#arkham night imagine

[mad-hunts]

[batmanlovesnirvana]

— FROM “Before the Batman: an Original Movie Novel (The Batman 2022)”.

written by David Lewman’s

AN : ‼️‼️ THIS IS NOT MY WORK. It’s a prequel original movie novel written by David Lewsman’s and it is canon to the film. It also includes an exciting original story of Bruce Wayne's early adventures on his way to becoming The Batman.

All rights go the creators and Warners Bros !

00 — Prologue.

Bruce felt strange being back in the old house.

He and his parents had lived in the mansion, Wayne Manor, until he was six years old. Then they’d donated their sprawling home to Gotham City to serve as an orphanage and moved into their current residence, Wayne Tower.

Now he was ten years old, and his father, Thomas Wayne, was running for mayor. His dad had decided to announce his candidacy at the orphanage. So Bruce and his parents had returned to their former home for a visit.

As they climbed the grand staircase to the second floor, Bruce remembered playing on the stairs. He saw the door to a closet and recalled crouching behind the hanging coats for a game of hide-and-seek, waiting for his mother to find him, laughing. It was a big house, full of great places to hide. Even though he liked their new home in Wayne Tower, Bruce realized he missed the old house. He’d been happy there. Seeing it again, he felt a kind of ache.

Upstairs, in what had once been a ballroom, the orphanage’s choir stood on risers, singing a medley of patriotic songs. The Waynes had called the long hall “the party room,” only using it when they entertained large numbers of guests. But when it was empty, Bruce had played in the big room, rolling toy race cars across the gleaming wooden floor all by himself. The floor didn’t seem as shiny now as it had then, when it reflected the light from the sparkling chandeliers hanging overhead. Bruce glanced up. The chandeliers had been replaced with sturdier, more practical light fixtures. They were a little dusty.

TV cameras were set up to capture his father’s announcement for the evening news. Reporters from newspapers and magazines waited with recorders and notepads. Photographers snapped pictures. Thomas Wayne’s campaign manager handed out copies of his remarks. Orphanage staff members looked around nervously, hoping everything would go smoothly. The residents had been warned repeatedly to be on their very best behavior.

The medley came to an end. The woman conducting the choir turned toward the cameras and smiled. There was scattered applause from the small group gathered for the candidate’s announcement. The reporters weren’t sure how to react to the music. They’d come for a news event, not a concert.

Now that the orphans had stopped watching their conductor, Bruce felt as though they were all staring at him. There’s the rich kid who used to live here, they were probably all thinking. The billionaire’s son. Bruce wanted to look away, stare at the floor. But he knew his parents were counting on him to make a good impression, so he looked back at the kids in the choir. They’re weren’t all looking at him, too excited by the TV cameras and photographers to care that much about a ten-year-old kid in an expensive suit.

Except for one boy.

He was scrawny, with aviator-style wire-rimmed glasses. His clothes seemed a little too big. They were hand-me-downs he hadn’t grown into yet. And he was looking straight at Bruce. Why is he staring at me? Bruce thought. Do I look weird or something? He wished the kid would look away. But then he felt sorry for the guy, living in an orphanage without any parents. Even though he didn’t really feel like smiling, Bruce forced himself to give the kid a friendly smile.

The kid continued to stare. He didn’t smile back. 

Should I post other parts ? Lmtk.

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

My inbox/asks are open to collage ideas for just about anything, particularly any of Cillian’s characters. Drop me a line 💌

[awkwardknight]

Here's an unarmoured dragon!AK

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

imagine Jason sleeping with reader and having to rest his hand on their neck. He just wants to feel their pulse at all times, terrified of them disappearing .

The Blood In Your Veins

Hi nonnie. Kinda tweaked this ask because holding your throat feels more AK!Jason Todd to me. Sorry if you're not an Arkham Knight fan! ~500 words

The Arkham Knight sleeps with a hand wrapped around your throat, fingers pressed to your beating pulse. Night after night, his hand stays there, unmoving, unrelenting. If you try to move, his grip only grows tighter, a reminder to stay in place. To stay next to him where he can feel the blood pulsing through your veins.

