#arkham asylum perhaps??

[warpedpuppeteer]

Gtfo right now. Buck came to see Abby during the full moon and he's talking about gravity pulling people together and she's like it's not science. So he says maybe it's magic. AND YOU KNOW WHO ELSE SAID BEING WITH SOMEONE WAS LIKE MAGIC?! EDDIE DIAZ THAT'S WHO!!

[oobi-oobi-rambles]

A compilation of all my sketches from 999 week 2023. Come one, come all. Watch me slowly lose motivation and guess when I accidentally used the wrong brush.

[psychogirlfriendandsupervillain]

Do you think it scares the patients on the ground floors of Arkham to know that below them are several floors that just plummet into the depths?

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp #44

The Joker was dead. That was a fact only he knew.

He knew that he died some time ago. Was it during one of the explosions of his grand schemes or perhaps a punch too hard from Batsy? He'll never know, he just knew that he woke up with his heart no longer beating at the need to cause chaos and torturous laughter pumping through his veins.

Though, even when dead, he wasn't complaining about the perks. His Joker venom and gases were basically infinite now. His safehouses of where he hid the chemicals for such gases were useless now. He was able to get as many goons as he needed with just a little bit persuasion. He could also leave Arkham Asylum at anytime, but why would he want to leave in such a boring fashion?

Ha! The list of his abilities were endless!

But.........there were also the downsides.

Everytime he felt that Gotham was at peace, that they forgot about him, he felt himself becoming...weaker. And he just couldn't have that. Who knows what could happen to the Joker if he was truly forgotten? Well, he had various plans that such a thing would never happen.

Yes, the Joker was looking forward to his immortal reign over Gotham? He'll outlive batsy and his little birds and he'll run Gotham with an iron fist! That's his plan.

That is, until a blue eyed brat appeared in Gotham and began beating his ass better than any of the Bats have and forced him into a soup can.

[feasibilities]

"Perhaps you should have some, clear your head."

Investigative Reports | Jonathan Crane x Journalist!Reader

Warnings: Non-Con, Drugging, Kidnapping, Dumbification, Bondage, Corruption, Pet Names, Hallucinations, Cockwarming, etc. Author's Note: I finally got around to writing this! This insane post got a lot of hilarious/supportive reactions, so thank you. I hope it really is The Most Disgraceful Fanfiction Ever Made.

“Would you like to see our treatment facility?” Jonathan inquired, smiling faintly.

“Of course. Where is it located?” You said, looking around curiously. 

“The elevator will take us there.” Jonathan replied, guiding you inside. You wondered why he was so eager to show you this “facility”, but it would be good for your article on Arkham Asylum. You also noticed that his hand lingered on your lower back. You made a mental note of the floor being accessible by key only. The door opened to a poorly lit corridor with double doors at the toward the back. A sinking feeling in crept into your gut but you followed behind him anyway. He opened the doors to an underground sweatshop. You saw the faces of some of the criminals who mysteriously avoided being prosecuted. 

“This is where we make the medicine.” Jonathan said. You quickly realized this was a trap. Why would he be willing to show you this if he would let you leave? A feeling of panic clawed at your internal organs but you stayed perfectly still.

“Perhaps you should have some, clear your head...” He said in a restrained tone, swallowing harshly. His icy disposition transformed into that of a monster. You ran for the elevator and frantically pressed the buttons. The doors never closed. You scurried out and ran down the hallway. You ducked into one of the empty holding cells. You saw a white bed with restraints. You hid in the corner behind it and held your breath. Tears rolled down your face as you blamed yourself for taking on this story. 

“Ready or not, here I come.” A ragged, disorienting voice spoke. Your heart dropped as the voice was a complete contrast from the composed one you heard minutes ago. You covered your mouth to muffle any sobs. You heard his footsteps click down the corridor before they stopped in front of the cell you were in. You crouched to make yourself as small as possible. You saw a figure with a burlap mask over his head. 

“Hmm, I wonder where she could’ve run off to.” Jonathan said sarcastically, knowing exactly where you were. Walking to your hiding spot, he stood over you. 

“There you are, princess.” He cooed. He kneeled down and wiped your tears with his thumb. You cringed at his touch and tried to scoot away. He pulled you back and put a white cloth over your mouth and nose. Your struggling was useless. Blackness crept into your vision as you lost consciousness. 

——

You woke up to an unfamiliar bedroom and a throbbing headache. This room was quite different from the dilapidated cell you fell asleep in. You didn’t recognize the pink silk nightie you had on. You were tucked in perfectly as well. You had little to no memory of the night before. Jonathan came in and shut the door behind him. Checking his watch, he smiled to himself. 

“Just in time.” He said, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“What happened? My head is killing me.” You inquired, sitting up slightly. 

“You had a fall and hit your head. I know how to make you feel better.” He said softly, pulling the comforter from your body. His smooth hands ran up your thighs. 

“I-I don’t think this will help.” You hesitated. 

“Of course it will.” Jonathan replied. You pushed his hands away and tried to cover yourself once more. 

“I guess I’ll have to tie you up, darling.” He relented, retrieving rope from the nightstand. He removed your nightie and folded it neatly. He tied you in the Shibari style of the Star Harness with your arms bound. He covered your mouth with duct tape. He pulled you to the edge of the bed and bent you over. You cried desperately in hopes that he would stop. 

“Shh. The more you struggle, the longer it lasts.” He hushed you, kissing the back of your head. He took in the sweet smell of your hair. You felt him slide into you slowly, whimpering at his size. His thrusts were slow but deep to the point of causing pain. Your knees buckled with each thrust. 

“Already falling apart, hmm? Isn’t that sweet...” Jonathan purred, speeding up. You looked back at him with teary eyes. Jonathan kissed you over the duct tape on your mouth. Sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room. You clenched around him frenetically, earning cruel spanks from him. His glacial blue eyes bore into yours. A searing pain managed to reach your cervix as his movements grew careless.  The rope he adorned you in began to scrape painfully against your skin. 

“Want me to stop?” He teased. You nodded frantically. He pulled the tape off your mouth painfully. 

“Please, sir.” You begged innocently, beginning to cry once more. 

“Of course, my love.” He whispered, pulling out. He groaned at the sight of your arousal dripping down your legs. He took out a polaroid camera and snapped some pictures of you from behind. You turned away until he violently flipped you over. He put his middle & index fingers in your mouth. 

“Smile, sweet pea.” He mocked, snapping one final picture. Setting the camera aside, he stared down at you with an esurient gaze. You shifted uncomfortably as you were still tied up. His fingertips grazed the tender burgeon of your nipple. Enjoying the sensation, you pushed your chest up into his hand. You mewled sweetly and batted your eyes. 

“Don’t do that…” Jonathan said, barely holding it together. 

“I can’t help it.” You whined, oblivious to his impending breakdown. He was fuming at the effect you had on him. 

“Right.” Jonathan said, standing up and opening a drawer nearby. He grabbed a burlap mask and held it up for you to see. 

“Remember this, hun?” He inquired, taking off his glasses.

“No, what is it?” You replied, furrowing your eyebrows. 

Sliding it over his head, you froze in fear. You realized he was the man of your never-ending nightmares. You suddenly saw hallucinations of maggots and spiders crawling from the eye & mouth holes of his mask. The world around you started to spin nauseatingly. You closed your eyes tightly hoping it would all end quickly.

“I knew you would remember me, angel.” He said, speaking in the same ragged voice. He walked to you and untied the rope around your body. He began spreading your legs once more. You scratched, punched, and bit him to no avail. In actuality, your resistance was much weaker than you thought. The sedative he gave you drained you of any kind of physical strength. 

“Help!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, hoping anyone could hear. Jonathan put a firm hand over your mouth and entered you once more. This time, his pace was sadistic and blistering. The headboard banged against the wall. You felt your bones shake with every motion. You screamed behind his hand until you had no voice to scream with. That familiar band of pleasure in your lower half finally broke. Your body convulsed wildly. He enjoyed seeing you unravel. 

“Almost done, stay still.” He sneered, continuing his assault. Your mind was nearly blank from everything that was happening. Jonathan moved his hand from your mouth to your throat as he was getting close. Your fucked-out expression made his heart flutter. Suddenly, hot spurts of seed shot into you. His groans echoed through the bedroom. You felt some relief that it was over. Instead, he laid next to you and slid back in hastily. He wrapped his arms around you to keep you still. Your shaky hand clawed at them. A doused white cloth smothered you once more as you lost consciousness.

“Sweet dreams.” He whispered, holding you close. 

[saintmuses]

❝𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙣❞

Pairing:

Jonathan Crane x Innocent!Reader

Summary:

They were best friends since high school then he broke her when she became his Patient X.

Warning(s): Dub-con. Pervert/depraved!Jonathan. Implied corruption. Implied abduction. Power imbalance. Naivety. Nudity. He struggled with his feelings for her. This is dark due to mental health and toxin usage. Minors, dni!

Word Count: 1.5k

“The mind can only take so much.” He had once said that to one of his minions, and he knew that it was true when he was accosted by his own toxin. He had seen things, the things he wished he hadn’t seen. His best friend dying over and over. The only person he’d ever cared about.

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud, he threw his scarecrow burlap mask to the side table in the foyer carelessly. 

Something was different tonight, and he couldn’t put a finger on it.

“Jon?” A voice murmured from the end of the hallway, making him inhale sharply.

He exhaled softly before turning to her, “it’s time to go to bed, my dear.” He murmured; his eyes raked over her figure to ensure nothing was out of place.

He used his creation to experiment on her phobia, and after so many trials and tribulations, he had broken her. Not in the way he had imagined, but he broke her, nevertheless.

She went from one of the smartest people he had ever got to known with fire that could scorch everything, reverting to an innocent docile person that he had to take care of. Obviously after what happened, he couldn’t give her back to her family, but it had been five years since he took her in. Of course, he had to implant a farce where she was abducted and declared she was dead.

Something was different tonight, and he did not understand what it was.

He sat down on the edge of her mattress, fingers brushing against the hem of her t-shirt, his touch lingering as he slowly lifted them. She was delicate in his hands, and he couldn't help but feel protective and possessive over her this time. To him the feeling felt foreign.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the shirt over her head, revealing the smooth skin beneath. Her breathing quickened, and Jonathan could tell she was nervous. He shushed her gently, assuring her as he did every night. "It's okay.” He cooed softly, she was his best friend and only she got to see the side of him that no one else would ever get.

He traced his fingers along the waistband of her pants,  and with a subtle tug, they slid down her legs, leaving her standing before him in nothing but her bra and underwear.

He could see right through the bundle of energy she was radiating. "Y/N, you don't have to be afraid of me," he assured her once again as he gently tugged at her bra strap, loosening it. "I'd never hurt you."

You broke her. His mind whispered, almost viciously teetering on victorious as if he was proud that he broke his best friend.

“I know you won’t.” she murmured shyly. Her voice was soft and sweet.

"That's my good girl," he said softly, his warm breath brushing against her arm. With gentle fingers, he unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, taking in the sight of her perfect breasts. His possessiveness spiked once more.

He had never once looked at her breasts or anywhere on her body when he would help her to change clothes.

After what happened in the Arkham Asylum, being sprayed in the face with his toxin, and seeing what he had saw, it shifted something inside of him.

Perhaps there was a reason why he kept her like a singing docile bird in a gilded cage. The one that did not fly too far, always circling around him.

He turned to the side slightly on the bed and grabbed a large t-shirt from beside him.

She looked at it, confusion flitted her curious gaze. “Is that my shirt?”

"No, this shirt is for you to sleep in tonight," he explained gently, guiding her to slip it over her head. It was huge on her, dwarfing her frame, but it was comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

He could feel the heat emanating from her body as he slid his hands up her thighs, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was gentle yet strangely possessive as he reached for her underwear under the shirt, slowly sliding them down her legs. "There we go.”

As soon as his fingers enclosed the underwear that she had stepped out of, he froze when he felt something damp on the fabric.

“Jonny?”

His heart skipped a beat at the sound of her sweet, innocent voice calling him "Jonny". He couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions - protectiveness, possessiveness, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He could feel her looking at him. “Are you okay?”

