help - Maestro cars - Ferrari

Makeup & Hairstyling

Maestro

Poor Things

Golda

Oppenheimer

Killers of the Flower Moon (the BAFTA nomination is throwing me) ???? - Society of the Snow Presumably has to get one of it's shortlists? - Napoleon

Production Design

Poor Things

Barbie

Oppenheimer

Killers of the Flower Moon

Napoleon wish I were brave enough to predict this - The Zone of Interest

Score

Oppenheimer

Killers of the Flower Moon

Poor Things

Indiana Jones

The Zone of Interest Alt - anything animated

[REDACTED]

the good Barbie song

the bad Barbie song

Diane Warren

Rustin

Killers of the Flower Moon alt - American Symphony, the other good Barbie song

Sound

[REDACTED]

Maestro

Killers of the Flower Moon

Ferrari

The Zone of Interest I feel like that's it but here's the rest of the list in descending order of likelihood - Barbie, Napoleon, The Killer, Mission Impossible, The Creator

Visual Effects

Poor Things

Marvel 32

The Creator

Godzilla

Society of the Snow I'm bombing this category as usual - Spiderman, Napoleon, Indiana Jones

Animated

Spiderman

The Boy and the Heron

Elemental

Nimona

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (really?) every year I try to predict one of these but I've decided to learn my lesson this time - Suzume they're running - Chicken Run

Documentary

20 Days in Mariupol

Beyond Utopia

Still: a Michael J. Fox Movie

The Eternal Memory

Bobi Wine: The People's President FRONTRUNNER SNUB - American Symphony possibly too experimental? - Four Daughters

International

The Zone of Interest

Society of the Snow

Fallen Leaves (BECAUSE there is nothing to get)

20 Days in Mariupol

Totem Justine's Revenge - The Taste of Things lmao - The Teachers' Lounge is Danish - The Promised Land is allegedly terrible so definitely a contender - Amerikatsi forgot to release it - Perfect Days what about the YAK - The Monk and the Gun It*lian - Io Capitano Remember taste? - Godland

[jtargaryen18]

Under His Skin ~ Chapter 8

Series Masterlist

Words: 8.5k

Pairing: Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow (Nolan!verse Batman) x F Reader

Warnings: Stalking, gaslighting, coveting, drugging, voyeurism, manipulation, plans to falsely imprison, vandalism.

You decide to head back to the gallery and try to regain some semblance of your life as it was.

Jonathan decides its time to put a stop to your independence once and for all.

The next morning, you had been trying to answer the flood of emails and insurance calls about the art gallery, sitting at the edge of your bed, staring at your shoes. With everything that had happened, you were struggling to focus on anything.

You found yourself thinking about Jonathan. He had taken you to the gallery the day before, and hadn't tried to talk you out of going. You appreciated how he hadn't questioned your ability to face what had happened, but had instead quietly supported you. He was there for you, calm and present as he always was. And somehow, that gave you the courage to walk back through the door into the nightmare that had been waiting for you and Lexi the day before.

And when you woke up this morning thinking about the gallery, the thought you clung to wasn’t I can do this. It was: Jonathan would want me to try.

Ares wouldn’t have cared. He would have told you to walk away, and cut your losses. You'd always suspected that he had indulged you in your career choice, never really visiting you there. Ares always told you that he could support you, that you didn’t need that job. But it wasn't just a job. You were co-owner. You didn't know if Ares had forgotten about that, or if he just didn't care.

But Jonathan hadn’t told you what to do. He’d simply stood there while your world collapsed and held it together until you could move again.

I’ll try for him. Someone still believes I can still do this.

You made up your mind and drove into the gallery this morning. It didn't look a lot better today. But you had to start somewhere, so you were sweeping up broken glass when Lexi walked in. 

You had no warning or text to let you know she was coming. Just the familiar sound of the front door bell, like everything was normal again. You didn’t look up right away, keeping your focus on the floor. You had already swept up thousands of glittering shards into a huge pile, and were still finding them in every corner.

“Hey,” Lexi said softly. Her voice was surprisingly stripped of its usual edge. That got your attention.

You finally glanced up. Lexi looked tired, like someone who had seen too much in the last few days. But there was something else too forming shadows behind her eyes. Guilt.

“I came to help,” she told you.

You nodded, somewhere between being relieved that she was still talking to you that day and pissed at how she had handled the break-in at first. Jonathan had a point, she had wanted you to go down when there was an active break-in. Who did that?

The first few minutes were quiet. She grabbed a broom without asking, moved beside you. You could almost feel her trying to work out what to say in her head.

“Look, I was wrong,” Lexi said after a long beat, her voice barely above the scrape of glass on concrete. "I was scared… and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

You paused mid-sweep, and her gaze squarely met yours. You'd never known her to be so direct or humble with anyone.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She meant it. Some of the weight lifted from your chest. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. “That means a lot.”

For the first time in days, the silence between the two of you wasn’t hostile or tense. It wasn’t heavy with accusation or exhaustion. There was just real, breathable silence.

“Maybe we can put the gallery back together again,” Lexi said eventually. “You and me.”

You smiled. You hoped so too, thinking about what it would take. You worked together in silence for a while, cleaning up the mess and sorting as you went along, even though it didn’t feel the same. Even if you didn’t feel the same. You were still trying to hold onto this part of your life, but it no longer felt like the center of it. Ares and the gallery had been the center of your existence for a while now. But Ares wasn't around now, and the gallery was just a shadow of its former self. Nothing felt the same.

After a couple of hours, you took a break. Lexi leaned against the frame of the office doorway with her arms crossed, her tone careful. "So, how's Ares?"

You looked up from the half-written email on your laptop. “Still the same,” you said quietly. “He had that episode that day in his office. He didn't recognize me, didn't seem to even know where he was. He hasn't really spoken since.”

Lexi winced. "God, I'm sorry.

You nodded, swallowing the emotion that still tried to rise whenever you thought about that night. “Jonathan’s taking care of him. He gives me updates every day,” you added, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Lexi tilted her head. “Jonathan… was that your friend from yesterday?”

You paused, surprised by the word 'friend', then nodded slowly. “Yeah. He's had to take over Ares's duties as chief administrator at Arkham.”

Lexi’s expression shifted, something unreadable tightening behind her eyes. "So he's a psychologist too?"

You nodded.

“He was certainly... intense."

You bristled a little, and not because she was wrong. It just felt a little unfair to you.