He knows you try to be understanding, try to close your eyes and slip into sleep. But you can't. It feels like a threat, a promise that you can't go anywhere, even if you wanted to. And maybe it is.

He needs to feel the beat of your life against his skin. He needs to know that this is real, and not another twisted vision his mind conjured in the asylum. It's not an escape. It's not just a fantasy he's imagining to pretend he's not trapped with the clown.

He'd never admit it, never tell you that you're the reason he still has anything left of his sanity. That he'd pretend he was somewhere safe, with you, every night the torment got too much. Somewhere he wasn't beaten and abandoned and cold.

So, he needs this. Needs you. Needs the soft and the warm and the steady you always bring. Even if you try to shift out of his grip, even if you try to guide his hand to hold somewhere else. Nothing else makes him feel here, in this moment. His fingers have to rest around your throat.

The Arkham Knight would never hurt you, never try to limit your air or make you choke. But he can't stop himself from squeezing, sometimes. Your pulse just feels stronger against his skin when he does. He can get closer to the steady pumping in your veins, feel the way your heart rate accelerates. He feels alive. You feel alive.

It's best when you finally fall asleep, when your breathing slows and you melt into his touch, any apprehension or uncertainty gone. He exists for moments like these. When your soul is completely under his hand, when he can stroke the pads of his fingers over your pulse and just know.

It's the only thing that keeps the nightmares away now. You. Your life. He'd bury himself into your chest if he could, anything to get closer to the pounding against your ribs. He wraps himself around you at night, face buried in the junction where your shoulder meets your neck, resting over your heart, or hidden in your hair. He tangles your legs with his or hikes your thigh over his hip. Whatever gets you closest.

But one thing always stays the same, his hand finds a way to settle on your throat. Nothing feels more right than when his arm snakes past your chest so he can hold your neck and pull you to him. He'd keep you like this forever if he could.

You'll understand, eventually, even if you don't know now, you're the only peace he has left.

[vodrae]

Asexual Jason Todd is actually the secret weapon of Batman.

Let me explain.

Every major female foes of the Bat used their sex appeal at one moment to distract the police, Arkham guards...

But, imagine Ivy increasing again and again and again the power of her pollen and Red Hood does not react. Maybe sneezing.

Circea trying to play whith his mind and

"Wtf are you doing ? Stop moving your hands like that."

Every teen heros getting caught lurking on Kori or Power Girl and he doesn't understand why those idiots can't start the meeting. Wtf does "My eyes are here" even mean.

Evil foreigner billionaire sending a spy to seduce the oldest boy in the family still in Gotham to steal informations on WayneTech and after a party of dancing and talking, with innuendos bigger than his arms, the dude takes back the girl in his plaza room to be sure she's safe and fall asleep on the floor.

Meanwhile the spy doesn't know if she lost her talents of if Jason has a really strong mind.

If Jason was Batman from the start, first encounter with catwoman, take 1 :

"What arrre you going to do, arrrest me ?

- Yes.

- Wait, what ?"

Jason going to college and always being invited to girls night when they're going to bars or nightclubs because they have a 6'6 werewolf with them to dissuaded the other guys and they feel secure because they can't recall one time he tried something that made them uncomfortable, or just something in fact.

Never hit on a girl, loves litterature, takes great care of his body...Jason Todd is the only gothamite unaware he's a gay icone.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Congratulations! It's Triplets. Part 3

@unadulteratedsoulsweets said: In Congratulations! It's triplets! As much the entire thing is so wholesome I wanna see some bit of angst. Imagine dis the entire family is out in public.Includes the Batfam, Jazz and the triplets for a huge family bonding activity. Some random person( a karen) commented on how Jazz is a teen mother, an irresponsible person, a whore... Etc (you know the usual comments of being a mother too young) and the Batfam reaches the conclusion that the Pit Rage transfers onto the kids as two of the triplets have already green glowing eyes with rage filling it by the second and ready to tackle/punch the person who made the comment but the last of the triplets have their other "siblings" by their collar but despite holding the two back they too have their eyes switching from blue to eery toxic green and was one second to join them to murder whomever bad mouthed Jazz

It's not that Jason didn't think that the Pit would only have repercussions in his life. He just always assumed it would only be his life.