Clearing his throat "I'm fine, my dear," he said reassuringly, forcing a smile as his fingers tightened on the fabric. "Now, how about we get you into bed?”

He watched her climb onto the bed, his eyes never leaving her. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as she turned away from him. It was then that he brought the underwear to his face, inhaling deeply. He couldn't help but inhale her scent, memorizing every detail of it. It was intoxicating, like a drug to him. As she turned her face to him, he quickly tucked the underwear away in the pocket of his dress pants, trying to regain his composure.

She looked concerned, “Jonny?”

"I'm fine," he repeated, his voice more shaky than he would have liked. "Now, why don't you snuggle under these covers and get warm?"

When he was helping her lifting the comforter up, the long t-shirt ridden high on her thighs while she accidentally spread her legs while trying to get underneath the comforter.

He couldn't help but notice how her legs spread, revealing more of her soft skin of her thighs. His possessiveness flared once more, and he couldn't resist reaching out to gently pull the shirt down further, covering her thighs completely.

He noticed the slight blush on her cheeks and knew she was embarrassed. He chuckled softly, brushing off her impending apology. "Don't worry about it."

His heart melted at the sight of her sweet smile, and he couldn't resist leaning over to gently press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well, my dear."

The next morning, she was still sleeping soundly as he opened the door to check on her while wiping down his glasses with a soft cloth before placing it back on his face.

Jonathan couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked, all warm and snuggled under the covers. He strode over to her bed, “wake up, Y/N.”

A groan of protest emitted from her throat as she burrowed into the pillow.

He chuckled softly, knowing she wasn't a morning person. He was comforted to know despite breaking her, she still inhibited some pieces of her old self. "Come on, it's time to start your day." He gently pulled the covers off of her, revealing her body under the t-shirt which so happened to ride up on where her thighs met her ass, revealing a sliver of her bare pussy. He swallowed hard.

He couldn't believe how innocent she looked. The sight of her exposed pussy under the fabric of the t-shirt that rode up under where her thighs were was driving him crazy.

He couldn't resist any longer. With a trembling hand, he pulled the t-shirt up further, exposing her entire pussy to his hungry gaze. It was even more beautiful than he had imagined.

He couldn't help but to release an inaudible groan as he looked at her pretty pussy. It was the most erotic sight he had ever seen. He continued to shake her gently, "wake up, darling." His voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “It’s time to get dressed.”

He watched her carefully, noticing the way she stood by the bed. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down on it, spreading his legs apart. "Come here." His voice was soft but commanding.

His heart raced as she stood between his legs. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything but how much he wanted her. "We’re going to do something a bit different today," he murmured, “turn around.”

He watched her turn around despite her confusion, revealing her back to him. He then laid a hand on the middle of her back, telling her to bend over.

The t-shirt ridden up to her upper thighs as she bent over, and he bit down his bottom lip as he lifted the hem of the t-shirt to reveal her pussy again.

“Aren’t you supposed to put an underwear on me first before you do anything else?” she asked quietly.

He smirked softly, "Not this time." He leaned in closer to her, his warm breath brushing against her skin. He could feel himself trembling as he looked at her exposed pussy.

He leaned in as close as he could towards her pussy without touching her and then he inhaled deeply, smelling her pussy then his eyes rolled back in pleasure, feeling the familiar sensation of his cock swelling in his dress pants. He took a deep breath, savoring the sweet, feminine scent that bombarded his senses.

“Jonny?” His eyes refocused when he heard her sweet voice.

"Shh, darling.” He whispered. "I was just making sure everything is fine," he lied as he inhaled deeply again, his eyes closing.

Something was different last night, and it showed when he saw her differently.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 65

“Oh what the fuck-” It was supposed to be a quiet night- no breakouts in Arkham and for once the asylum is actually full of most of their rogues. And the others were already taking care of Scarecrow and Penguin was- as far as he knew- doing legal things at the lounge at the time. So somebody tell him why there’s this giant… thing that could give Grundy a run for his money in should be dead a thousand times over was pulling itself out of a sewer tunnel. Like seriously, he can see the blood and infection and whatever else dripping from honestly filthy bandages all on its arms that look a hint too long the more he looks through the binoculars, and it’s glowing this sickly green that reminds him way too much like the Pits. That isn’t even getting started on the mouth- the only part visible of their face due to the wild mane of what might be white hair but was hard to tell under the amount of blood- that stretched far too wide. He even swore he could see fangs! Not to mention the cloak that he wants to say is a knockoff of B’s, but honestly he can swear he sees it moving, twisting like lashing tails of shadow, or like Ivy’s vines. Its hands are long and gnarled, tipped in claws that dig into the concrete as it pushes itself to a frankly horrifying height. And oh fuck, not only did it have some sort of giant sword, but there was a small child sitting on its shoulder without any sign of realizing the danger they were in-

Danny is having fun, his ghost-mom Amity is out on a date with another city spirit, Mr Bludhaven- so he gets to hang out with grandma? grandpa? (honestly who has time for gender when there’s curses to beat back!) Gotham! It would perhaps be better if he wasn’t unknowingly making said city spirit visible to those who aren’t death-touched or liminal… Oh well! 

[mydear-corinthian]

Unsaid Feelings || Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow x reader

Synopsis: Jonathan Crane is your psychologist and you're starting to have feelings for him in which you thought was wrong. Pairing: Jonathan Crane x reader - Scarecrow x reader Warnings: SMUT +18, mentions of abuse & alcohol, p in v, dirty talk, breeding kink, SPOILERS AHEAD Notes: N/A Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the CILLIAN MURPHY + his character masterlist.

SMUT AHEAD !

Being one of the best psychologist's patient in the city of Gotham made you feel lucky. For more than a year, you were a patient of Dr. Jonathan Crane. You were referred to him because of the difficulties you encountered following your breakup with an abusive partner, Henry.

During the consultation, you will explain to your now-ex-partner how terrified you were of him on a physical and emotional level. Henry allowed you to move into his apartment and took you on dates during the initial stages of their relationship, but it was before he began drinking. When he started going to bars and returning home late, you were initially okay with him drinking not until in your previous shared apartment, the fridge was stocked only with alcoholic drinks. Unfortunately, Henry began to harm you on a physical, mental, and verbal level. He continued to abuse you, call you horrible names, and strike you in the face, stomach, and every other part of your body.

When you eventually got up the nerve to say no to Henry, you ended your relationship with him. You packed up all of your things and left from the shared apartment right away. You asked for for help because you have suffered and you don't know what to do. You visited a hospital where Jonathan Crane, a well-known psychologist, was employed on a short-term basis. Renowned doctor Jonathan Crane works in Arkham Asylum, the city's asylum. It went nicely the first time you went to see him. He was kind, soft, sympathetic, and of course, charming. He spoke to you in such a delicate manner that it seemed as though you were fragile the moment it was touched. You were comforted by his words.

After a handful of sessions, your view of him changed. You were beginning to concentrate more on his appearance. His glasses, his well-groomed hair with a few strands of his bottom hair poking out—all of which you thought were adorable—and his icy-blue eyes shine. His warm touch made your heart skip a beat.

This is Crane's fifteenth consultation with you. Over time, the topics of conversation shifted from your ex to yourself. You were final that you were having feelings for him, but it doesn't feel right. Perhaps Jonathan is your comfort person in real life, or at least he seems to be. However, the fact that he is a psychologist makes it feel wrong. He simply carries out his duties. You felt sorry knowing that he was providing his other patients with the same comfort that you were receiving.

Shaking the negative thoughts in your mind, you arrived at his clinic, which was located in a different building from the hospital and the doctor's office. Breathing deeply, you walked into the clinic. The smell of the air freshener in the room made you feel at ease and at comfort. Normally, his secretary would be right outside the consultation room, but after checking all over, you couldn't find her. As you waited for Jonathan to call your name, you took a seat in the empty black cushion with your tiny black purse resting on your lap. Your white heels tapping echoed through the silent clinic as you anxiously tapped your foot.

After a few minutes of waiting, a man with a black suit and clear glasses went outside the consultation room. 

He smiled as he found you, "(L/N)." he called your name. 

You immediately stood up from your seat, smiling and nodding at him before you entered the consultation room first. The smell of his men's perfume flowed to your nose, making you blush at his sexy scent. 

His office wasn't that much, it was brown and it has blinds at the back, getting the view outside of his clinic. Instead of sitting down, you walked around the room, gazing at the decorations, his awards, and him. He did the same but he just stood in front of his long brown table, his back hip leaning against the table. 

There was a few seconds of silence before he started speaking. "How are you now, (Y/N)?" he asked. 

Hearing him call your first name sent shivers all around your body. It wasn't the first time he called you by your first time since the both of you were now calling each other your first name basis, but it just felt new. 

"I'm doing fine, Doctor Crane." you replied, looking at him, your body straightening up. 

Crane smiled, his blue eyes looking at yours. "'Jonathan' is fine, remember?" His posture straightened, not leaning against the table anymore. His right hand was tucked in his right pocket trousers. "I might need a more specific answer to that, (Y/N)."

You chuckled nervously, "Ah r - right. Well um .. I'm actually doing fine. Henry isn't in my mind now rather than before. But there's this something that stiffs me. A feeling, maybe." 

His head tipped slightly to one side, indicating that he was actively listening to you, and his eyes blinked irregularly, showing that he was paying close attention. Crane was obviously relieved to hear that you were doing better, but his face turned puzzledly curious when you spoke what you said next. His eyes kept returning to your face, mesmerized by the seductive features of your features and the vivid red color of your dress. A small smile twitched the edges of his mouth, a subtle nod to the way the red material framed you and traced the graceful curves of your body with easy ease. He was stunned for a time by your breathtaking appearance at that very moment.

Walking up towards you, he asked, "And what is this feeling? Is it something new?"

You felt anxious like your body was paralyzed. You cannot just go and straight up told him that you are in love with him especially that he is your doctor. 

"I'm not sure, Jonathan," you spoke "But it's definetly not new." 

"Interesting," he replied, walking towards the window, shutting the blinds off, giving the both of you more privacy. "Tell me more." 

"I feel stiff, maybe both in a good and bad way. This guy's different from Henry at all, this guy understands me. He makes me feel safe. He's just so .. different," you explained, gathering up your emotions on him in your mind. "I think I love him, Jonathan. But I think I can't. It feels wrong, I mean look at my state?" 

His eyes widened at your response, making him walk towards you again, his left hand adjusting the frame of his clear glasses. 

"And why does it feel wrong to love this certain man?" he wondered. He couldn't help but pout to himself. He didn't know who you were referring to caused him pain. 

His eyes have been fixed on you ever since you entered his clinic. He thought you were interesting and slowly began to feel something for you. He is doing his best to understand you, but he cannot help but feel heartbroken whenever you mention that you still can't move on from Henry. As he gently observed your improvement and how you're beginning to shine and feel free, he was happy. He despises Henry so much that he considered using his fear-toxin to kill him first. He hates how he handled a kind lady like you. He would prefer that you spend time with him, instead.

The distance between the both of you is now getting smaller and smaller. You can smell his perfume better and he can hear your deep breaths.

"I - fuck! It's you, Jonathan! I'm in love with you and it feels so wrong! You're so caring and you make me so comfortable it weakens me. It feels wrong because .. I'm your patient and I a hundred percent sure that you don't even love me ba-" you snapped your feelings out but you got cut off when his lips crashed into yours.

Your eyes widened at what's happening. He gripped your hips, deepening the slow and sensual kiss. Your hands found its way to the back of his neck, wrapping your hand gently.

The both of you broke the kiss, catching your breaths. You were shocked, your eyes locked his crystal ones. A sweet smile was planted on Crane's face.

"I waited for so long for you to say that." he said, holding your delicate palms and interlocking it with his.

You were so confused, does he like you too?

"I - I'm confused, Jonathan.." you said.

He chuckled, "I'm in love with you too, (Y/N). From the moment I saw you, I know there was something with you that interests me."

You kissed him again but more harshly this time. The kiss was getting hotter and messier, his tongue slipping inside your lips, tasting you.