“He’s just protective,” you said, a little more firmly than you meant to. “Jonathan’s done more for me in a few days than anyone else even tried to.”

Lexi didn’t say anything for a beat. Then she pushed off the doorframe with a small exhale. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said gently. “I’m glad he’s been there for you. But the way he looks at you..."

That got your attention. “What do you mean?”

Lexi hesitated, searching for the right word. “Like he’s memorizing you.”

Your heart beat a little faster. 

You shrugged, keeping your tone even. “He’s just… very serious. That’s how he is with everyone.”

Lexi didn’t argue, but her silence lingered a little too long before she added, “Just be careful, okay?”

That ended the conversation.

Later, while Lexi was on the phone with the insurance assessor, you stepped into the back office. Pulling out your phone, you took a seat on the little velvet stool by the filing cabinet. You stared at the screen for a long moment before typing out a text to Jonathan. It was almost lunchtime and you needed to let him know you wouldn't be coming by today. You pushed down the pang of guilt you felt as you typed.

I came to the gallery today. I didn’t think I could after everything, but... you gave me the courage to try. Thank you for being there yesterday. For knowing I needed someone before I even said it.

I’ll be back in a couple of days. I just need to hold things together here.

Any change in Ares today?

You hit send. Then waited.

You didn't get a reply right away. Usually, he answered within a couple of minutes.

It showed your texts were delivered. That was it.

You locked the screen and exhaled, a strange weight pressing against your ribs. Something was shifting around you. You just didn’t know what yet.

The notification lit up his phone screen just after noon. Jonathan read her texts three times, slowly. His gaze tracked each letter like it might reveal more on a second pass.

Back in a couple of days.

Not I miss you. Not Lunch? Not even 'Thinking of you.'

Two days ago she’d looked at him like he was the only safe thing left in her world. Now she was drifting again. 

That’s what happens when people are given space. They forget who steadied them.

He could almost hear the polite tone in her message. The way she tried to make it light, and frame it as progress. Framing him as part of that progress. 

You gave me the courage to try.

The line should have pleased him. But it didn’t. What she was “trying” was independence. A return to the world without him.

Jonathan leaned back in his chair, his fingers still on the phone. She was moving out of rhythm. Not enough to lose her, but enough to prove that fear fades faster than gratitude.

And Jonathan had not come this far to lose momentum now. Not after she'd curled into him, whispered 'I trust you.'

"A couple of days." That was two days too long. Especially with Ducard’s people watching, and Ares regaining fragments of speech. And she was out in the world alone without him. 

Blowing out an exhale, he realized he needed to re-establish control. No more gallery visits after this, or contact with Lexi. No more quietly slipping into the arms of old routines. Not when she belonged to something better now.

To me.

You gave me the courage to try.

Try what, exactly? To rebuild a life built on weak foundations? To pretend she was safe out there? 

Unacceptable drift. Jonathan didn’t need her to spiral, he needed her to depend on him. And she was almost there.

Glancing at the drawer where the vial of blue liquid sat sealed and ready, he knew they could reappear at any time. The toxin was now perfected. The League surely knew it. Ducard had been quiet since their last meeting, but the silence wasn’t comfort. It was pressure, watching and waiting. They hadn’t come after her again. But they could at any moment.

And now he’d tasted her dependence. He knew what it felt like when she clung to him, cried into him, let herself unravel in his arms. He would burn the world down before letting her fall into anyone else’s hands. So what was he waiting for? Every day she slept alone in that fragile apartment, surrounded by memories of a man who no longer existed, she was exposed and vulnerable. The longer she stayed outside his walls, the longer she lived in that halfway state between recovery and relapse, the more danger she was in. And the League was watching, waiting to use her as leverage against him.

They already know who she is to me. 

Jonathan couldn't let that happen. He wouldn’t. The sooner he got her into his home, completely into his system, the sooner she’d be safe and cared for. Controlled. She’d stop clinging to a life that no longer existed, and he could stop sedating her, stop playing protector. He could finally be what she was slowly being taught to crave.

Everything.

And once she was in his house, it was only a matter of time before their happy life could really start. She’d sit at his table, sleep in his guest room at first. She'd ask questions, and he'd answer them with perfect softness, and let him hold her when the world was too loud.

And eventually, he'd have her in his bed. The space between them would collapse, like it was always meant to. She'd surrender everything to him and be his completely.

Once she was in his home, he could turn his focus back to the League. He could deal with Ducard with a clear head, without worrying she’d be stolen out from under him.

Still, Jonathan didn’t answer her texts. She needed to feel that space, and wonder why there was only silence. Jonathan wanted her to miss the contact. To miss him.

Today, he’d let her finish her little routine, let her pretend she was stitching some semblance of normal back together. She was trying to pick up the pieces of the gallery, maybe even talking to Lexi. Asking him about Ares over text like it still mattered. 

His toxin was ready. The final formula, perfected with the Himalayan Blue Poppy that Ducard had delivered, had passed every trial. Potency, duration, neurological impact, all were now in place. The compound was stable, scalable, and terrifying in its potential.

And Ares was waiting.

Jonathan’s hands twitched with anticipation just thinking about it. Everything he had planned, everything he had built, all hinged on what came next. There was only one problem between him and the success he craved. Her.

She had to be removed from the equation. Or rather, removed from her apartment. From any thought of independence, from any belief that she could weather the storm on her own. So he would remove it for her.

Making sure his office door was locked, he picked up his phone. Scrolling past encrypted contact names, he found the right one. The man who handled the gallery break-in with discreet precision. It rang once.

“Same target,” Jonathan said calmly when the man picked up. “New address.” 

He provided details on timing, the level of damage required. Not enough to suggest intent, but enough to shatter her sense of safety. Enough to isolate her completely. Since she'd gone off on her own to the gallery, he had no idea when she'd return home, so he advised the man to act fast.

Jonathan ended the call without waiting for confirmation. And for a moment, he just stood there, phone still in his hand, his pulse slowing again. This was the final step. After tonight, she’d have nowhere else to go. Anyone else she thought she could trust, like Lexi, he'd cut that off. And once she was tucked away and safe, he could deal with the League, who thought they could use her to manipulate him. They could watch all they wanted, but this time, he was pulling the strings.

You dropped your keys once trying to open the door.

It was dark outside now, and your coat still smelled faintly of paint thinner from the back storage room at the gallery. You were so tired. Scraped down to the bone kind of tired. But the gallery was still standing, and Lexi had apologized. That had to count for something.