He never considered the possibility that it would affect his offspring in any way. (Besides having a father that was completely mad in Pit Rage)

Maybe it was a pipe dream to think that or maybe it was just having hope that his messed up second life had already been hard enough so the universe was going to give him a break on this one.

The three small children currently growling at a reporter, eyes flashing in and out of green, told him that wasn't the case.

It had started off as a fun little day out. Jazz and the kids mainly kept to themselves in Wayne Manor. Bruce had housed them in the west Annex, a place usually only used when guests of high importance would stay in the Manor's history.

It came complete with its own kitchen, bathroom, sitting room, seven bedrooms, and three bathrooms. It even had its own entrance that usually stayed out of sight of the main gate- a compelling feature for Jazz, who didn't want her kids in the limelight until everything legal was settled.

The distance between the two buildings was one acre, giving the family of four the privacy they needed and keeping them close for Jason to get to know.

As far as Jason knew, Jazz had not revealed the father of her children to anyone.

As far as the world knew, Jazz had recently moved to temporary housing until her insurance could help her rebuild her house or, if she was at a total loss, find new housing.

Thankfully, no one thought it strange as they weren't the only ones displaced. Poison Ivy's latest Save the Earth stunt targeted overpopulated neighborhoods guilty of destroying the land to build upon (in her own words).

She returned the favor and broke down the buildings to give back to the Green. Never mind the people inside the buildings or the livelihoods she destroyed in progress.

Ivy had gone through five streets before the Bats stopped her and returned her to Arkham Asylum.

It's been a week since the incident. Jason hasn't seen much of his kids, not for the lack of trying, but it was hard to fit their schedules. The three were in school most of the day, and when they got out, Jason usually had to run to prepare his "nightly" job.

He couldn't just slack off- doing so would mean those scum bags that didn't directly work for Red Hood would think that they could get away with breaking his rules.

He had slowly been dividing his responsibilities among his men- drug dealing, weapon dealing, illegal car races, prostitution, and protecting kids and street workers- so that he could have one night off without worrying.

That didn't mean he didn't see his kids at all. Jason usually had two hours a day with them, where he tried his best to connect to his kids, but the triplets seemed weary of him.

He could tell they didn't feel comfortable with him invading their space, so he tried to stay outside the annex. As someone who worked a lot with street kids, he knew never to break the sense of safety their hiding holes were to them.

Instead, he decided to meet his children in the open space between the Annex and the Manor.

The four-five with Jazz casually reading on the Annex floating balcony. Jason pretended not to notice she was doing so to keep an eye on her kids- would sit down at the garden table to have an after-school snack, enjoying the multiple rose bushes nearly as tall as him that Alfred cared for.

It was always one of Jason's favorite Wayne gardens because it often made him think of magical castles with giant mazes and lovely scattered flowers.

He noticed that his eldest- Dan- might have felt the same, given how the boy would sometimes spread his arms and run through the rose bushes pathways. He even picks up sticks and plays knights against invisible enemies.

(Jason pretended he was a knight in these gardens when Bruce first took him in.)

Danny, his second, seems more interested in lying underneath the rose bushes and reading about the stars. If Gotham had clearer skies, he think his boy would be a cat napping in the sunlight and sitting around at night to glance at the starlights.

His daughter seemed even more adventurous than her brothers. She often would test Jazz's patience because she wandered away from the Annex garden to explore the others. Jason had seen her climb statues and trees to get a better viewpoint, marking whatever she saw on a little map.

He got a look at her map and felt his heart swell at the childish little drawings- Damian's painting corner in the east Garden was now "Artist Alley", the south garden had a dragon fountain so Dani had decided it was "Dragon Keep" and she had found the north floating balcony where Bruce liked to go practice his not so secret love of singing.

Dani had marked her map as "Siren's Side" with a cute little drawing of Bruce singing.

The more he learned about his three kids, the more Jason loved them.

Jazz wasn't kidding when she said she didn't mind him in their lives- she was just worried that he would try to take them, and with his money and connections, she wouldn't be able to stop him. Her worry bled into the three children, and with intelligent eyes that belied their five years of age, they would watch him with guarded caution.