His strong arms carried you, bringing you to his table, sliding the papers and other things that were occupying it, giving you room to sit down.

Crane was desperate to taste you more, but the kiss didn't break at all; instead, it grew more intense. His mouth moved to your neck, nibbling it and leaving his mark on you. Your legs bucking up his hips, you whimpered as he sucked your soft spot.

"God you're so beautiful," he said in between kisses.

Crane's fingers unzipped your dress from your back, exposing your breasts from your white lace-y bra.

He fully removed your dress, exposing your soaking wet panties. He licked at the sight, "Wet for me already, huh?"

He wasted to time and rub your clothed clit in circling motion, pleasuring you down there. Moaning, his pace became faster and faster.

"Fuck! Jonathan.." you moaned at the pleasure that he was giving you. Your back arched as your hands were gripping his shoulders, your head throbbed back.

You felt your orgasm coming as you moaned his name loudly, your legs trembling.

He knew you were close but his fingers stopped, edging you. You frowned at him.

"Now now, let's not rush shall we?" he said.

Crane started to unbuckle his trousers and removed his underwear, his huge hard shaft sprunged out.

You started to fully take out your panties and bra, tossing it to the floor, letting it join yours and Crane's clothes.

"Jonathan, please .." you lustfuly begged. Spreading your wet folds, begging him to take you.

"Please what?" he teased.

"I need you. Please, fuck me,"

A grin was plastered on his face before he aligned himself to your entrance. Stroking his shaft thrice, he slowly pushed himself inside you, his cock taking your needy cunt.

"Holy shit, you're so tight," he groaned as your wet folds was starting to take him.

He let you adjust his size first before he started to thrust inside you. His arms gripping your hips at every thrust he makes.

You let out a series of pornographic moans as you take him, your nails dugging his back, enough to leave some small scars.

Crane's thrusts became faster and faster, letting out a loud groan. The clapping noise of your body slapping each other echoed the room.

Waves of pleasure coursed through your entire being with each thrust of his rigid cock diving deep into your hungry, wet cunt. His lips were gentle yet persistent, giving you love bites all over your neck that made you want to cling to him even more. Your senses were controlled by a piece of delight and pleasure at that very instant, dominating you with an intoxicating balance of satisfaction and yearning.

"Good girl, taking my cock so well, that's it baby," he praised, hitting your sensitive spot multiple times.

You moaned and cursed out loud, your legs trembling and raising up, allowing him to penetrate deeper. His cock reaching those sensitive spots that you never knew existed.

"Henry doesn't make you feel this good, didn't he?" he asked, an evil smile decorated his face, looking at the hickeys that he made on your neck.

"You feel so good, yes!" you moaned. His lips crashed into yours again, desperate for each other's taste as the both of you took each other.

Your cunt squeezed around his pulsating cock as the appealing threads of ecstasy started to curl inside you, causing him to release a husky groan. Your stomach clenched with anticipation, ready to burst at any second due to Crane's tireless aim of your most weak spots. With every well thrust, your body shivered with ecstasy, increasing the release that was just around the corner.

"I'm close, Jonathan.." your loud moans echoed the room, his pace was going faster and faster.

"Me too baby, me too. Where do you want it?" he asked, his orgasm reaching anytime too.

"Inside, please! I need you.." you begged and begged as you clenched again. Your sweat dripping from your jaw.  

"Cum on my cock, love. That's it, take it fucking all."

After a few thrusts, you and Crane both reached your orgasm. His seed planting inside you, not pulling out until every drop gets inside of your fucked cunt. Your white creamy cum decorated his shaft.

After a few seconds, he finally pulled out, your shared cum oozed out of your cunt, staining the table. The both of you panted, catching your own breathes.

"I love you, Jonathan."

"You have my heart, (Y/N)."

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Eurydice!Jason Todd and Orpheus!Reader

Inspired by this wonderful post by @bloodtypemoss Can you just imagine Jason being trapped in the bowels of Arkham Asylum again, perhaps as an act of vengeance by Scarecrow? Can you imagine him with fear toxin pumping through his veins instead of the snake venom that killed Eurydice? And it is almost like death, being trapped in the place he had tried to escape for so long? Certainly, it's a form of hell. He can even pick out the stains on the floor where he had bled so long ago. Here, was where he woke up to find that the Joker had broken his leg, the bone sticking out of his flesh, and the pain pulsing in him like a heartbeat. Here, was where he had first broken and begged for the pain to stop, despite initially promising to himself that he would not give Joker the satisfaction. Here, was where the Joker had pressed a burning brand on his face, marking him forever. It is almost like death, and God does Jason wish it was the real thing.

Can you imagine the reader as unarmed as Orpheus, and yet equally as unafraid?

Perhaps, like Orpheus, they do not know what they will encounter, only that their beloved is waiting for them: at the point where the darkness ends, at the final step down those spiraling stairs, at the end of the world. And what greets them isn't the god and goddess of the underworld, there is no three-headed beast to bar their path. There is only a man, left alone in the dark, waiting to die. Fear is not as final as death, but when Jason looks up at you, his eyes glassy with memories you think that it is almost enough. This may be what kills him, if you do not pull him out.

And it is not his name, dripping from your lips like tears, that breaks through the haze nor your hands gently cupping his face. Instead, it is something old and silly and nameless: a lullaby you once heard from a woman in East End. You remember how you used to hum it to him, wordless, when he lay on your lap, sleepless with nightmares. And you wonder if Jason remembers it, too. Perhaps like Eurydice, whose memories trickle back to her as she rises from the underworld, your voice is what breaks him out of it. These thoughts filter through his mind like fragments, like raindrops collected in one's cupped palms. That his name is Jason Todd. That he did not die that night in Arkham Asylum. That he is loved. And this time, it is enough. But his eyes are still blinded with toxins, and his bones feel heavy with the weight of memory. Like Eurydice, he will need you to lead him out. But it is enough, it is more than enough. He rises. And he follows.

[fluentmoviequoter]

What You Want

Requested Here!

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!villain!reader (Joker's daughter)

Summary: You are Joker's daughter, and you let him think for you. Bruce Wayne, however, sees who you really are and encourages you to be better.

Warnings: mentions/brief depiction of child abuse, threats, angst, fluff and comfort, Bruce sees the real you

Word Count: 2.9k+ words

A/N: I didn't envision a certain characterization, so feel free to pick your favorite Bruce Wayne! I did listen to Superman/Batman: Apocalypse while writing so it may embody Kevin Conroy's DCAU Bruce at times. The Batman had a pretty good Bruce-Joker relationship too, so I chose this gif.

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

“They’ll never accept you,” your dad said. “Those people are the crazy ones, and they hate us for being sane.”

“Why are they so different?” you had asked as a kid.

He raised his hand, and you turned your face to prepare for the impact. “Maybe we’re the different ones. Perfection is rare, yet here we are.”

You opened your eyes as he knelt before you. He smiled widely and pulled the corners of your lips into an uncomfortable smile. 

“Do it all with a smile, and one day, they will bow before us. People are bad, but revenge makes a change.”

Years of hearing your father’s philosophy and view of life changed you. Since you were a child, you’ve been fighting his battles, forced to become a soldier with a twisted morality and a perverse sense of justice. Becoming a villain was the only choice, yet you continue to believe his lies that you are the good in the world. A light in a dark city, though your hands are covered in the same blood that blocks the light.

“What are you waiting for?” a deep voice asks behind you.

You turn quickly, unsurprised to see Batman lurking above your city. “A decent opponent. Tell me, are you still working with the police?”

“Whatever conspiracy theory you’re carrying today,” he begins, “you should know it is no match for true justice.”

“True justice,” you scoff. “Humanity is defective. You are the perfect example of how crazy the world has become. Justice won’t fix us.”

“And genocide will? Abuse? Manipulation?”

You watch Batman’s lips move as he talks. He’s supposed to be a symbol, the single image your father uses to demonstrate how far humanity has strayed from righteousness. Yet, you pine after him each time you meet. He invades your thoughts and distracts you from your father’s lessons.

An alarm blares in the distance before you can begin to fight Batman. The lights atop Arkham Asylum diffuse through the fog over Gotham.

“Guess that’s your cue to run from a fight,” you murmur.

“What happened to you?” Batman asks, as gruff and direct as ever.

“A miracle,” you answer with a smile.

Batman’s jaw tightens at your answer, your father’s answer, and you’re tempted to ask why. Your dad told you that you and he were from a miraculous line, and you would be the ones to redeem Gotham, then the world. If Batman doesn’t believe that… is there a chance it can’t be true?

He disappears over the edge of the roof, and you stare toward Arkham as the Bat flies through the sky. Your father is likely on his way to see you if the alarm means anything, so you must prepare to answer for your mistakes.

“That was… pathetic,” your father says as he grabs your shoulder. “My weekly great escape, wasted, for a conversation. Perhaps I haven’t made it clear.” He circles you to pull your mask away from your face. His hands grip your jaw closed as he smiles and bends to look into your eyes. “Batman is the enemy. He is the threat to the perfection we crave. Does this mean nothing to you?”

You shake your head quickly. It means something; you’re just not sure if it means what he says it does.

“It does? Well, then, perhaps we should do something to help you remember.”

The hands holding your mouth closed drop away, and before you can apologize, you drop to your knees before everything goes dark.

“Ma’am? Are you okay, miss?” someone asks kindly. “Perhaps we should call an ambulance, Master Bruce.”

“No ambulance,” you mumble. You force your eyes open and see two men standing above you. 

“Would you look to come in and have some water?” the older man offers.

“I-“

“We insist,” the other adds.

“Aren’t you Bruce Wayne?” you ask as you push up onto your elbows.

“Most of the time,” he answers.

He reaches down and helps you stand. His arm wraps around your shoulders as he leads you inside.

Wayne Manor is huge; it is bigger than the picture your father showed you made it seem. He explained that Bruce Wayne, his money, and his home were defective and evidence of evil. That wasn’t anything compared to Batman in his lessons, however.

Bruce tells you to sit on a plush chair beside an oversized fireplace. He and what you assume is his butler or employee walk through the room and into another. Left alone, you try to remember what happened after your father approached you on the roof.

“Are you sure about this, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks. “She is a villain, as I’m sure you remember.”

“She’s not,” Bruce declares. “Something isn’t right. When she speaks… it never seems like her.”

“There is no way you can be so sure of what the woman does or does not sound like. Perhaps she truly is as lost as she seems.”

“But if there’s a chance she isn’t, we have to take it. You did the same for me when I started thinking like Ra’s.”

“Must you always bring up my good deeds to excuse your own choices?”

Bruce shrugs and replies, “Stop doing so much good and I won’t be able to.”

“Just… be careful, Master Bruce.”

Bruce returns, and you flinch away from his outstretched hand. When you see he is offering a glass of water, you apologize before you thank him.

“How did you get here?” Bruce asks as he sits across from you.

“I… don’t remember,” you admit quietly.

Bruce nods as you sip your water. Something about where you are, what happened, or this house affects your mind. Your thoughts seem clearer, and you want to ask Bruce questions about his family, their philanthropic beliefs, and why anyone would consider him to be in the wrong.

“I can help,” Bruce says.

“Help? Help me?” you repeat incredulously. “How exactly do you plan to do that? Throw some money at me and hope that I use it for good?”

“Who am I talking to?” he asks, leaning toward you.

“I told you my name when I came in,” you remind him.

“I’m asking who thinks that the people of Gotham are so terrible that they can’t be saved. Execution over salvation is never an answer, and it takes a twisted mind to think it is.”

You set your water on the table and stand as you argue, “Then maybe I’m just twisted.”

“I don’t think you are. You don’t have to stay, of course, but I think talking could benefit you.”

“You want me to talk?” you ask with a humourless laugh. “Sure, because that will change so much!”

“Someone has talked to you a lot. Beliefs like that aren’t made, they’re shared.”

You breathe out quickly, hating that he’s right. “I’m supposed to be the one to help. But… sometimes I question if there’s a wrong way to do that.”

Bruce nods as you sit back down but doesn’t speak again.

“My dad said that people need to be redeemed, that we’re the line that is supposed to do that. But…” you trail off and shrug.

“What do you think?”