You just wanted to shower, eat something small, and sleep. It had been a long day of patchwork repairs and insurance paperwork. Lexi's attempts at optimism, along with her quiet apologies between sips of lukewarm coffee, made it seem a lot longer.

You tried hard to focus on the progress being made. You wanted to feel the step forward, to be uplifted by it. But everything about the gallery felt... off. The walls were still yours. What was left of the art was still yours. Lexi felt a little distant, like she was walking on glass around you. But she hadn’t asked about Ares again, and you didn’t know how to bring it up without unraveling.

You still had no reply from Jonathan, and that bothered you more than it should. There was no check-in or 'how are you holding up?' No update on Ares.

Was he mad at you?

You tried not to let it bother you. You knew he was probably busy. He'd taken over Ares's responsibilities, and didn't have a supporting doctor yet to help with the workload. On top of that, he took care of Ares, and you. It wasn't like he was obligated to speak to you every day.

But still... You stared at the screen for a long minute before setting it down. Maybe tomorrow you’d return to Arkham? You'd feel better after talking to him.

Everything just felt so disconnected. The gallery, all the things you'd once enjoyed. And the one person who had made it feel manageable these last few days had gone quiet, and that silence felt louder than anything.

You picked up your keys, shoved them into the lock, and froze. Your door was cracked open. Barely an inch, but not enough to notice unless you were looking closely. But you hadn’t left it like that. Your hand went still, your breath catching in your chest and holding. You didn’t even realize your fingers were trembling until the key slipped in your grasp and clinked against the doorknob.

No. Not again. Not here.

Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears, drowning out the outside world. You pressed yourself close to the frame, body angled just enough to listen. But you heard nothing. The silence in your apartment felt wrong, dense and heavy. You nudged the door open with the tip of your boot, just enough to see. The lights were off, and you didn't see any motion inside. But even in the thick shadows, your eyes adjusted and you could tell that everything looked off. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you switched on your flashlight. Shining it just inside the door, you put a spotlight on your fears. Your coat rack leaned at an angle, and the lamp beside your chair was broken at the base. Your couch was ripped through, jagged cuts made with a blade. One of the cabinet doors in the kitchen hung open, listing like something wounded.

And you couldn’t move. You stood there, frozen, clutching your coat against your body, staring into your home. And it had been violated. 

They were here. Not just the gallery. Are they after you?

The fear rolled through you so fast it took your breath with it. Backing away from the door, your phone slid from your shaking hand and hit the floor, the flashlight still on. Your knees went soft beneath you and you slid down the wall across from your apartment. You were next to Mrs. Nelson's door, and everything hit you hard... Your tears fell, hot and constant. Your head dropped into your hands, your body shaking. You couldn’t even think clearly enough to call for help, and you sure as hell couldn't go in there. 

What if someone was still in there? What if you were somehow the target? 

The door next to you creaked open quietly. “Sweetheart?” a sweet voice asked.

You didn’t look up. You couldn't move. 

“Sweetheart, it’s Mrs. Nelson. Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

You tried to answer, tried to form the words. All that came out was a hoarse sound, a half-choked whisper that wasn’t even a sentence. Your hand lifted, trembling, and you pointed toward your apartment door.

Mrs. Nelson followed your gaze. She turned slowly, hesitated for half a second, then took three careful steps toward it. She peered inside, but didn't cross the threshold nor touch the door. Immediately she saw what was wrong. She inhaled sharply, her fingers rising to her chest. “Oh my Lord…”

Turning back to you, her eyes were wide, and her voice was steadier now.

"I'm calling the police," she told you. Spotting your phone at her feet, she picked it up before helping you stand. Every inch of you was shaking as she guided you into her apartment. 

You sat mutely in one of her overstuffed chairs with your head in your hands, aware that she called the police. Then she had your phone in hand. 

"Is there anyone I can call for you?" she asked, nothing but kindness. "Your fiancé?"

You didn't answer. Honestly, you couldn't. The screen lit up with her touch, and you had never used a passcode. She pressed a few buttons, hesitated, then apparently tapped your emergency contact. You couldn't explain that if she called your emergency contact, she'd call Ares's number and he wasn't going to answer tonight. Maybe not ever.

It only rang once before someone picked up. Mrs. Nelson held the phone to her ear, her voice low and careful.

“Hello? Yes, I'm her neighbor across the hall. Someone broke into her apartment. I’ve called the police, but I told her I’d call her fiancé and let you know that she’s safe.” There was a pause. "Oh, she wasn't in the apartment when it happened, I don't think. She just got home and found it that way. It looks ripped apart." Another pause. "She’s in my apartment, all safe and sound, but she’s really shaken up. Can’t even speak to me, poor thing.”

She paused, glancing down at you curled under the blanket she draped over you. Then she added warmly, “She’ll stay right here with me until you get here, Dr. Crane. Thank you."

Jonathan smiled as he set the phone down on the kitchen counter, slow and steady. He savored this final move. Now she was rattled, scared. 

Mrs. Nelson’s voice had been tight with concern on the call, breathless and maternal. She’d said she wanted to call her fiancé, and let him know she was safe. Jonathan could still hear those words echoing in his mind, that innocent assumption falling so easily from her lips. Not friend or boyfriend. Fiancé. The effect was more potent than he’d anticipated because it came from a third party. Someone who knew her well enough to know she had someone in her life.

He was the one Mrs. Nelson called. He was the name in her phone, the emergency contact listed with every alert. A simple change he’d made days ago when he retrieved her belongings from her car, still parked at Arkham the night Ares fell. Just a precaution at the time, a backup.

But now it had paid off perfectly.

The neighbor hadn't second-guessed anything. Just saw her neighbor in shock and called the only man listed who sounded like he belonged. And he did.

Mrs. Nelson's involvement made everything hit deeper. She wasn’t alone in her trauma. No, she was being sheltered until he arrived. Shielded by someone else who instinctively believed that he was the one who should be there. The one she needed.

Jonathan's lips curved slightly as he reached for his coat. This is what it looks like when the world starts agreeing with you.

She'd run off and returned to the gallery, trying to step back into her old routine. But it was nothing more than denial in motion. She was playing house in a structure that no longer stood.

And now, the illusion was broken.

Her apartment had been violated. He was anxious to see if they did as good a job there as they had at her art gallery. And the timing? Flawless. She arrived home to find her personal space invaded. It was controlled exposure to trauma, a clinical dose. Now she would never feel safe returning there. 