The moment they would finish their snack, the three would make excuses to run off and do their own thing. Jazz would continue reading, but Jason wouldn't be a Bat if he didn't see the way she relaxed whenever the kids left the table.

It was rough....to want to be accepted by them but also understanding why a random man wanting a family connection would be difficult to establish.

That's why Jazz's suggestion that they all visit the zoo had been such a shock. She gave Jason a strained smile, but her eyes were soft. For a moment, Jason felt his heart skip a beat. "It would be nice for the kids to see the zoo with their...dad."

The five had headed to the zoo- with Bruce and the rest following behind in disguises because they are all nosy assholes. He had gotten so used to the clicking of Tim's camera- as his brother was over-excited to capture his nephews' and niece's first zoo outing- that he hadn't realized a second camera was following them.

They had just finished watching the penguins swim when Danny tugged on the leg of his pants. "Mr. Dad, sir. Can I tell you something?"

Jason's heart jumped. Is Danny starting to like him? Sure, he put Mr and Sir, but he called him Dad! Grining widely he kneed down to get to his level.

"What up, bud?"

Danny leaned in to whisper in his ear. "There is a man taking pictures of me in the bushes."

Usually, Jason would have told him something like, "Tim is weird, but he's harmless." However, he knew for a fact Tim was on the roof of the Penguin exhibit and that meant some random man was taking pictures of his kid.

Green bleeds into his vision slowly, and Danny jerks back, surprised by the sight. "Go with your mother-"

"Pervert in the bushes!" Dan's voice cuts Jason off. They both turn to the little five-year-old throwing stones into the surrounding bushes and a man stumbling out of them with a shout. "Pervert in the bushes"

Danny facepalms, which is not the reaction his son should have. How in the world did Dan even know the word pervert?

"Dan! What on earth are you doing!?" Jazz screams alarmed. She raced back, a tray with four ice cream cones in her hands, and Dani, not far behind, also carrying her own cone. The girls had gone to get some frozen treats for everyone not too long ago.

The man turns to her with a very familiar predatory glint in his eye. Shit, Jason knows who he is. He is a paparazzi and one of his kids called him dad in front of the stranger.

The man takes Jazz's picture, momentarily blinding her with the flash, before firing questions and taking more pictures of her reaction to each one, "Miss, are you the baby momma of Bruce Wayne? Or one of his many kids? How did it feel to be a mother so young? Were your intentions to get pregnant to have access to the Wayne Will? How much money did the Wyanes pay you for a night?"

What?

Jazz's eyes go wide, her face drained of blood, and she looks frozen in fear. "I don't-why would- I'm not!"

"Not a whore or not a gold digger?"

"Neither!" Her voice wabbles like she's about to break into tears.

Jason sees green. He is about to beat the disgusting pig to the ground but his children are faster. Dani races forward, little arm pulled back and throws her whole body into a jab at the paparazzi's manhood.

The man drops his camera in a wheeze. Dan smashes it with another stone, hitting the lens five times just to make sure it is broken and starts to advance at the man.

Dani is currently yelling at the top of her lungs, swearing, and punching the man with her belt buckle wrapped around her knuckles. It's satisfying to watch- his kids beating down a full-grown man with no training, just vicious righteousness to protect their mother.

That is, until Danny- the apparently more level-headed triplet pulls them both off by the back collar of their shirts. Jason sees it for the first time.

The kids eyes are glowing green.

Horror creeps into every part of his mind, and he doesn't even realize the creep is screaming about suing them or Tim and Bruce's fantastic entry to get a handle on the situation.

He is distantly aware of Steph and Cass, helping a silently crying Jazz walk away, and that Dick, Damian, Duke, and Harper form a protective circle around the kids, but it's Cullen that realizes Jason is frozen.

"Jason? Are you alright?"

No, he is not alright.

Pit's madness ruined his life. It left blanks in his memory. Left him lashing out and killing quickly. It makes him attack Tim and others. It made the child Jason used to be, feel sick and revolted.

It made it hard to look in the mirror and not be disgusted. It was everything that was wrong with him since the Joker took all his innocence away with his blasted crowbar.

Pit Madness is a curse that he has to live with sometimes where he claws at his own skin in a pathetic attempt to get away from it. But he could never escape its taunting whispers, its controlling green, or its presence sitting somewhere behind his eyes that turned him into a monster.