“We-“

“No,” Bruce interrupts. “Just you. What do you think about what you’re doing?”

“I- I’ve never really thought about it. It seems wrong to fight against someone like Batman, someone changing this town. Then again, I’m fighting to change this town, but I have no idea where those lines are. Where what he does and what I do start being so different, I mean.”

“Start looking,” Bruce suggests. “The moment you start thinking for yourself, all of those burdens you’re carrying around fall off.”

“I wish it was that easy,” you whisper.

“It can be.”

“Not for me. I need to go. Thanks for the hospitality, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce stands with you and says, “Come back anytime.”

You don’t expect that to happen, but you agree regardless.

Two weeks later, you find yourself knocking on Bruce Wayne’s door. Again. He has helped you more than you thought possible. Thinking for yourself is hard some days, but you can now see Gotham in a new light. You’ve seen Batman a few times, and your heart and mind tug between him and Bruce. They’re similar yet so different, and each time one of them says something to help you or encourage you to be better, to find and be yourself, you find yourself pining for them hours after you leave their presence.

“Good,” Bruce says as he opens the door.

“That’s a weird way to greet someone,” you mumble.

“No, I was hoping to see you. I have a question to ask.”

“Shoot.”

Bruce smirks, though you don’t know why. 

“Would you like to go out with me? There’s a diner on the outskirts of town where we can be alone, be us,” he asks.

“Are you kidding?” you reply.

“No. You – the real you – are someone that I would like to know better. You’re different than I expected.”

“You are too. I’d like that.”

After your time with Bruce, he walks you to the door. When he turns back inside, Alfred awaits him.

“Master Bruce, you know that I enjoy seeing you happy, but I urge you to remember who she is,” Alfred says.

“That’s not who she is. The masked figure that fights Batman is not the woman who was just here,” Bruce argues.

“But she once was. Just remember that Bruce, please.”

Bruce nods once. He wants to look at the present and ignore the past but forgetting means letting his guard down. You’ll have to prove to everyone that what Bruce sees is real.

“Wake up!” someone yells.

You awake just before you hit the floor as someone pulls you.

“Is this supposed to be funny?” your father snarls. “Because I don’t see a smile or hear any laughs!”

“Listen,” you begin quickly.

“No! You listen! After everything I have done for you, you forget about the Bat? Ignore his nightly crusades, leave him to destroy the rest of your home? It seems I was wrong all along; you are one of them too.”

“One of who?”

“A failure! You’re not one of the redeemers, you’re a mistake,” he growls. “And trusting you was a mistake. I should have eliminated you with the rest of your people!”

“No, no, no,” you argue quickly, attempting to cover your ears.

He rips your hands away from your head and smiles at the tears in your eyes.

“It’s not true, I’m better now,” you whisper.

“You. Are. Broken. And no one can save you now. Not unless you save yourself,” your father says. “They’ll never accept you because people are bad, but revenge makes a change.”

Your father trained you well as a child, and as you try to fight to keep his thoughts out of your mind, you remember what it was like to be raised by him.

“You’re wrong,” you argue.

He wipes your tears, wetting his fingers before he stretches your lips in a sad attempt to match his smile. 

“Perfection is rare,” he reminds you. “And you’ve strayed so far.”

“What do you want?” you ask.

“Kill the Bat. Prove yourself to me, or I will…” He runs his jagged thumbnail from your left cheek, over your lips, and to your right cheek. “Or I will turn you into a better daughter and prove to you that we are the chosen.”

You nod, accepting your assignment. Deep down, you know it’s wrong, but a chance at perfection and safety from your father will always be the better choice. Killing Batman, it is.

“Bats!” you yell across the rooftop. “About time you showed up!”

“I thought you left with the last word,” he calls. “What are you doing here?”

“We started a fight. Let’s end it.”

He shakes his head as he raises his hands toward you. “What happened?”

“I remembered what you are. And who I am.”

“No, you didn’t. You remembered how things used to be.” He drops his voice to repeat, “What happened?”

“I got a step closer to perfection.”

You run toward Batman and lunge toward his torso. Your arms wrap around him, but he hinges forward to toss you over his shoulder. Before you hit the roof, you catch yourself and flip to punch Batman under the jaw. He staggers and releases his grip on you but doesn’t fall.

“You think you’re so perfect,” you say through heavy breaths. “Does beating up bad guys and throwing them in a dilapidated jail cell make you feel good?”

“That’s not what you think,” he answers.

Shaking your head quickly, you force yourself not to think. If you remember how you feel about Batman, everything that Bruce helped you discover about yourself, you will fail your mission and your father. You’re hurt, angry, and confused, and you need to end this fight before it worsens.

“You have no idea what I think.”

You jump toward him, aiming your hands toward his throat. It won’t be an easy end, but you can do this, you tell yourself. No, you can’t, another voice says in your mind. It will kill you, too.

“Shut up!” you cry aloud.

Your hands hit Batman’s shoulders as your weight knocks him off balance. He grips your waist tightly, and you freeze against his chest. 

“Think about you,” he whispers. “What do you want to do here tonight?”

“I want- I want- I don’t know,” you stammer. “He told me to-“

“Don’t listen to him,” Batman growls. “You are not him.”

You move your hands toward his windpipe, then stop. Your hands trail down to rest against his chest instead. As your mind races, everything blurs together. 

“Make it stop,” you beg.

Batman lowers you to the roof and releases his grip on you. When his hands fall away from your sides, he steps back. Your arms drop from his chest as you think. 

“I want to finish this,” you decide. “Tonight.”

Batman tilts his head to the side quickly. “Then let’s do this.”

You run toward Batman, and he lunges forward at the same time. When you meet in the middle, you push off your foot and jump into his arms. Batman catches you and pulls you closer than he had before. You hold the sides of his cowl as his arms wrap around your waist, and you kiss him. It’s your choice, what you want to do, and it’s perfect.

Batman tightens his grip on you as you move against him. The kiss is passionate and drowns out every thought that isn’t yours. You pull back when you can't breathe and drop your forehead against Batman’s cowl. He sets you down, but you stay close to him as you breathe.

“Keep fighting!” your father yells as the alarm at Arkham activates.

You turn quickly, shocked to see him. He can’t force you to do anything now that your mind is yours again. Your father circles you, menacing in how he moves and worse in how he thinks. Batman pushes you behind him as he turns to face him.

“Joker,” he calls. “You can’t control her anymore.”

Your dad laughs before he says, “I never controlled her. I just told her the truth, though you probably don’t know what that is, do you, Batsy?”

“Get him back to Arkham,” you whisper behind Batman. “Or kill him, but don’t let him walk away.”

“Oh, so you’re conspiring with him now,” your father muses. “It’s a shame I’ll have to teach you that lesson we discussed earlier. Though I think everyone could look better with a smile.”

“Joker! This is the GCPD!” an officer announces through a speaker on a police helicopter. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

“I have to go,” you tell Batman. “See you around, Bruce.”

You leave his side and run away from the center of attention. Your track record with the GCPD isn’t great but it will be better from now on. If Bruce was surprised by your use of his name, he didn’t show it. A kiss like that can’t be confused with any other, and your pining for Batman while dating Bruce Wayne now has a much better explanation than simple attraction.

“Have you seen him recently?” Bruce asks as you sit across the table from him in Wayne Manor.

“Not since that night. I don’t ever want to see him again,” you explain. “But…”

“Yes?”

“Will you keep helping me? I want to find my own reason to fight, do it for a purpose that feels right to me.”

“Of course I will. Do you have anything in mind?”

You shrug and glance down to say, “Maybe something with the kids around here. There’s a lot that we don’t see as adults. Gotham doesn’t need more villains, and there’s enough child abuse and neglect to justify a hero of its own.”

“A hero?” Bruce repeats. He smiles as you nod.

Everything that your father did to you and planted in your mind is history, but you will do everything you can to save other kids from experiencing similar situations. With Bruce by your side through the day and Batman at night (and your father in an “unescapable maximum-security cell” at Arkham), you know you can be good. It’ll just take a little time and a lot of reflection… maybe some kisses from Bruce wouldn’t hurt either, you think.

[crazyvaleska]

Listen To Me | Jerome Valeska x GN! Reader

summary: you are jerome's psychiatrist at arkham asylum and after years of treating him he opens up about his childhood trauma

genre: angst

word count: 8479 (it's a long one folks! so get comfortable and grab ur popcorn & blanket! and tissues.)

warnings: cursing, self harm, mention of sexual assault & domestic abuse, mention of death & suicide, just a lot of angst in general. read at your own risk, you've been warned.

a/n: i started writing this back in august 2022 and finished it just now. been adding small paragraphs to this story every now&then. some paragraphs were written days apart while others were written weeks apart. i'm writing this bc i feel like there aren't many angsty stories with jerome. imo jerome isn't evil but broken. also having read his diary added up a lot to his character as it's pretty depressing. perhaps everyone has a different version of a certain character. here's my version of jerome.

also i got a tiny bit inspired by the harleen graphic novel and the joker movie for this !!

the playlist i was listening to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5E2lk49zurRTAaHq3Nz7FQ?si=7TQxYHDsQ0ypPYkIvlLCpw&utm_source=copy-link

jerome's thoughts are written like this btw!

enjoy! (or don't.)

A huge amount of people would say it is impossible to become a psychiatrist at 18. That must mean they've never been to Gotham City. Here anything is possible. Therefore, you had just graduated medical highschool when you were offered a job at Arkham Asylum and you had no choice but to take it. You were aware of the risks of working in a place surrounded by criminally insane lunatics, but you didn't really have another option. You needed a job. Besides, taking risks never ever scared you. Though many viewed Arkham as a spooky place, to you it was interesting. Treating mentally unwell criminals was challenging because you liked helping people, no matter who they were.

What you didn't know was that one of the patients you would have to treat was none other than the infamous Jerome Valeska himself, probably one of the most demented and wicked being Gotham City had ever know.

Yet, you thought his character was rather fascinating. After all, you had known Jerome for years.

Jerome Valeska. How do you even begin to explain Jerome Valeska?

You first met him right after he killed his mother, the first time he was in prison. Before he died. Before he was an infamous murderer. And you had to admit, he did become more intimidating as years passed by.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at first, same old story about the son committing matricide. Though, he never told you the entire story. You noticed he was uncomfortable and you didn't want to push, everybody had their boundaries and you respected that.

If you had to describe in one word the way he was acting in his firsts therapy sessions, you would use the word "flirty". Sort of. A mix of charisma and inappropriate jokes.

He told you he didn't plan on killing anyone else, claiming that the murdering of his mother was something personal. For some reason, you chose to believe him. Until Theo Galavan happened. It was like the Jerome you once knew had completely vanished. He was the same and a different person at the same time. You almost felt sorry for him. But then again, you weren't supposed to get attached to your patients. Jerome was charming and all, but he probably didn't feel the same way you did. He was just a kid after all, and so were you. Both 18. The only difference was, you were trying to cure insanity while he was trying to spread it.

A few days later he died. Actually, was murdered. Poor thing, you thought. You wished you had more time to know him. You wished you could've helped him. You knew small parts about him but not his entire story.

You had hoped you would forget him as time flew by, but you didn't. His evil crackle never left your dreams. It was always there. You could hear it all the time, as if he was trying to reach you. It was torturing you. Yet pleasant at the same time. You missed him, truth be told. But you knew he was in a better place now. Or so you thought.

That was until he was resurrected. Being honest, you weren't exactly surprised. This was Gotham City, after all. Everything was possible in Gotham. The actual shock was seeing him faceless and unconscious. You wondered how much strength does one require in order to be able to staple their face without passing out. Jerome's pain tolerance was so high, it concerned you.

By the time the ginger maniac was sent back to the Asylum, his face had been attached back to its place. He was hideously scarred now, wearing a permanent disturbingly bright smile. Although, to you he looked fine. Somehow attractive. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was simply your questionable taste in men. At the same time, he was much more intimidating now, much more grown. And as a result to him dying by being stabbed in the throat, his voice had also changed. It sounded more threatening now.

"It's good to have you back, Jerome!" you said in his first therapy appointment of the year, a warm, kind smile on painted on your lips.