Jonathan exhaled slowly and stepped into the night, the security system arming itself with a soft chime behind him. The streets were slick from the evening rain, but his mind was clear and focused.

No more distractions.

She’d be under his roof by the end of the night, and once she was inside, it would be permanent.

When he reached her apartment building, police cruisers lined the curb, red and blue lights casting fractured halos across the concrete. Jonathan stepped from his car and approached with purpose, his coat buttoned high against the wind. As he rounded the final stairwell, two officers straightened at the sight of him.

“Dr. Crane,” one nodded.

“Officers,” Jonathan returned, his tone clipped and formal.

“Didn’t know you’d been called in on this one," the older one said. 

“I wasn’t.” He offered no clarification, letting them draw their own conclusions. The fewer questions, the better.

Another officer scribbled something on his clipboard. “We’re waiting to speak to the victim. The neighbor said she wanted to wait for her fiancé before making a statement.”

The word hit his chest with unexpected warmth. Fiancé. Jonathan passed them in silence, the corners of his mouth tugging into the ghost of a smile.

Mrs. Nelson met him at her door with nervous hands and wide eyes. “Dr. Crane? Thank God. She’s just... I think she may be in shock. She's been sitting with me, but she hasn't said a thing. I told them she could wait until you got here.”

“You did the right thing,” Jonathan murmured.

Mrs. Nelson didn’t know Ares. That much was clear. She’d known there was someone, a man important enough to warrant the title fiancé, but she’d never met him. Had Ares ever even set foot in this building? Helped her carry groceries upstairs? Walked her in from the car when she was sick or tired or scared?

Jonathan doubted it.

It painted a picture, one he’d already begun to suspect. Ares had given her a ring, but not presence. Promises, but not protection. He’d been absent from the mundane details, the quiet responsibilities that proved devotion. Ares hadn’t just left her physically, he’d left her emotionally some time ago. Long before Jonathan ever stepped in.

Maybe Ares deserved his fate.

When he walked into the apartment, he saw her. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders as she sat curled in on herself. Her eyes were distant and red. To him, she looked like a statue cracked by grief. 

And then she saw him. Something inside her broke open. She stood too fast, crossed the room in a rush. Her arms wrapped around his torso with startling force, and he steadied her automatically, his arms folding around her without thought. And then, she started apologizing.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” she whispered. “I was going to come to Arkham, I swear, I just... I thought I needed to go back to the gallery, and then this happened, and... " She couldn’t even form a full sentence. Her voice cracked, tears wetting his shirt. “I’m so sorry. You’ve done so much for me already, and you didn’t have to come... But I’m so glad you did."

You’re falling apart... and I’m the one holding you together.

Her head rested against his chest, her breath uneven and shallow. He could feel every tremor running through her, all the tiny, uncontrolled shivers that weren’t just the result of what had happened tonight. They were from guilt and fear. From the belief that she had let him down.

And Jonathan absorbed it. He held her not just to comfort her, but to anchor himself in the moment. To remind himself this wasn’t a theory or a fantasy. This was real. She was here in his arms. Dependent on him because she had no one else left.

This is everything I wanted.

The words in his mind weren’t triumphant or cruel. They were sacred. She trusted him. When the world collapsed, she ran to him. She was warm against him, softer than anything he deserved. The scent of her surrounded him, calmed him. 

Jonathan had held bodies before, in sterile clinical proximity. They were students, subjects, and test cases. Even a few one-night stands.

This was entirely different. It was her.

He closed his eyes just briefly to let the experience settle in his bones. Her fingers still curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt, like she didn’t want to let him go.

Mine.

You didn't talk to anyone else. Not the neighbor who helped you, not the police. You ran to me.

When she pulled back, looking up at him with tear-slicked lashes and trust in her eyes, he felt something shift in his chest. She looked so beautiful to him with her unshed tears, the pleading in her eyes. It was far more than lust and impulse. 

You aren’t just fragile now. You're pliable.

He pressed his hand lightly against the back of her head, easing it back down to his shoulder. As he leaned down, his voice was just above a whisper. “You don’t apologize for being afraid,” he said again, slower this time. “Not to me.”

Her body gave the reply she couldn't voice, sinking into him, trusting the safety he offered.

Off to the side, Mrs. Nelson stood near the hallway arch, doing her best to look anywhere else. She busied herself with straightening a lamp shade that didn’t need straightening, shifting a vase a half-inch to the left. But she kept glancing their way. And when she saw the girl nestled against Jonathan’s chest, trembling but held with care, the older woman smiled faintly, proud of herself.

She’d trusted her gut and phoned the man listed as her emergency contact, the man her neighbor had clearly been too overwhelmed to reach herself. And look at how gently he spoke to her, how fiercely he held her, like he’d tear the world apart before letting anything hurt her again.

To Mrs. Nelson, that was love.

The woman had no idea she’d handed her neighbor over to the architect of her fear. No idea how carefully that blanket of safety had been stitched. The calmest man in the room was the very storm that started it all.

After a few minutes, when he felt her begin to relax, Jonathan pulled back just enough to look at her. “Did you go inside the apartment?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Just the door, it was open, and I saw enough. I couldn't..." Her voice trembled again.

Jonathan nodded, pleased. Good. She hadn’t seen too much. “Would you stay with Mrs. Nelson for a few more minutes?” he asked, voice soft but firm. “I need to speak with the officers. And gather a few things for you.”

She hesitated as he eased away from her. “I won't be long. I promise."

She nodded again, looking uneased by the fact that he was leaving her.

Before turning toward the officers, Jonathan paused, his hand cupping the side of her face. “You’re not staying here tonight,” he said gently. “You’re coming home with me.”

It wasn't a question, nor a request. It was a statement of fact. And her small, broken nod was all the consent he needed. 

No resistance at all. You don’t even realize I’ve already decided where you belong.

The officers didn’t question his presence. Jonathan was already the authority in the room. He moved methodically, his eyes scanning the devastation he had personally orchestrated through carefully selected contractors.

It was brutal. Disrupted, not destroyed. Her drawers were pulled out, but not emptied. The cushions were slashed, but not shredded. Cabinets left ajar, belongings displaced, but nothing truly valuable was taken. Her laptop was still sitting on the desk. Her jewelry box had been knocked over, but its contents remained untouched.

The scene was enough to trigger fear without leaving lasting trauma. It suggested a warning, not a theft. Enough to make her feel violated, without making her feel unsafe in his presence.