A curse he gave to his children.

He truly is Wills Tod's son, isn't he?

[jason-todd-rh]

Masterlist 12

It's been a while (4 years to be exact) since i have done a masterlist but I wanted to do one. Here is the link to the other ones. My organization for each post is random. Also some didn't have names so i just did a short name (sorry in advance). There isn't a specifc order to them and these are just some i liked from the last year-ish.

As a reminder, make sure to follow these blogs :)

Series "Birds of a Feather" (part 1) (part 2) by @zyhkoo "Guard Dog" (part 1) (part 2) by @mostly-imagines "Shower Surprise" (part 1) (part 2) (part 3) by @twilight-orchid "Learning to Love Slowly" by @to-the-stars8 (honestly one of my favorites 10/10 recommend)

Jealous/Protective Jason (love me this category) "Don't Tell Jason" by @siddyyyyyyyy "Who are your boyfriend" by @prongsx

Fluff "Moonstruck" by @mostly-imagines "Favors in exchange for kisses" by @prongsx "Scenes from an afternoon odyssey" by @mostly-imagines "MIA" by @indulgentdaydream "Hungry?" by @montagoves "How He Shows He Loves You" by @mistymisfit "Amnesia and Flustered Jason" by @sanguineterrain "Eat Your Heart Patrick Swayze" by @kitkatscabinet "Physical Touch" by @luv4jason "Bluetooth j.t" by @cipheress-to-k-pop "Falling Asleep for the 1st time" by @patchiko "Hiding Nightmares" by @stararch4ngelqueen "Perfect Match" by @msfantasy-comics "SFW Fluff Alphabet" by @kimberly-spirits13 "Late Night Bouquet" by @killxz "We Got Love" by @makethatelevenrings "For the hell of it" by @lambsouvlaki "As long as you're with me" by @maivolpe "Shelter in the Rain"

Angst/Angst-ish "Don't Go Disappearing on Me" by @rambling-at-midnight "So This is Love" by @mostly-imagines "Not hot enough" by @writeriguess "Kidnapped" by @sanguineterrain "Where Are You" by @millyhelp "Ghosts of Gotham" by @sexsylexi "Domestic Betrayal" by @yourlocalcringydaydreamer "The Arkham Knight" by @mostly-imagines "Never Let Me Go" by @froggibus "Misunderstandings" by @sanguineterrain "Broken Heart of Gold" by @jasntodds "Be with You" by @chaotic-birds "Text me when you get home" by @sanguineterrain "Puzzle Pieces" by @makethatelevenrings "O Me! O Life" by @makethatelevenrings

NSFW "Jason Birthday fic" by @spidernuggets "Trying to get s/o's attention" by @gay-dorito-dust "First Time" by @igotanidea "Doesn't Always Have to be So Black and White" by @hanasnx "Lazy Morning" by @k2ntoss "Soft" by @stararch4ngelqueen "Don't make me cover your mouth" by @patheticbabie "Shower's on" by @icameheretoreadstuff "For the Hell of it" by @lambsouvlaki "NSWF Alphabet" by @sunlight-wing

[morverenmaybewrites]

Domestic Arkham!Jason Todd Headcanons

Y’all ever think about the inherent tragedy of Arkham!Jason craving something as simple as domesticity? 

How he craves the comfort of home-cooked meals, but can’t actually eat anything he hasn’t prepared himself. Because during his time in Joker’s captivity, almost everything he was served was either poisoned or rotten, and now every time he eats, it’s like he’s expecting the burn of poison or the flavor of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth.

Can you imagine the frustration he must feel at his inability to share a simple meal with you? 

The sudden clench in his gut when he realizes that he wasn’t there to watch you prepare the food, and despite the fact that he trusts you, he can’t help that familiar dread rising in the back of his throat. 

Jason tries, for you, he tries. 

But there are times, more often than not, when he feels the phantom burn of poison or the flavor of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth–and his body reacts before his mind does. 

And suddenly he’s hunched over the sink or the toilet, vomiting out half-digested food, and it’s almost like he never left Arkham Asylum.