His reply came out natural, "Well, at least someone missed me." but his face was expressionless and emotionless, and his voice numb, as if he had lost his spark.

To most, he was simply just out of his mind, a low-life criminal, but you felt there was more than that. You desperately wanted to know what made him the way he was, what made him turn to a life of crime, because you knew no one was born evil, not even in a city like Gotham (though he wasn't born in Gotham) it was usually the environment that could cause one's insanity. And you could see it in his eyes: he wasn't born bad. He was shaped evil, but not born evil. But then again, anyone could go insane with just one bad day.

Jerome was very charismatic, he could get anyone do whatever he wanted. Nevertheless, he was an amazing liar, you couldn't ever tell when he was speaking the truth and when he wasn't. He didn't seem to care about the way others felt and showed lack of remorse, he was impulsive and manipulative, deceitful and reckless. He was extremely narcissistic and showed lack of empathy towards others, and you had diagnosed him with Psychopathy Cluster B Personality Disorders and Schizophrenia. The ginger was on different medications. Sometimes he didn't take them, other times he did and not only his, but others' as well . You had told him multiple times how that was no good for him, but he never listened.

The thing about Jerome was, you never knew what he would be like in your therapy sessions. Sometimes you felt like you knew Jerome, but did you really? Oftentimes his behavior was passive aggressive, other times he would crack up jokes and you actually enjoyed his company, getting lost into his mesmerizing hazel eyes, as if you two were actually friends. Most of the times he just stayed quiet though, especially if you mentioned his family. Sure, he had no problem talking about killing innocents but once you switched the subject to the murdering of his mom, for example, he would tilt his head and pretend he didn't hear you or just say the same old story about her being mean, but you suspected it wasn't just that, you could see it in his eyes that part of him was still... hurt? His eyes spoke volumes. Although he always tried to hide it by pretending to be a God, deep down he hated himself. But of course he didn't want anyone else to know that, he didn't want to be seen as weak. Not anymore. He knew better than that. You noticed this thing about Jerome, he tried to act unbothered all the time but he always did this head tilting thing whenever he felt uncomfortable. Sure, Jerome was always surrounded by people, mostly his followers, but being around people doesn't mean you actually trust them. And you couldn't blame him for having trust issues considering he was stabbed to death by the only person he ever trusted. You could only imagine the feeling of betrayal he felt. That must have been traumatizing, but he had never ever addressed it.

One rainy Thursday the young Valeska told you he was upset because there wasn't any pudding left at the cafeteria. So the following day, Friday, you came up with an idea that could get you killed, but it was worth a try.

It was getting dark, your shift was over and you were supposed to go home. But instead of heading towards the Asylum's exit you found yourself walking towards its core, towards one certain inmate's cell, inmate E-146's cell: Jerome's cell. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous, because you were. You didn't have anything to defend yourself on you. If anything, you were aware you were walking towards something that could be mean your sudden death.

You did have to pay bribe to the prison wardens that guarded his cell. They warned you about the homicidal redhead, but you liked to believe you weren't scared of him. To you, Jerome wasn't scary-looking. What really scared you was his mind. You had read his criminal record thus you knew what he was capable of. Even though you tried to tell yourself he won't hurt you, truth was you had no idea what he'd do or say, he was unpredictable.

First time you stepped foot in his cell was an experience you weren't going to forget anytime soon. The room was smaller than you though it would be. Not that you were expecting any kind of luxury. But this was worse than anything you had ever imagined. The first thing you noticed was the extremely low temperature, it was bone-chilling. No wonder why Jerome sounded sick all the time. Four gray walls and a dark ceiling that looked like it could collapse over you at any given moment. A bed for one person that was placed next to a prison porthole and near it a small, cheap table with an old chair in front of it. The smell wasn't very welcoming either, you thought rats were the only thing missing from the picture.

Jerome didn't notice you initially, he was busy writing in something that appeared to be a notebook. You cleared your throat loudly, which made him jump. You caught him off guard, quite literally. He looked equally shocked and confused to see you.

"Whatcha doing here, doc?" the redhead asked as he sat up. He placed the pencil down and closed his book, then took small steps closer to you. Only now that you were both standing up at the same time you noticed how tall he actually was. In the therapy room, his arms were always folded together in a shinny white straightjacket that prevented him from harming the doctor before him. You had actually never seen Jerome with his arms free so close to you before. He was wearing his stripped prison uniform instead of that tight straightjacket and you could tell he was way more muscular than you thought, his hands were enormous, he could knock you out in a second. His looks should've alarmed you but for some reason they didn't. Actually, you were happy to see his body looked healthy. Everybody said he looked like a nightmare, but to you he was the opposite. You shook your head quickly trying not to think of that or anything potentially inappropriate.

You hitched your breath nervously as you took a few steps back. "I told you already, you can call me Y/N... Uh, yesterday you said there wasn't any pudding left for you so I thought I would...um ... I... well," you stuttered while searching for something in your bag. The man raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. You reached your hand out, holding a bowl of chocolate pudding, "I-I... I made it myself! And I paid the guards to leave..." you said in a low murmur.

The unsurety in your voice didn't go unnoticed and it made Jerome grin. He walked even closer to you and crossed his arms while nodding, "That's so brave of you, Y/N! But you do realize I could poke your eyeballs out and squash you like a bug right about.... now!" he hissed. The next thing you felt was your chin being lifted up by his gloved hand, holding it in a tight grip, forcing you to face him. You avoided looking directly into his eyes so you just stared at his hand. Unfortunately for you, that seemed to bother him, "My eyes are up here," he used his free hand to point at his eyes.

The fabric of his white glove was soft but his touch was aggressive and harsh, the clutch on your chin was hard, "... I just... I just came here to give you this, nothing more." At first, Jerome was very sceptical, not believing any of it. He even thought the pudding was poisoned and insisted on you having a try before he did. The rest was history.

That happened approximately one year prior. You had spent the last 12 months seeing Jerome 2 times a week: one time during his therapy appointments every Thursday, the other time every Friday night, when most of the Asylum's staff had gone home. You had stolen they keys to his prison cell and no one knew about your late at night meetings with the clown prince.

The first times everything was pretty awkward, Jerome used to search your bag and pockets for any sharp objects that you could potentially use against him. But with time he stopped doing that. Approximately after 6 months.

You mostly brought him food, especially sweets, Jerome loved candies but he wasn't allowed to eat those in prison. Sometimes you even played cards with him and he would win every game, the boy knew how to play the jokers, that's certain. He did make inappropriate jokes from time to time, but nothing that made you too uncomfortable. He never touched you or anything like that. Everything stayed platonic.

One time you attached a colorful self-made bracelet to his wrist. You had a similar one on yours. Jerome pretend he didn't like it, telling you that friendship jewels were a waste, but truth be told, he liked it, he wore it all the time, he liked playing with it beads. Of course, he made sure it stayed hidden underneath his sleeve. He didn't want anyone else to see him like that. He had a reputation to uphold. Thus sometimes he would threaten your life in a playful manner just because he was Jerome Valeska.

You had also noticed the ginger was great at arts and crafts so you brought him crayons. Lots of them. The previous week you even brought him a scissors after he had begged you to for weeks. He promised he wasn't going to hurt other prisoners with it. He was using those to draw and decorate his diary. You knew he had a personal journal that he had never showed you. But you were cool with that. Though you wished he could open up to you, you didn't want to push, you wanted him to talk to you because he wanted to, not because he had to. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to help him get better. You didn't feel that way about other patients. Obviously, you wanted to help them too, but with Jerome it was different. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you had grown some sort of crush on the maniac. You knew how wrong that was, but you couldn't help the way he made you feel everytime his eyes met yours or when he smiled at you. You came to the realization that Jerome wasn't half as bad unless he was surrounded by other loonies or by people he despised. He was quite chill aside from his maniacally laughter.

Although Jerome didn't own a watch, he simply knew what time you were supposed to show up. In fact, he had actually grown to like your little visits. At first he found all of this annoying and irritating, but with time he changed his mind. You weren't so bad after all. Actually, he was waiting impatiently each of your visits. You were nice to him. Not a lot of people were nice to him. Nobody, actually. Just you.

Therefore you being late one certain night didn't go unnoticed. Strange, Jerome thought at first. You had never been late before. Was this all? Did you spend all that time with him only to leave him like that? Did you replace him with another patient? Did you get bored of him? Did something bad happen to you, perhaps?

Jerome shook his head. He didn't like to picture you dead. Why was that? He loved everything about death and killing, blood and gore. Why did it bother him now? He promised himself he wouldn't get attached. No, no, Jerome Valeska didn't give a shit about anyone. He was heartless. A monster. Everybody said so, so then it must be true. So what if you died? Who cared? Not him, that's for sure. Yeah.

But then, why had he been walking circles in his small cell for minutes? Why was he breathing heavier and why did he have an awful gut feeling? And now how did he find himself in this position again? Sitting on his bed, facing the wall with teary eyes, clinching his fists anxiously and twiddling his trembling thumbs. There were drops of dark red blood on his already dirty mattress. Drops of blood between the beads of his bracelet. When did that happen? He could vividly remember when he started pressing the scissors down his wrist. It all happened so fast. He didn't even apply much pressure and yet he had managed to draw enough blood to cover his fingertips. How did he end up like this? Like a sobbing mess. Why did you do this to him? Why did you give him hope? He should've known better. Humans are deceitful beings. They lie and they never keep their promises. One day they love you, the next they don't need you anymore. So he really didn't learn anything from trusting Theo Galavan after all. He remembered it as clear as day. He thought he could finally be happy when Theo came along, gave him a proper bed and proper clothes. He was like the father he never had. But then his life flashed before his eyes as he dropped dead by the hand of the one man he thought was trustworthy.

Oh, dear ol' Jerome. Getting attached to the first person to treat him like a normal human being again. So all those times you took care of him were all on act. Of course. Why was he so stupid? Stupid enough to think anyone would ever care about him. Of course it was all a lie. He hated you. This was pathetic. Everyone was pathetic. Crying was pathetic. Crying was for the weak. Jerome wasn't weak. Not anymore. But what if, perhaps, you weren't even real? What if he had been imagining you the whole time? After all, it was all too good to be true. But maybe that's just the way life is: it hits you harder than a train truck, then you feel good for a while because you start doing things that distract you from how you truly feel, killings in his case. But then you realize you weren't ever really happy, just delusional and that makes you depressed again. It's like a never ending loop.

The boy shivered at his own thoughts. So many questions at the same time. His mind was suffocating him. But he liked it, didn't he? Or maybe did he just trick himself into thinking he liked it? He liked being sick, right? Who was he without his sickness? Pills. He needed more pills. The pills were never enough. If only he had enough pills to...

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the very familiar sound of his creaky door being unlocked then opened. Jerome knew this could mean one thing. He quickly wiped his teary eyes with his knuckles then clothed his fingers with his gloves. He cleared his throat, "Where were you?" he asked, his voice harsher than ever. He didn't want you to see him vulnerable. He tried to hide it. He didn't want to admit not even to himself he was somewhat worried. But, in fact, he had grown very fond of you. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't sure what he felt towards you. There's a very thin line between love and obsession. All in all, part of him was relieved once he heard your voice.

"I'm sorry, Jerome. I had some things to take care of. Things that involve you, actually," you closed the door behind you and took a few steps forward.

The last sentence got Jerome's attention so naturally he turned his head around to look at you. His stare was so intense it seemed like he was staring directly into your soul. His hazel eyes were so beautiful yet so terrifying, you couldn't stare at them for too long. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than ever and you wondered if he ever slept. It was your job to help him get better but it seemed that he was getting worse everyday, like he was losing himself therefore you were failing. But you had to pull him out of his misery. You had to.

"You threatened Oswald Cobblepot," Jerome couldn't help but snicker proudly at your remark before you could continue your sentence "And you also took his medicine. How many times have I told you that taking meds you don't need only makes things worse?" you paused but the boy didn't reply. He knew it was bad, he just couldn't help himself. You sighed "They want to change your therapist, Jerome. They don't think I'm doing a good job with you."