Jonathan took in every detail with the sharp, critical eye of a scientist evaluating a test result. It was executed exactly as instructed, with a controlled disturbance and emotional destabilization. It was a precise blend of intrusion and restraint. Just enough to shake her confidence in the life she was trying to return to.

And most importantly, she really hadn’t even seen it firsthand. She had only glimpsed the disarray from the open doorway. Her mind would do the rest. The unknown would fill in the blanks more brutally than reality ever could. What had they touched? What had they moved? Were they watching her even now? Her fear would metastasize in the dark, in the silence, where no answers lived. 

And she would come to him to quiet it.

He stepped over a broken picture frame and adjusted the angle of a half-closed drawer, subtle, refined chaos. Beautiful in its function. The test had been administered, and the subject was responding exactly as expected.

She was already coming apart. This nudged her where she was weakest.

In the bedroom, he took a moment to collect her things. He found a tote hanging on the back of her bedroom door, big enough to hold a change of clothes and a few essentials. 

On the way out, one of the officers approached. “Dr. Crane, do you think she’d be able to give a statement tonight?”

“No,” Jonathan said calmly. “She’s in no condition to be questioned. I’ll ensure she’s available tomorrow.”

"Is she... under your care, Dr. Crane?” he asked.

Jonathan’s eyes met his, cool and steady. “She is now.”

His tone left no room for further questioning.

And the officers, unsure whether they were speaking to the chief administrator of Arkham or the fiancé the neighbor had mentioned, simply nodded and stepped aside.

Jonathan turned away, the weight of the bag in his hand like the final confirmation.

He thanked Mrs. Nelson with a gentle nod. She looked like she had more questions, but Jonathan’s presence stilled them.

And then he turned to her. She stood slowly, the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like armor, but her eyes were clearer now. She didn’t hesitate when he touched a light hand to the small of her back.

“Let's go home,” he said quietly. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded again, but she was silent, obedient.

You're ready. Shaken loose from everything else. Now, I'm your constant. 

Outside, the air was cold and damp with late-night dew as he walked her out to his car. Jonathan opened the passenger side door for her and guided her in gently. 

You didn’t remember most of the drive. There were flashes of light through the windshield, along with the rhythmic blur of rain against the glass. The city slipped past in silence while Jonathan drove, calm and focused.

But your insides were knotted in panic. Every turn in the road made your shoulders tense tighter. Every streetlight felt like a spotlight on your fear. What if someone was following you? Watching?

What if they came after Jonathan next because of you? That thought hadn’t even occurred to you until now, and when it did, it felt like a cold stone in your stomach. He'd been helping you, standing between you and whoever had broken into your life.

What if that made him a target, too?

Your breath came shallow and uneven. You gripped the edge of your seat, staring ahead but not really seeing anything.

Ares.

What if what happened to him hadn’t been a mental break or an unknown mental illness triggered? What if it wasn’t just some tragic consequence of working in a place like Arkham? What if the people who came after you were the same ones who’d gotten to Ares?

The air felt thinner now. Wait, could they do that to Jonathan? Could they hurt him too just to get to you?

When you glanced at him, his hands were steady on the wheel. He looked untouched by fear, like he'd considered that he might be in danger. Now that the thought entered your mind, it was eating you alive. The terror wasn’t just for yourself anymore.

You squeezed your hands into fists in your lap, trying to breathe through it but it wasn’t working.

You were still wearing the same clothes. Still wrapped in Mrs. Nelson’s blanket like it could protect you from everything unraveling around you. You didn’t even know if the police were done in your apartment. What if they hadn’t found anything? What if they missed something? What if the people who did it came back? Were they the same people who destroyed the gallery?

Were they following you now? Nervously, you kept looking in the side mirror on your side of the car.

Your thoughts kept spiraling back to that door, the way it had been left cracked open. Your door hadn't been broken, or damaged. It didn't look like someone forced it open. They just left it ajar. Like an invitation, a warning. Like they wanted you to know they could get to you whenever they wanted.

Jonathan said it was a message, and you believed him.

The car turned off the main road and into a quiet, secluded neighborhood. The streets were wide with towering trees and elegant homes set far back from the curb with perfect hedges and subtle security. 

His home was stately and dark, guarded by an iron gate that opened without a sound. Lights glowed softly behind tall windows, welcoming in a way that felt unreal. It was like a painting of someone else’s life, but not yours.

You glanced at the car’s digital clock. It was just after midnight.

Jonathan parked without saying a word, moving with the same quiet precision he always had. He got out first, coming around to open your door. You were so busy watching the side mirror that you didn't move at first. You weren’t sure you could. You didn’t know if your legs would work, if your body would obey anything but fear.

But then his hand reached for yours, and you took it. Your fingers trembled against his. But you felt the warmth of his palm, the steadiness of it. Jonathan was your lifeline right now. 

Inside, the house was beautiful. It smelled like cedarwood and clean linen, touched with something darker like spice or old paper. Every detail was deliberate, everything was in its place.

You shouldn’t be here. This place was too composed, too safe. And you were a fucking wreck.

Jonathan didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t rush you, didn’t say much. He just took your coat gently from your shoulders like it was second nature and hung it carefully by the door. Leaving you with the blanket, he retrieved the overnight bag he’d packed for you, carrying it down the hall like it was nothing. 

Jonathan was so calm. You were coming apart at the seams, but he... wasn't. And somehow, that made you feel worse. Not because he was cold, but because he seemed prepared. He walked slightly ahead, his steps quiet on the polished floors, his hand steady on the guest room door. When he opened it, he didn’t look at you like you were a burden. He looked at you like you were his responsibility.

The guest room looked more like an upscale hotel suite. The bedding was soft gray-blue, the wood warm, the lighting low and golden. He placed your bag gently at the foot of the bed.

“The bathroom is through there,” he said quietly. “There’s a whirlpool tub.”

You turned to thank him, but your voice wouldn’t work.

He continued gently, like he hadn’t noticed. “I brought what I could from your place. Your toothbrush, your hairbrush, a few changes of clothes. Some essentials. If you need anything else..." his eyes softened just a little, “just ask.”

That was the moment it hit you, fully and painfully. You were safe now, but only because of him.

You nodded quickly, swallowing hard, and turned away before he could see the tears starting again. Not for the mess in your apartment or even for yourself. 

But for the man who had opened his home to you... and might suffer for it. The monsters who left your door cracked open weren’t finished. And now they knew exactly where you’d run.

Your nerves were frayed and raw, like you were bracing for the next catastrophe, for the next thing to fall apart. But then, what area of your life hadn't you lost at this point?