Can you imagine the absolute burning jealousy he feels whenever his family interacts with you with an ease he can only dream of? 

Maybe it’s a movie night, during one of those rare times when Gotham City didn’t need saving, and there’s Tim and Dick and Barbara piled on the couch. And you fit so well with them–a tangle of limbs and careless laughter at a dumb joke Dick made–that it’s Jason who feels like an outsider. 

Jason sits apart from all of you, the only person to pick an armchair instead of the couch, because every time he tries to sit close to someone, all he can think is whether they’re close enough to see his scars.

The table is piled high with snacks, more than the five of you can realistically eat in an evening. There’s popcorn and pizza, mozzarella sticks and pretzels, several bars of chocolate that can only be found in Bludhaven, the air is thick with the smell of grease and cheese dust. 

And it’s almost like being a teenager again. Before that night and the Joker and everything else that followed. 

It’s almost like being a teenager again, dizzy with the good fortune of being adopted by Bruce fucking Wayne, watching some dumb flick with his siblings when he was supposed to be training. Ordering takeout food and laughing along with Dick at Alfred’s visible disappointment as they stuff their faces. 

It’s almost like being a teenager again, but not quite. 

Jason watches the four of you pass around a bowl of popcorn, arguing about which genre of movie to start with. But when Barbara tries to hand it to him, he feels a sudden clot of heat in his chest, and he’s already shaking his head before he even knows why. 

And he realizes, he’s afraid. 

He doesn’t know who made the food or what restaurant it was ordered from, and he is sure if he asks, no one would be able to give him all of the names of people who handled it. 

The burn of poison and the taste of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth.

Poisoned cake and rotting rats. The writhing of pale white maggots against bone and glistening meat and gristle.

He doesn’t touch anything for the rest of the evening.

Can you imagine how scared he is? 

Jason is so acutely, painfully aware of how exhausting it is to be with him. To be with someone you can’t even share a simple meal with. 

And he wonders how long it will be before you get tired of him.

Bruce, after all, had left after he had seen the twisted thing Jason had become. 

And if his own father couldn’t even stomach his presence–

And suddenly he’s hunched over again, over the sink or against the toilet, vomiting out half-digested food. 

And it really is like he never left Arkham Asylum after all.

This is what he thinks, when he finally collapses on the tiles of your bathroom floor, cold sweat pouring down his face. Your presence hovering over him like a ghost, a thousand apologies pouring from your throat. 

But it’s not you that’s the problem, it’s him. 

It’s this awful thing in the back of his head, always expecting the next threat, the next injury, the next sick game the Joker has come up with. 

It’s the fact that his days with the Joker had left him so twisted and strange that he can no longer fit into a normal life, even when he wants to. 

And this is what he thinks, when you catch the way he is not watching the movie at all. But instead he is looking at his family’s faces, his chest pulsing with a jealousy so fierce it might as well have been his heartbeat.

Jason wishes–oh, how he wishes–it was that easy, that simple for him. 

You disentangle yourself from his siblings–Dick had already fallen asleep, head lolling heavily on your shoulder, to pad your way to him. You sink down onto the armchair to share it with him, practically on top of him, and he marvels at the way your heat dispels the chill that has crept over him. 

Your hands are small compared to his, but they are just big enough that when you lay them atop of his, he does not have to think about whether you can see the scars. 

This is what he thinks, on days like these. It is something he always thinks, a small voice in the back of his head that is never silenced.  

He doesn't deserve you. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks to @red--pirate for the idea!

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

I will be your Blade Point Me

Loyalty was a trait Janet Drake respected above all others.

It can give you power, fame, money to have someone's loyalty was to have their life.

Tim has always given his all. His people whatever they need they have. May it be his mind, his skills, or even his weapons.

If Dick Grayson demanded the shirt off his back he would remain naked till the end of his days.

Very few times has anyone actually used it the first to test it was Jason.

"Hey Jay.. What's up you never call?"

Tim's phone is always ringing from Wayne Enterprises to his assorted friends he can't remember it being silent. Yet the shock when HighWay to Hell started blaring almost sent him into cardiac arrest.

"Need a favor. Think you could meet me at that safe house you keep pretending not to break into?"

"Yah no problem also it's not breaking in when you leave the window unlocked. Give me ten."