Jerome's face dropped, "As in you'll be replaced?" he asked and you nodded. No, this wasn't possible. You were lying, you had to be. First you're late, now this. The redhead jumped out of his bed and walked up to you, "You're lying."

"Jerome-" you started but he didn't let you finish.

"Don't you dare to Jerome me. You're an hour late and now you're telling me you wanna get rid of me?" his tone went from numb to mad in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry for the waiting, I'll try my best to keep you. I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die."

That only made Jerome crackle in an ironic manner "Oh please, Y/N. Don't make promises you know you can't keep. Empty promises. You're growing tired of me. It's funny, actually. I think this may be just my luck! Jeremiah promised he wouldn't leave too, but he did anyhow. And now you."

"Who's Jeremiah? I don't know what you're talking abo..." you felt like you couldn't breathe as panick took control over your body, "...why is there blood on your gloves?"

Shit, Jerome thought. "It's paint," he smiled but you knew he was lying the moment he tried to change the subject "Jeremiah's an old acquaintance, if you will."

"I never brought you paint..." you murmured. Then you remembered what you did bring him. The scissors. "You promised you won't hurt anyone with it..." you whispered.

Jerome shrugged, "I promised I wouldn't other inmates. I never promised I wouldn't hurt... myself...!"

Your eyes opened widely at the sudden realization. You covered your mouth with your fingers and your heart was beating impossibly fast while tears were filling your eyes. It was only now that you noticed his slightly puffy eyes too, "I'm so sorry... Jerome... oh God..." you muttered. He didn't look at you until he felt your hand on his.

Jerome hesitated to speak at first, "Oh, y'know... the scissors just slipped. I'm fine, really. No need to worry about me. If anything, I like bleeding out."

You knew that wasn't true. "I'm gonna get the doctor... we need to get it patched up."

"Then they'll know you're here."

"I don't care. I'll probably lose my job anyway. You hurt yourself, Jerome. You could get an infection. Fuck, I was supposed to help you get better but I didn't do shit! Now you're bleeding and it's all because of me-" you were cut off by Jerome's gloved hand covering your mouth.

"Shh. I'm fine, Y/N. It's not that serious. It's just... I don't feel safe when my scars are healed. I need to bleed to calm myself. It's like a part of me. It's my biggest comfort."

You tried to mumble something underneath his hand which made him frown, "I don't need your pity, Y/N. You're trying to weaken me, it won't work," he moved his hand, giving you the chance to speak.

"Please, Jerome. I care about you! I won't let you hurt yourself any longer!" you cried out. It was true. You would've done anything for him and it hurt you knowing he was harming himself. He thought he had it all under control but clearly he didn't. You were scared of what he could do to himself next. You couldn't just watch him destroying himself knowing you could've helped him.

Jerome shook his head repeatedly and covered his ears with his plams while circling around the room, mumbling things to himself. Eventually, his voice got louder and louder, "NO NO NO NO NO! No, you don't, stop saying that! Cut the bullshit, Y/N! You don't care about me, no one does! Jerome has no one, Jerome's all alone! It's how it's always been. It's how it's always gonna be. What the fuck do you want from me? Look at me! I have wanted to die for as long as I can remember. And guess what? When I finally did some jerks thought it'd be funny to bring me back to this shitty life! You think you understand me, but you don't! You can't save me, you can't fix me! What have you done to me? You cracked me! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!" he yelled as he shed a single tear.

His face turned red from all the rage and you could swear he was gonna kill you at that very moment, but he didn't. Instead, his body collapsed on the ground. He was hugging his knees while staring at the floor, with his back pressed against the cold wall. You had no clue what just happened but he looked defenseless, practically harmless right now. You knew this was risky, but you kneeled next to him then reached out your hand and caressed his shoulders which caused him to look at you. You didn't see a psychopath in his eyes anymore, just a frightened child. That wasn't the ginger maniac everybody feared. That was a poor boy stuck in his traumatic past.

"Let it out, Jerome. This is why I came here, so we could talk like 2 human beings. Help me understand you. I know I can't take your pain away, but you can talk to me," you whispered.

"I'm not a human being. I'm a monster, can't you see? Everybody fears me. I'm the monster parents tell their children about," he muttered quietly. Usually he said that proudly, but now it sounded as if he was ashamed, which was very out of character. What he felt at that very moment was confusion.

"You're not a monster, Jerome. I have this feeling that... you're misunderstood, like no one ever listened to what you had to say. I am here to listen and I promise I won't laugh or judge. But if you hold everything inside you it's only gonna get worse... Let it all out, please." you spoke in a soft murmur.

"I don't even know.... what I am supposed to say," Jerome sobbed.

"Anything that comes to mind, that upsets you, that you wanna get off your chest. What is that one thought that won't let you get rest at night? The things you always wanted to say but nobody ever listened to. The things you always tried to forget because it all hurt too much. I can see the depth and complicity of your character, Jerome. You're not evil. Your past is haunting you, isn't it? I can see it in your face, it was rough. So please, I just want to help you. And I won't tell anyone, you have my word."

The ginger glanced at you with furrowed brows, trying to keep track of his thoughts. He felt something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He felt helpless and he didn't know why. He didn't know why he suddenly no longer felt in control. Was it because you were the first person to actually look at his wounds concerned instead of laughing? Because you were willing to actually listen to what he had to say? No one had ever told him that before. Except for you. But he couldn't bring himself to entirely believe anyone could actually care about him. His chest was hurting and his heart was aching. He was tired of hiding.

"... okay, I'll tell you everything," he nodded his head eventually, "but I'll never tell this story again so you better be all ears."

You nodded while caressing his once-so-soft-cheek slowly. Initially he shuddered, then he closed his eyes and leaned in your touch, giving you permission to carry on. Tracing your fingers on his cold pale skin made you feel his every scar, but his scars didn't scare you, they never did. You could tell he wasn't used to this kind of stuff. He wasn't used to people treating him like a normal human being. He wasn't used to being touched unless the touch was meant to harm him. He hadn't even started talking but you just knew something terrible was about to come out of his mouth.

The man took a deep breath. He knew that once he started speaking he wouldn't be able to stop. He had been holding all in for so long, it all came out like word vomit.

"Jeremiah is my twin brother. He was always mother's favorite. Mother. Can I even call her that? No, she was never my mom. Lila Valeska never loved me. She never treated me like her son, not even when I was a baby. She had only one son and that was Jeremiah. I was just... there. Like a nephew she had to take care of or something. But not a son, no. She always said I ruined her life. Yeah, like it's my fault she had unprotected sex. But I could never understand why she praised Jeremiah all the time. What was so special about him? What was he doing so much better than me to get that kind of appreciation from mama when we were just 5 years old? I can only remember he was into maths and puzzles and that kind of shits from a young age. He pissed the hell out of me. But I didn't hate him. I mean, at the end of the day he was still my brother. And sometimes he would hold me while that whore was busy banging clowns the next room, assuring me that everything would be alright and that mother didn't actually hate me, promising me that one day we'll get out of the circus and live our best lives. What a dirty little liar...! And to think I actually used to believe his empty promises... Until he turned his back on me."

Jerome paused. His eyes were now filled with anger, you could tell he didn't like his brother much. Then he continued.

"It happened once we turned 7. Lila had hit me multiple times and I don't even remember what was the reason, but then again, it's not like she ever needed a reason to hurt me. Before this it was usually just slaps, but this time it was a proper beating. The sadness mixed with anger I felt at the time were too much to handle for a little boy. I had to somehow let it out, y'know? So... I started mutilating small animals. Soon I grew an interest in murdering them. And it felt... therapeutic. I know I should feel ashamed of this, but I don't. I never did. Hell, I even pretended they were her because I knew I wasn't strong enough to actually hurt her back. How fucked up I must've been to behave this way at 7, right? But things got complicated when Jeremiah found out. He said," Jerome talked in two different thin voices the next parts:

"... ' I understand your anger, 'Romie! I think it's quite interesting, really! '

I actually believed him and replied happily ' You think so, 'Miah? But please don't tell 'ma, she'll get really mad at me! My cheek still hurts from the last slap she gave me! '

' I would never! She hits me too sometimes, you know. But I don't know why she's so mean to you all the time! '..."

Jerome cleared his throat and went back to his usual tone "Well, he kept his promise, kinda. He didn't tell our mother but he told uncle Zach ―and let me tell you this― he was the WORST. Such cruelness in one man. He used to cook food for the other circus members, but he was an ex prisoner, spent years in jail for robbery and rape. Yeah, that's my fucked up uncle. He was a cook and yet I was always left to starve. Mind you but I used to be underweight 'cause of that.

Anyway ...! Dear ol' Zach thought I had gone psychopathic when little 'Miah showed him the dead animals' corpses, so he made sure he worked me over. And, of course, Lila made sure of that as well. And as if those injuries weren't enough, Jeremiah saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave the circus. He started spreading rumors about me kickin' and punching him, feeding my mom and uncle with funny stories about me threatening his life, when the truth is I never touched a hair of his. For him, those were the stories that were gonna get him out of that damned place we so called home. For me, those were the stories that were gonna ruin my life. Even though I tried to defend myself they never believed me, because after all I was the animal abuser while he was the perfect innocent son, with his little nerdy hamster glasses and fancy books and puzzles. And let's just say, it didn't end well for me when he would randomly bring up something that didn't even happen. He had totally brainwashed them and I was lucky if I could get away with just a slap or two. But they didn't abuse me just physically... verbally as well. The amount of times I heard them planning my murdering were countless. And maybe they should have done it. Maybe they should have murdered me. Instead, they used to remind me every single day that I was such a heartless psycho monster who's gonna cause nothing but disaster. Well, I guess they weren't exactly wrong with that one. I mean, just look at me now..." he narrowed his eyes.

"Nobody ever stood up for me. Nobody cared. Nobody. They always managed to cover it all up, they always told me to smile once they were done. I was known as Haly's Circus little sociopath. And Jeremiah? They'd always make sure he was treated right, that he got the best stuff, while I could be freezing at night and they wouldn't even notice.

On our 9th birthday our uncle decided to take Jeremiah to the city away from me so he could celebrate his birthday properly and left me with my mom and her partner at the time. The got drunk and had sex all day, not caring that I was in the same room, beating the shit out of me afterwards. And when I had finally managed to get out of that hell of a trailer, my father ―I didn't know he was my father back then, but he knew I was his son― didn't even try to comfort me, he simply told me to suck it up because nobody cared. And he was right. This world indeed doesn't care about me or anyone else. But for a child? Damn, that hurt. And I suppose it's even sadder now knowing he was my dad...

Moving on, by the time we were almost 10 his lies got worse and worse, and so were the beatings. According to him I had tried to poison him and to light his bed on fire. One time he injured his knee when he fell on the ground, but later lied about me pushing him down the stairs. But the last straw was when he lied about me holding a cake knife to his throat on our 10th birthday. My uncle almost broke my ribs for that and my mom repeatedly kicked my stomach with her legs. Honestly, I can't really remember that day. All I know is that they decided it would be the best if uncle Zach took Jeremiah away while I was asleep. And I'm not gonna lie, I was pleased when I saw they both left, but little did I know that it was only gonna get worse for me.

Haly's Circus is a nightmare dressed like a daydream. A lot of fucked up things happened there. I hated that place. And with Jeremiah gone, she started drinking more and more, and got more aggressive. She got pissed at every little thing I did and made sure I received punishment. Did I forget to do that dishes? She'd kick me. Forgot to take out the trash? She'd slap me across the face. Didn't feed her snake? She'd punch me. Was breathing too heavily for her liking or my existence simply bothered her? She'd beat me till my vision was blurry or till I coughed in my own blood. I did try to get help from the cops, but guess what! They didn't give 2 shits! Ya see, the system is so corrupt they don't care unless someone's been murdered. They made fun of me and I understood no one could ever save me, I was the only one that could free myself from the pain."

You stood quiet when Jerome removed his gloves. You hadn't seen his hands unclothed in a very, very long time. Last time you saw his bare fingers was before he died. His veins were more noticeable now, among with multiple half healed blueish bruises he had probably given himself. Seeing Jerome without his gloves felt like him breaking a wall between the two of you. Like he trusted you. Like he trusted you enough for you to see him at his lowest. He needed to trust you enough to tell you everything. The scarred man was silent for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to describe the next part of his story that made you feel like throwing up.