Jonathan looked almost at ease. He was just calm under pressure. That’s what you needed right now. Someone who didn't crumble when everything else does.

And for now... he was all you had.

You stood in the bathroom for a while after he left, just staring. The countertops were made of marble, and the tile was warm under your feet. The whirlpool tub looked like something from a spa catalog, surrounded by dimmable sconces and stocked with fluffy white towels.

You didn’t feel like you belonged here. His home was even nicer than Ares' apartment had been, and that was saying a lot. The bathroom looked like something out of a luxury spa brochure, with soft lighting, warm tile underfoot, marble countertops that gleamed beneath gold-accented sconces. And everything... everything was stocked.

You took it in slowly at first, numb and dazed. Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in glass pump bottles that matched. Lotions in your favorite scents, clean rain and soft florals, lined the counter. There were styling tools you didn’t remember packing. Even the makeup in the drawer was high-end, carefully curated in shades you wore. And tucked discreetly in a linen basket beneath the sink were comfort products for that time of the month.

You didn’t stop to wonder why they were even there. You didn’t question the impossibility of it. Your brain barely flagged it as strange, or maybe you were too tired. Maybe part of you just... didn't want to look too closely.

The whirlpool tub was gleaming and spotless, surrounded by neatly folded white towels. You turned on the tap, dropped in a small handful of bath salts from the ceramic jar beside the tub, and stripped down in silence. The water filled quickly, warm and welcoming. You stepped in, sinking down until the heat wrapped around your bones.

It felt... good. Physically. The water soothed the tight ache in your muscles, the bath salts releasing a soft, calming scent that made you want to close your eyes. You wanted to breathe, to believe this would be the turning point. That everything was fine now.

But your mind wouldn’t quiet. It wouldn't fucking stop.

You kept seeing that door cracked open. That image wouldn’t leave you. The fear that crawled under your skin at the thought that someone had been inside, waiting for you, watching. You thought of the gallery. Of Ares. Of Jonathan—what if he was next? What if sheltering you put a target on him?

What had you done to deserve this?

You didn’t cry. You didn't scream. You just sat there, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them. The water eventually cooled, the scent faded, and you barely noticed. You weren’t quite asleep. Not quite awake either. Just... there.

Suspended. Shutting down piece by piece.

Jonathan’s knuckles tapped the doorframe. When there was no response, he did it again. He waited long enough to confirm it wasn’t sleep or the soft hum of a blow dryer masking her reply before his hand moved to the doorknob.

He quietly let himself in. The guest room was dim and quiet. The overnight bag he’d packed sat open on the bench at the foot of the bed, untouched since he’d placed it there. The bed itself was still made. The room was empty.

Jonathan’s brow lifted slightly, not so much in concern, but calculation. The bathroom door was closed, but there was no sound of running water. Moving toward it, he knocked. “It’s me,” he said calmly.

Still nothing. Without another pause, Jonathan turned the handle and pushed the door open, walking into the bathroom.

There she was.

The tub was still half-filled, the water cooled, barely steaming. She sat curled into herself, arms wrapped around her knees, the curve of her spine exposed above the waterline. Her damp hair clung to her back. She wasn’t crying or in a state of panic. She was just still.

Withdrawn. A temporary regression.

Closing the door gently behind him, his gaze swept over the room, noting the untouched towels, the open jar of bath salts. The vanity light cast a golden glow over her shoulders, her blank stare.

She’d collapsed inward. Not broken, but overwhelmed. He’d expected that. He crouched beside the tub, folding his long frame.

She’s shutting down. Autonomic protection.

Still, she’d bathed. Now she was in his home. In his care. And that was what mattered.

Jonathan didn’t see a failure in her silence. This state she was in was why she needed him. Why she couldn’t function without a guiding presence. Without him. It was working beautifully. 

He studied her face for a moment longer, head tilting ever so slightly. Jonathan wasn't studying her pain, but observing how she handled it. Silently and alone.

But not anymore.

“Let’s get you out of the water,” Jonathan said gently, reaching for a towel without waiting for a reply. “You’ve been through enough today.”

His voice was calm, grounding, but beneath it all was the quiet certainty of a man who’d just won another round. Another piece of her trust.

She was still unraveling. But he was already sewing the threads back into something new. Something his.

Jonathan wrapped the towel around her with care, absorbing each drop of water clinging to her skin. She didn’t resist, just moved with quiet compliance, letting him guide her out of the tub, letting him touch her. And because she allowed it, he took his time.

She was beautiful, even more than he’d expected. More than the modest lines of her clothing ever hinted at. Her body was a study in contrast, all soft curves shaped by quiet strength. There was a natural elegance in the way she held herself, even now with her mind broken. 

His gaze moved down the line of her back, noting her skin was unmarked, untouched. No tattoos or piercings beyond the delicate studs in her ears. No permanent declarations of rebellion or self-expression. Just her.

Jonathan felt something dark and satisfied settle in his chest. She hadn’t marred herself with someone else’s ideas of beauty or permanence. She wore no names or stories written in ink.

In his mind, that meant possibility. A canvas untouched. A life not yet claimed. It was beautiful, and dangerous. It made him want to be the first, and the only one to ever define her. 

And then there was the scar. It traced the high curve of her thigh, towards the back. Old, healed, but long and angry. An accident? A fall? He’d wondered about the limp, subtle but present whenever she moved too quickly. The scar explained it. It made her vulnerable in a way he hadn’t cataloged yet.

It made her real, human. Not a subject or a fantasy. 

His fingers tightened slightly in the towel. It was the best kind of torture, being this close, seeing what she kept hidden from the rest of the world. What Ares had taken for granted. He restrained himself because he could touch her, but not like that. Not until she completely trusted him.

That was worth more than indulgence. More than impulse. Now it was so easy for him to envision her spread out on his bed uncovered as she as, her body craving release, and his touch.

So he continued with practiced patience, drying her hair, dressing her gently, the fabric of the pajamas gliding over skin he had no right to admire. His thoughts were sharp and hungry beneath the surface, but his hands never wavered. Soon.

Tonight, she was his in every way that mattered. And the rest would follow.

Her body moved under his hands, but her spirit wasn’t there. She climbed into bed, her limbs folding in like paper. He pulled the covers up and tucked them around her, smoothing her hair back from her face with a motion so practiced it might have been mistaken for affection. But this was better. Her compliance wasn’t just consent. It was proof she trusted him implicitly, even now. 