"On my 14th birthday one of Lila's hookers...how do I say this... one of her hookers touched me, Y/N. Like, parts he shouldn't have touched... And... she was there, watching. She didn't do anything to stop him, she didn't even try. I was crying and screaming and begging her to make him stop. She just laughed. Her awful witch-like laugh followed by her favorite line: ' shut up! boys don't cry! '. And afterwards she just left with him for the night and before that she told me to smile. Smile. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel my body. The only thing I could feel were his hands all over my body... To put it into words, I felt worthless and helpless. Smile," Jerome smiled weakly through the tears as he repeated his mother's words, hugging his own body, "Smile. I was smiling that night. I was smiling when I tried to kill myself. It was all too much, I couldn't handle it. My life was a living Hell I started to believe Hell itself couldn't be that bad. So... I just took a bunch of her pills and I thought that was it, I thought I was finally gonna die. I smiled because I thought everything was finally going to end. Sadly, I survived. After taking the pills I dropped down to my knees and then... I don't know. I can't really remember anything except the fact I woke up with a terrible headache. Did she notice? Nope. Did those pills have had an effect on me? Absolutely.

I didn't have anyone to comfort me anymore. Not that Jeremiah was ever a great comfort, but it was better than nothing. I didn't have any friends, 'cause who would wanna befriend the freak who tried to murder his twin and massacred tons of pets? And if anyone tried to get close to me I would push them away. Literally. Push them. Because what was the point in denying my violent urges? Everybody thought I was the villain already anyway."

Jerome paused to blow his nose into a handkerchief you handed him. You were at loss of words. This was a lot to process and Jerome's voice was now shaky. It was painful to hear his life story, it was painful to look at him now, to stare at the helplessness in his eyes. Tough people always have the most heartbreaking pasts.

"I used to cry myself to sleep every night, but I barely managed to fall asleep knowing that she could strangulate me when her snake in my sleep, and I low-key hoped she would so my suffering could end already. But when I did manage to fall asleep I ended up getting a... What was that called? Oh yeah, sleep paralysis. She was the demon suffocating me. Even now... I can't ever properly fall asleep. I'm always half awake. Actually forget I said that... Stupid! stupid...." he cried while gripping on his ginger hairs, scratching his thin pale skin with his sharp nails.

"Jerome," you whispered and took his hands in yours, "it's not stupid. Your emotions are valid. Please, carry on."

The boy nodded and did as you said, "At some point I just stopped talking because my body was hurting so much. I started isolating myself from everything and everyone. Because you see, people like me, we're put in this world for one thing: to suffer. The only thing that made the pain go away for a while was the thought of torturing her, cutting her open and feeding her snake with her organs then bathing in a pool of her blood and maybe sending her bones to Jeremiah. All I know is that I was so sick and tired of her calling me names and spitting on my face, beating me up till I bled, abusing me, banging my head against the wall, ripping my hairs off, punching me with her cold fists, slapping and pinching my skin, throwing empty alcohol bottles at me and kicking my bones. And when she was done with beating me, she'd always call over one of her sex partners to have some fun. I was tired of having to hear her moans as she was getting railed the next room. But I knew better than disturbing her, because if I did she'd invite her lovers to beat me too... or worse. I just had to keep quiet because if I behaved she'd leave me alone for a day or two.

But in time I got used to it. The beatings and all. It didn't even hurt that much anymore. The psychical wounds healed eventually, but the emotionally ones were always there. She didn't even need to get physical, her words were enough to torture me, they were like poisson. Her words cut deeper than a knife. When she wasn't the one hurting me I was hurting myself. That's so messed up, I know. But what isn't messed up about me or my life? I just couldn't help it. I had grown addicted to watching myself bleed. It's like... that was my only comfort. My sadness, my pain... Bugs. There were bugs on my skin, crawling on it. One second they were there, the next they weren't. I had to peel some of my skin off just to make sure. But I liked it. I think. It looked pretty. Such a pretty shade of red...! I could've stared at it for hours. Don't know if I was high or if I just had lost touch with reality. Or maybe both.

I just wished she would just kill me already and be done with it, 'cause it was better to be dead than to be alive and suffering. I just wished that everything would go quiet once and for all. My mind was like a prison I could not escape. My mind was the darkest place. The negative thoughts, they were always there. The voices telling me to do horrible things to myself. People screaming. A thousand voices howling in my head all the time. Dead people. I saw dead people everywhere. I couldn't control it.

Nobody cared about me, so who would've noticed if one day I just disappeared from this world? If one day I just stopped breathing? Definitely not her. If anything, she'd beat my corpse. I mean, she didn't even notice my first attempt.

That's what I told myself as I tried to slash my veins. But then I heard it," his face suddenly lit up, "That voice. The voice. The only comfort I ever had was that voice in the back of my head. That voice that grew louder as the years passed by. That voice that was giving me hope saying ' your day will come, your revenge will come, you just have to be patient '. And I had done my waiting. All the suffering, all the abuse I was forced to endure were about the end. I wasn't gonna let her win. Little did that whore know her beatings gave me strength and a high pain tolerance. Suddenly, all the fear I ever felt towards her turned into hatred and anger. She was going to pay for everything she had ever made me go through. People call me insane but they don't know my insanity gave me strength to save myself from that Hell I used to call home.

So, by the time I was 16 I had already started planning her murdering. I started working out and made better meals for myself so I'd be sure I was stronger than she was. I wanted to no longer be skinny. I had also made the perfect plan to kill her and get away with it.

So on my 18th birthday, like a birthday gift for myself, if you will, I grabbed an axe and chopped her off, hitting her repeatedly with it, digging it up and down into her skin. The first stab was the hardest one, but once I saw blood drawing out I just couldn't stop. I laughed as I did. Seeing her like that, lifeless and all covered in blood made me shiver in a good way. It was like feeling a brand new emotion. I was...happy? Entertained? I had finally given in that voice, I was finally free! That day I promised myself that I would come after my brother and uncle too, they also needed to pay for the way they'd treated me. And after that I'd be finally free to kill myself... I know how fucked up that sounds, but now that you know what they put me through, I hope you understand why I had to do it. There was no other way. One of us had to go. I killed her because she deserved it, self defense really. You get it, right? Tell me you get it, please."

You nodded while massaging his thumbs. His eyes were red and so were yours. You were both crying. Jerome couldn't believe he just told you all of that. He had never told anyone about any of that before. Did he say too much? Did you not want to be near him anymore?

"Jerome, I don't even know where to begin... you are such a strong person, really. You didn't deserve what happened to you. It wasn't your fault. You were just a child, none of this was your fault. No one ever treated you like a human being. No one ever gave you a chance. It's like you were forced to be evil, you didn't have a choice. They made you evil. They turned you into the villain. Of course you snapped eventually. I can't blame you. I would've done the same if I were in your shoes. No one ever gave you the chance to tell the full story. I wish I could take it away. All the pain, all the suffering... Oh, Jerome... I can't even begin to describe how bad I feel for you. Your heart has endured way too much at a way too young age. It's not you who is the monster. It's them. You had and have every right to kill them, I'll even help you. Jerome... I'm so proud of you for staying alive. Jerome, please remember that you matter. You matter to me. I see you, Jerome. I see you for who you are. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? You are a very, very handsome boy."

"Even with the scars?"Jerome smiled, his eyes puffy from crying. Not a threatening or disturbing smile. A genuine smile that made you smile too.

"Absolutely. Your scars just show how strong you are. Your scars make you prettier. I myself ain't a strong person but... I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, you've been through enough. And I won't let you hurt yourself either. Because I care. And you can trust me with anything, Jerome. Let me be the one person that makes you feel like home. Please." you got lost in his gaze. Words weren't enough to express what you felt. So you just hugged him. A gentle, loving hug. Jerome wasn't a touchy person in general, but he gave in and hurled himself into your warm embrace. Soon he was holding you so close to him like he was never going to let you go. Then he cried more. And louder. He cried on your shoulder and you patted his back. This was all new to him, he was still confused by the way he was acting. But it just felt right. He felt safe at last. He wondered if you were an angel sent from Heaven to rescue him. You scooped him up in your arms. Yours arms were tight around him, his head on your chest. He needed this. He needed to feel okay. He needed feel loved and accepted. You held each other for so long you could feel each other's breathing, and you weren't going to let go of each other anytime soon.

"Thank you for listening."

[slytherin-ghost]

Hello, hope you are having a good day/night?

I was wondering if you could do a batfam x villian Bruce Wayne biological son?

This is just an idea i love angst

Like Bruce didn't know about him and he was raised by villain's and can control blue fire. He hate heros and villains. He probably feels that heros are supposed to save those in need but why did no one save him? A childish part of him wants to be saved and loved but what kind of idiot would give a villain a second chance specially him, a villain that have both heros and villains hate?

Hi! I'm doing good! Thanks for the ask!

I didn't know if you wanted a specific villain so I did Hugo Strange and Joker. Also, the reader is about 15 - 16 years old

Flashbacks are in bold

Warnings: Violence, fire, absent father, absent mother, angst, PTSD(?), crying, Hugo Strange being a d!ck, child abandonment, yelling

Why did no one save me?!

You ran across the roof tops and jumped building to building, you didn't look behind yourself, making sure you got far away from Arkham Asylum as possible. Once you got far enough, you stopped and took a breath the adrenaline running out. Sitting next to a tree.

It was a normal night. You had to talk to a psychiatrist, not expecting it to be Hugo Strange.

"So lets talk about your father did you know him?" Strange asked

"No." you replied, the Joker raised you after your mother and her new boyfriend ran away because they owed Joker some money.

"Biological father perhaps?"

"No." He didn't know you existed, apparently he "saved" your mother somehow. As far as you knew he wasn't a hero, none of the heros were actually heros. If they were why did they help you?

Strange asking about your father isn't what pushed you over the edge. It was him asking about heros.

You gently lit a branch from the tree on fire. The blue flames escaping your hand. The fire spread across the tree making the whole thing trapped in the flames. You leaned against it. Your power of fire didn't affect you.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as a figure stood in front of you. "Hello there." You greeted looking up at the Batman. "Come to take me back to Arkham?"

"Listen, your just a kid. You need professional help." The Batman stated

"Help from who the heros?! The heros who were supposed to help me but never did!" Fire grew in your hands the angrier you got before you threw it at the man in front of you.

He quickly fought back. Dodging every attempt that you made to hit him. At some point, Batman got a good hit on you knocking you out.

Bruce, not Batman, Bruce looked down at your body. He felt sorry for you. He got some of your backstory from Hugo Strange. He felt obligated to help you. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents. At least he had Alfred growing up, you had no one of a crazy clown.

He picked up your body and sat you in the back of the bat mobile.

Once back in the cave, Bruce took some of you DNA. You had a resemblance to his looks. "Your sure, he's going to be happy about you helping him?" Dick asked "No." Bruce replied. The boys had joined Bruce in the cave "Can't imagine what he went through, being raised by the joker." Jason commented. There was a ding signaling that the DNA test was done.

Bruce froze after reading the results.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

A few hours after you woke up you looked around. Unfamiliar with your surroundings. "Your up." A voice remarked. "Yes. I am." You replied "I wanted to talk to you about something." The voice said as Batman stepped forward. "Your parents. Do you remember anything about them?" You shook your head. "I was able to track you father." Batman stated. Your dad? How?

"Really?"

Batman nodded and removed his cowl "I'm your father." Batman was Bruce Wayne and your father!

Anger began to grow inside you again. "Your my father?! But your a hero?!" You yelled "You a hero but didn't dome to help me!"

Bruce sighed, "I would've if I knew about you. Your mother never told me." He said "But I'd like to help you now. I have four other boys that I'd helped-"

"You helped other boys but not me?!"

"Yes but I-"

"Why didn't anyone help me! When I needed help! No one came!"

Tears came to your eyes

"Screw your help! I can help myself if I need help!" And you left...

Bruce sighed and sat down. The boys. Dick,Jason, Tim and Damian felt sorry after hearing what happened.