Standing over her for a moment, he watched her eyes slowly blink, her breath shallow and uneven. She needed rest, not just sleep. And if her mind wouldn’t give it to her on its own, he would help.

He stepped out quietly, heading to the medicine cabinet in his home office. The sedative was low-dose, just enough to relax her body and silence the cycle of intrusive thoughts. He didn't use it often, but for tonight it was perfect.

When he returned to her room, something had changed. She wasn’t lying flat anymore. She sat upright in bed, wide-eyed, breathing fast. Her hands clenched the comforter, but she wasn't aware of it.

“Jonathan?” Her voice was thin, barely above a whisper. “What if they come after you?” 

He paused in the doorway.

“What if they know you’re helping me?” she went on, the words tumbling out now. “What if they… what if they hurt you because of me? What if they were the ones who did something to Ares? What if they..." Her voice cracked. “I couldn’t take it if you..."

She didn’t finish the thought.

He moved to her side immediately, sitting next to her so they were eye to eye, and reached for her hand.

“I’m not Ares,” he said quietly. “I don’t make myself vulnerable to anyone. And I don’t let people close unless I know exactly what they’re capable of.”

He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand slowly, anchoring her to the moment.

“They won’t come for me,” he said, his voice steady as steel. 

Her eyes were still shiny with fear. But there was something in the way he spoke that grounded her. 

“And you're not a burden to me,” Jonathan added, firmer now. “I chose to protect you. And I will continue to, no matter what.”

Her bottom lip trembled, and she finally nodded.

That’s right. Let it sink in. I’m the one thing you don’t have to be afraid of.

He held up the small glass of water and the single capsule in his palm.

“This will help you sleep,” he said gently. “Just for tonight.”

She took it without question. That, too, pleased him.

As she lay back down, he settled the blanket around her again and watched her until her breathing slowed.

He felt no guilt or hesitation. Everything he’d done, every calculated nudge, every gentle manipulation, had brought her here.

And now, she was his.

[summercourtship]

Can i just say that i extremely appreciate how you characterize these characters? like… the way you portray them is exactly how i imagine they would act… for example Jonathan (especially nolan!Jonathan) you maneged portray someone that is controlling, manipulative, and possessive (and HOT!!!!), but at the same time he still shows a vulnerable side (like when he is needy hates to show it), or Edward that is so easily passed as an shy and angry nerd, but you capture his temperament and mania so well!!! And Bruce!!!!! seriously you have NO IDEA how hard is to find a fic that Bruce that shows his awkward side!! that makes me star to questioning…. how do you characterize them? like, what goes on in your mind to think what they are thinking? do these questions make sense? i don’t know… but can you tell me the answers?

thank you! omw to give you a lil forehead kiss.

tbh it's really hard for me to describe how I write them just because... I do it. When I was starting this fic, I read various fics and sort of figured out what I liked that other people did in characterizing them vs what I didn't like and went from there. It's also easier for me to write something down and realize it is OOC- there are a lot of lines and passages that get rewritten multiple times because it's not it. Especially with Jonathan, he's the hardest for me to write.

Here is a very basic rundown of how I view writing each character, though obviously it's very bare-bones.

Writing Jonathan is just figuring out what he wants to gain from the conversation/interaction, and then figuring out a way that he can do it that is slightly off-putting but not enough to send the reader running. Everything he does is a red flag, so therefore nothing he does is a red flag (to the reader) because everything can be explained away. I also really love the moments where Cillian Murphy plays him... languid. He takes his time with his movements, not letting other people's schedules affect him. Any other aspects of his character just come naturally with all of the other stuff.

I based a lot of how I write Edward on how Paul Dano wrote him in Riddler Year One, though obviously with my own ~flair~ because that's just how writing works. What helps me is remembering that even though he's awkward, he also managed to convince like 500 people to be ride-or-die for him (and his cause). That, to me, indicates some level of charisma even if he doesn't realize it. Like Jonathan, he has something he wants to gain from each conversation, though he's more willing to let the reader figure him out (it's apart of the game, after all). Also knowing what makes him angry and where his delusions lie is good for those more tense moments.

Bruce is just me when I have to go be social in public. Awkward, but knowing that he has to do it. For Batman, he says as much as he can with as little words as possible. Bruce is the only one who is really trying to keep his secrets close to his chest- I don't think he necessarily wants the Reader to figure him out, even if he wants to be involved with her.

:)

[susandsnell]

im sorry to drop a fuck marry kill with men into a lesbians box but um ok. fuck marry kill: scarecrow:nolan verse. JOKER:joaquin phoenix. the riddler: THE BATMAN.

Fuck / Marry / Kill

cinthia why are you the funniest person alive. this has cursed me for seven generations.

Okay this is going to be my most "hear me out" of all "hear me outs" except for one answer, but you knew that when you put this insanity in my inbox.

Fuck: deep inhale. I am prepared to accept bullying for this for the rest of my life from you, and that's okay, I'm at peace with my fate. okay okay so. I am not in any way, shape or form attracted to The Batman's Riddler/Edward Nashton. HOWEVER. This man is so fucking bizarre and funny that the reason I'd go for it is literally just to see what would happen. Like, we're talking a scientific approach here. That and I'm good at puzzles, and, idk, I like when men are pathetic like Flik from A Bug's Life so I feel like it'd at least be entertaining. Besides which @bethjohanssen literally once said Reeveseverse/B22 Riddler "looks like a sad lesbian" so it's easier to pretend.

Marry: Easiest answer if you've looked at my blog for more than 5 minutes. Dr. Jonathan Crane, you are my horror movie gothic supervillain blorbo for life in (almost) any iteration, including the funniest possible one where your plots don't add up, you change roles constantly, pop up places you shouldn't, and serve massive amounts of cunt while being the most compelling guy around who isn't named Harvey Dent while being given comparatively so little. He likes lawyers canonically so him and me will hit it right off, and despite very contrasting personalities, I think we'd actually get along okay? I can prep him for his career changes, we can be literary nerds together, and whatever I lack in terms of physical interest in him, I can make up for by being juuuust messed up enough for him to have material for ages. Plus marriage will help with taxes for a guy who takes so many varying gigs all the time! Also you can easily control this Scarecrow by pulling his hair.

And if Nashton is lesbian adjacent, whooooo boy Nolan!Crane...