They made a deal to find you that night.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Part 2?

Thanks for reading! I would like to make a part two if anyone wants me too. Please let me know if I missed any warnings.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Helping you overcome your fears of mental hospitals || ScarecrowXoc Prompt

Imagine being afraid of the very place designed to help you. That was your problem, you didn't want to be admitted, not again, not ever.

This fear hid in your heart for years as you struggled mentally, and little did you know, but one day someone was going to change your outlook. His name is Jonathan Crane, and he's your partner.

You two have been dating for some time, and while you've told him bits and pieces, you never gave the whole story. You didn't think this would last. Luckily for you, it did last and Jonathan knew more than what you were letting on. He's quite good at that.

One day, while the two of you were having some lunch in your apartment, he asked you a series of questions, prodding you. He's not the BEST at helping, but he doesn't see it that way. He's the type to put a spider in someones hair to help them overt come arachnophobia. It doesn't work that way, unfortunately.

He suggested you see a doctor at Arkham, which to you, seemed like too much and made it confirmation that he thought you where crazy, or at least too depressed to deal with. You didn't want to be admitted to a mental hospital, but especially NOT ARKHAM. In your mind, that was a real fear, and the loss of autonomy would be paralyzing. You knew those doctors used dirty tricks. Even Jonathan uses the same tricks. Wait...was this a trick? He seemed genuine in his words, but you know better.

Jonathan assured you that he would stay with the doctor during sessions, and that you could trust him. You don't have to unload your whole life's story, it's -just- an intake.

That didn't help much, you told him. You hated those places, the grey walls and dingy floors, the padded socks and the whole, only the irredeemable end up here, vibes.

But Jonathan was determined to help, he actually LIKED you and that's saying something for doctor no friends Crane.

Later that week you two walked into the asylum, nicely enough, hand in hand. He handled the paperwork, he talked to the receptionist. He made it easy. Well, as easy as being admitted to a mental hospital can be.

What helped in the moment, aside from some fidget toys, was the fact that you went to a part of Arkham reserved for the general public. It's not like you're in a cell next to Joker. You're in a room with a couch, some toys, low comfortable lighting and a box of tissues and mints. It doesn't seem so scary, yet.

Your therapist was nice, lotta questions, but anytime you felt anxious you squeezed Jonathan's hands and he comforted you with a forehead touch or soft cheek kiss. He even asked you if you wanted him to attend future appointments, or if you would rather go alone.

You'd make that choice later, but either way, you knew he was on your side. Arkham now, doesn't seem so scary. It's not as sterile as other places you've been, and perhaps not nearly as bad as the public and rogues make it out to be. Maybe the doctors truly do care. At least, the one assigned to you did.

They reassured you that you are not being admitted to a room at the end of the session, but that they would like to see you make a few appointments for future visits. This is YOUR choice. You can even go somewhere else around the state, should you desire. You could go private practice, or whatever you are comfortable with. They made it clear that you are not in danger or being trapped in this place. You are a human with rights and needs. They simply want to help

And Scarecrow? Well, he wouldn't don a costume unless you were in danger. he was going to support you in this journey, and thankfully no additional spiders in your hair!

You knew that day, as you stepped out into the sunlight, that he loved you.

[yu-huuuu]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯'

[ 🌸 ] ...

characters: jason todd;; some character mentions  

genre: light angst that becomes in a happy ending

warnings: gn!reader, may be inspired in Jason from arkham asylum

- - -

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑦.

- - -

- - -

- - -

- - -

He was short of air in his lungs.

Jason wanted to breathe, he really wished he could breathe again and feel the air filling his lungs, but his body wasn't responding anymore.

He knew what it was, he knew what was happening. It was a fucking panic attack. He had still been able to get away from you, hold back the fear he felt, just so he wouldn't be a burden to you. Jason still had time to run from you before it started.

His head, which before only thought of you and the beautiful memories that you spent together today, was filled with the bad memories of the past. How that despicable human being dressed as a clown tortured and destroyed him in the old establishment of Arkham Asylum, the beatings, the cruel words spoken; it all came back in great waves to him.

The mark, with a large 'J' shape etched into his already scarred face, only reaffirmed the cruel reality he had to face before you. The little panic attack he was cruelly suffering from had turned into a much bigger and heavier one. Little black dots gradually clouded his vision, his mind already disturbed by fear filled, this time with horrible memories.

His knees finally gave out, the lack of air was becoming exhausting. Jason felt like the world of him was crushing him little by little, and then a voice—your voice was calling out to him. Perhaps you had been alerted by the sound of him falling to the hard, cold bathroom floor. 

Or maybe Jason's soft gasping for breath was what gave him away.

You were holding him, cradling him against your warm chest as you said comforting words to bring him back to you. Jason didn't know how much time had passed, but when he came to, when he came back to you, he knew he was safe.

“Jason, keep breathing. I'm here, nothing will hurt you, I promise" 

He did what you told him to do. His lungs slowly filled with air again, his mind, which had been disturbed by bad memories before, calmed down slowly but surely. 

 He wanted to laugh, despite not knowing how to fight, despite being small and not having enough strength to beat someone up, you were promising him that nothing and no one would harm him, not while you were there with him.

 And god, it was working. 

Only you could make him feel safe like this. 

 He kept breathing for several more moments, and finally the weight of his own world stopped feeling so heavy. 

 It was when Jason realized that despite everything, you would be there for him. To help him breathe when everything in him collapsed. 

He knew because you never abandoned him, you never let him go. 

This was not the first nor would it be the last time that this would happen to him, but as long as you were by his side, supporting him and protecting him from the horrible past that still haunted him some nights, Jason could continue.

 And he could keep breathing, once again.

[batmanie]

maybe 43.  “Your muscles are in knots. Better let me rub you down.” with ak scriddler..? only if u want to of course

Uncharacteristically quiet, Edward was resting in Scarecrow’s favorite spot on the tattered corduroy couch. The said, sorry piece of furniture was placed in the middle of the claustrophobic, windowless space that was the Master of Fear’s current ‘base of operations’. A storage unit for rent wasn’t really meant for people to live in, which made it a perfectly good hideout – or so Jonathan Crane thought.

Yet, the Riddler had apparently found it with ease.

The man in green was sitting with his arms crossed, saying nothing – looking like a ticking bomb about to explode. It bothered Crane a bit, but not as much as it thrilled him. Unusual behavior in his patients had always been his favorite subject to study.

He didn’t ask Nigma a single thing as he joined him on the couch, he simply watched the man taking off his heavy boots and stretching out his legs – making himself comfortable as if he owned the place.

Coming to Scarecrow’s lair tonight was not a part of their arrangement. They used to schedule quick hookups every now and then, but this visit was a surprise.

In fact, Jonathan would have thought Edward to lay low for a while, especially after his recent break out from Arkham. Riddler seeking out Scarecrow and then not proposing any scheme, and not even saying what he wanted? It didn’t quite add up.

Curious, doctor Crane tried to be discrete as he studied the man’s face for more answers.

Perhaps this silent treatment was a game of sorts? Knowing Riddler, everything was but a game, and the childish man never wanted to lose.

Recently, there were rumors about the Riddler getting ill, refusing to eat and suddenly collapsing in his cell at the asylum. Rumors had it, the man had been hospitalized, however, this seemed to be the part of Edward’s escape plan as he had broken out from the medical wing, no longer than a few days after these events.

Edward didn’t look sick, he looked like he always did with his wrinkled forehead, short brown hair and his clean-shaven chin. But he was too quiet. His gaze, usually intense, seemed kind of absent – or maybe he deliberately avoided Crane’s preying eyes?

He didn’t look sick but he did look stressed out, clutching both his elbows with his trembling fingers. He was holding his breath, as if he waited for the right moment to say something reckless.

Jon knew something was up, yet, he didn’t care to ask.

Finally, after a few long minutes passing between them in a complete silence, Riddler decided to speak up. “I… I’m here to…” he faltered and bit down his lower lip.

Jon had never seen Edward struggling to share his mind like this before.

“You’re tense,” he stated the obvious, cutting Nigma off and making him turn his head to look at Jon. There was a hint of surprise in his gaze. Surprise and something else, akin to sadness.

“I have to tell you…”

“Don’t,” Jon interrupted, trying to keep his voice neutral but it still came out rude.

Edward stared at him, eyes wide. Shocked? Or a little scared maybe?

“It can wait,” Jon added, this time much softer. “I can see you’re quite stressed out, darlin’.”

He reached out to touch Edward’s left arm, to feel how tense his body was under his green blazer.

“Your muscles are in knots. Let me rub you down first.”

There was an unspoken question in Riddler’s eyes, and even more hesitation in his body language.

The man licked his own lips and sighed heavily. “Fine,” he nodded, lacking any signs of appreciation for Jon’s generous offer.

Scarecrow stood up from his own couch, making space for Nigma to lay down on his stomach across the dirty cushions.

Burying his face in the fabric of a pillow, Edward hid himself from the world, and from Jonathan’s gaze.

The doctor didn’t mind, he approached his guest from behind, trying to straddle his back, however, with his stiff, injured left leg dangling from the couch, this position turned out to be extremely uncomfortable for Scarecrow.

He didn’t say a word of complaint, and in return he heard a muffled sound of discomfort coming from the man beneath him. A pleasant little noise, indicating that Jonathan’s body weight, unimpressive as it was, still didn’t go unnoticed.

Getting to the task, Jon placed both hands on Edward’s back, letting him get used to the touch. After a second or two, he moved his long, slender palms up to the man’s upper back. Making small circles, he concentrated on the neck muscles, pressing a little harder wherever he felt stiffness.

He was patient and methodical in his work, as he knew patience was everything when dealing with the Riddler. And in due time, he got results.

Edward visibly relaxed, his body became less tense and more accustomed to Jonathan’s touch. The small sounds of pain and discomfort turned into relieved exhales. Jon was pleased with his work.

He was starting to like this new, silent Edward, who for once was not arguing or correcting Jon. He thought, he could get an advantage from Riddler’s unexpected visit, and his strangely agreeable mood. There was more than one way to help him relax, and why not making this evening enjoyable for both of them?

He was playing with this tempting idea in his head when he noticed something worrying. Edward’s breathing pattern had changed, suddenly turning uneven.

Scarecrow paused, observing Riddler’s reaction with a hint of concern.

The man, who so far kept his both arms buried under the cushion, now had them trembling slightly. His face was still hidden from Crane, but judging by the sounds he made, it seemed that Nigma was… sobbing?

This caught Scarecrow off-guard. A display of emotions, not triggered by his fear toxin, was not something that happened often between the two of them. They weren’t even that close. They might have this friends with benefits relationship going, but it was always more about the benefits than being friends.

Confused, Crane froze in place. Was he supposed to do something? Say something? Or just walk away?

The situation at hand took him far out of his comfort zone. He was unwilling to deal with Nigma’s emotional crisis right now, even though he was probably the most capable person to deal with such a thing – having a doctorate in psychology.

He didn’t want to be in this position, but it wasn’t right to leave Edward like this either. Sincere or not, he could do as much as to spare a few empty words of consolation for his pathetic partner.

“Edward…?” he started and immediately regretted it, not being able to empathize with the other man in any way.

“It’s alright, Edward,” he finally told him.

“No, it’s not!” Came the angry reply.

Then, after a few shaky breathes, there was a familiar, high-pitched voice again: “Riddle me this. I’m silent as the deepest sea. I’m laying still but cannot sleep. You shall commit me to the Mother Earth, for I have already turned to dirt. What am I?”

Scarecrow said nothing.

He didn’t wish to know the answer. If ignorance was bliss… what was knowledge?

He didn’t ask for this riddle and he didn’t ask what exactly was wrong with Edward. What did it matter anyway? Whatever it was, Jon couldn’t do a damn thing about it!

He had no words of comfort, no compassion in his heart. He had nothing to offer Edward under this circumstances. And what did Edward even expect from him in the first place?

Instead of answering the riddle, he continued to rub the man’s back in the gentlest, most sensual manner he possibly managed.

It was the least he could do for Edward.

Being a villain meant dying alone.