Kill: Second easiest answer. I do hate to let you down, but since 2019 and through to the present day, I did Not Care For Joker (2019). Phoenix turns in a perfectly serviceable performance, but I find the character's writing to be the apotheosis of cringey SOCIETYYYY~ Flanderization that the Joker gets in pop culture, his tragedy is kind of so overdone it turns into the Frank Grimes episode of the Simpsons halfway through, and he's not nearly funny or compelling enough to balance this out. There's something viscerally unappealing about this version which may be The Point, but also makes this call a lot easier. I'm also just genuinely Not A Joker Person (I love Harley too much) (oversaturation), so this decision was going to be made regardless, but Phoenix Joker is about to Get What He Fucking Deserves (for his movie giving me a massive headache when I saw it in theatres).

thank you so much, I laughed my head off over this

[natk2002]

The Rookie Rewatch - 2x6 Fallout

Air Date: 3 Nov 2019

Written By: Robert Bella

Directed By: Bill Johnson

First Appearances:

Brant Reggie

Jonathan Ryland

Amari

Judge Stevens

Lewis

Jonathan Ryland

Last Appearances: N/A

Guest Appearances:

Wesley Evers

Rachel Hall

Jessica Russo

Brant Reggie - DUI drug charge, the hearing in court is against him

Oscar Hutchinson

Jonathan Ryland - homicide in first degree charge

Amari - convenience store owner, Bradford seems to know him and his wife Serena, who also has a kid

Lila Town

Judge Stevens - court judge

Lewis - convenience store worker

Jonathan Ryland - criminal

Cold Open:

Nolan booking a suspect and has to take off all of the man’s piercings; the metal detector wand goes off as he waves it over the man’s crotch

Injuries/Deaths:

Lewis - bottle to the head, head injury

Ryland - shot by Nolan and cuffed

Judge Stevens - scalpel to neck by Hutchinson

Hutchinson - decked by West and cuffed

Evers - stabbed in chest, possible pneumothorax, hospitalised

Name Drops:

Serena - Amari’s wife

Henry Nolan

Police Codes and Such: N/A

Pairings and Call Signs:

Bradford and Chen - 7-Adam-19

Harper and Nolan - 7-Adam-15

Lopez and West - 7-Adam-07

Cases/Calls:

Lopez and West - traffic stop because AC unit hanging out of window -> booking at station, no pants

Nolan - at court for hearing against Brant Reggie (charge of DUI drugs) -> emergency alert goes off, hunkers down in courthouse with Evers, Russo, Hutchinson amongst others -> Nolan arrests judge

Bradford and Chen - counterfeit money at convenience store -> find the man who gave the fake money -> get the alert -> let him go -> go back to Amari’s store, where he’s trying to ward off looters

Harper - dead body at warehouse and a dog -> emergency alert -> tries to call ex but fails -> runs out of warehouse -> takes her daughter out of school and to the station

Lopez and West - on the streets after the emergency alert -> see five (5) people on rooftop edge -> manage to get them down to the ground

Lopez and West, Bradford and Chen - waiting on news on Evers’ condition

Acronyms: N/A

Quotes:

Lopez: Did you make that reservation for someone else and hope I wouldn't remember exactly when we hooked up?

Bradford: Look, Chen is my rookie, not my friend. My job is to train her, not help her through her messy social life. Fine. I'll dial it down, like, 2%.

Bradford: I'm just telling you how it is. Harper: The day I need that from you is the day I hang up my spurs.

Grey: Translation: tempers will be short, drug and alcohol use up, so stay hydrated and stay sharp. Now, while the rest of you are baking in the sun, Officer Nolan will be flop-sweating in his very first preliminary court hearing.

Evers: Hey, just remember whatever happens, it's not personal. Nolan: Right. (to RUSSO) What does that mean? Russo: That I'm the only friendly face here.

Nolan: Oh, that's, um, Oscar Hutchinson. He was one of the prison bus escapees we tracked down. He's kind of the reason we're together. Russo: How romantic.

Chen: You always call me out, in front of people when I screw up. First you let me drive, now this? Why are you being nice to me today?

Hutchinson: I hate to break it to you, but those cells leak when it rains. They're not gonna do squat in a nuclear attack.

Bradford: I can't. I'm the guy that catches the nuke. It's actually a pretty prestigious assignment. Hall: You're an idiot.

Chen: Fine. I'd cancel the rehearsal dinner, change the registry to a bondage Web store, pay a gang of clowns to storm their wedding, and hire a chopper to fly over their outdoor reception, see how well their wedding cake stands up to the rotor wash of a Sikorsky helicopter.

Bradford: Imminent nuclear death is totally unrelatable. Now, speaking of revenge, I have a friend at USC who studies cockroaches. I'm sure he could loan you a few hundred to release at the wedding.

Chen: Uh, I'm not a whiskey girl. (taking a bottle of tequila) To the end of the world. Bradford: Whenever that may be.

Hall: (to BRADFORD) You are a bad influence.

Character Lore:

Chen’s ex-boyfriend is marrying her ex-best friend; they hooked up when she was still living with him

Nolan had 40 hours of alcohol and intoxication recognition training at the academy

Bradford has a friend at USC who studies cockroaches

Chen is not a whiskey girl, but we can imply she is a tequila girl

Evers is thirty-five (35) years old

Notable Scenes:

When the TOs test Nolan’s knowledge in the roll call pre-hearing

Evers wiping the floor with Nolan in court

Everyone getting the emergency alert about a ballistic missile hitting LA in 29 minutes

Harper and Lila Town bonding

Town shouting at Harper over Lila Town

Everyone’s relief that the alert was false

Ship Scenes:

Wopez

Both in bed, talking about ½ year anniversary plans

Evers “joining” Lopez for a shower

Evers calling Lopez over the radio

Bradford/Hall

Hall telling Bradford to take it easy on Chen

Hall asking Bradford to stay at the station

Brief kiss, then a more thorough one

Chenford

Bradford lets Chen drive

Chen asking Bradford why she’s getting special treatment

Bradford asking Chen how she’d sabotage the wedding

Drinking “to the end of the world”

Nolan/Russo

Russo coming to court to support Nolan

Working together in the fallout shelter

Kiss

Timeline Attempt:

Wopez celebrate their “half-year anniversary”

Lopez mentions they’ve been dating for five (5) months

Locations:

n/naka - Evers made reservations here

Criminal courthouse on Spring

Edwards Air Force Base

Callbacks/Parallels: N/A

Music:

When Canyons Ruled the City by Butch Walker - Laila returnsed to her dad

Applicable Ao3 Tags:

Episode: s02e06 Fallout (The Rookie)