~

Jason doesn't do favors. He would rather die again than ever ask for shit.

When it comes to Tim though he's not an idiot. During his return to Gotham he researched, knew everything about him from his favorite color to when he fucking peed.

Part of his research specifically including who trained the third Robin. Nevermind that watching the kid fight for more than ten minutes gives it away.

Lady Shiva, Ra's just to name a few. He moves almost exactly the same as Cass. Hides in the shadows better than Damian. The whole creepy debacle with Mr. Old as Fuck just furthered Jason hypothesis.

Baby Bird, Bruce's prized protege isn't none lethal.

"I need you to kill someone."

~

Tim in the back of his mind expected it.

Jason for all he is exactly like Bruce doesn't respond the same. To him protection is blood soaked, a knife to the throat is a greeting. Kindess was shrouded and wasn't offered without losing a part of yourself.

"Joker I'm assuming?"

~

He expected a bit of a fight maybe a lecture at least for him to pretend, not whatever it is Replacement is doing.

"He hasn't broken out of Arkham in months haven't heard shit and I hear your in the same business as me nowadays. What you say about helping a brother out?"

~

He wonders if Jason is aware of how his voice cracked. The pleading that was heard the unspoken because I can't. Tim couldn't imagine looking Jason in the eye and saying no. Watching your son bend and demanding he break.

"Hate to burst your bubble, but I already did, I know you think the worst of me but I wasn't gonna let your murderer keep kicking his feet."

He tosses the drive he's been sitting on almost three months before heading back to the window.

"I know we got our shit Jay but your my brother. This is something you needed to be able to sleep at night. You shouldn't feel like you have to beg. I honestly thought you had known and didn't want to acknowledge it."

~

Jason can't breathe as he shuts his computer. Thirty hours of torture his baby brother broke the Joker in ways that turned his stomach.

He climbs into bed his eyes shutting sleeping without a nightmare for the first time in years.

He can't ever repay Tim nothing will ever be enough but he is gonna do everything to try.

He wonders if Ra's might need the same treatment?

[moonlit-imagines]

No One’s Sidekick

Jason Todd x teen!reader

warnings: needles and guns and death mentions ya know

a/n: ok i was gonna do headcanons for this but honestly it sparked a lot of inspiration so im actually writing a oneshot for it this is a ONE IN A MILLION CHANCE bc im very picky about when to write oneshots ily. might do hcs also just cuz arkham knight is my passion. (honestly i should have just done hcs idk if i like where i went with this LMAO)

prompt: anonymous: “hi idk if you write Arkham Jason Todd but if if you do is it possible if you can do a Arkham Jason Todd x fem teen reader and reader is his sidekick”

Imagine a life where you had nothing, you were the lowest anyone could go, and you were just a kid. Now imagine that there was someone standing in front of you, telling that same story, and offering you a chance to turn it all around because they knew how it felt to be you.

That someone was Jason Todd. You found each other by chance, somewhere in the Gotham slums. He walked past you down a dimly lit alley full of used needles and rotting trash, noticing a kid just a few years younger hiding from the world. You noticed a guy in a hoodie hiding a nasty scar on his cheek.

He reached out a hand, hoping you’d take it. He saw a look in your eyes that you’d been like this a while. And you might have noticed the same in his. Which is why after trusting nobody for years, you took this stranger’s hand. “I remember when I was a kid waiting in shitty places woth the hope someday it’d change. And it did one day. Someone found me and changed my life.” He explained after buying you a burger and fries.

“Was it for the better?” You asked him with a mouthful of food.

“I don’t know anymore.” He looked shaken himself, and you could tell by the bags under his eyes this may have been a subject that kept him up at night, maybe took up his waking moments, too. “How long have you been alone?”

“Practically forever. Every once in a while I felt like I was on steady ground and then…something always happens.” You sighed, taking a sip of your soda. “But I learned how to get by on my own. I had to. And I have to protect myself.” Jason raised a brow.

“You protect yourself yet you’re willing to go off with a stranger?” He asked, giving you a warm smile.

“Jason, right?” He nodded at the question. “Jason Todd?” His expression dropped. Before he could stammer out a response, you leaned back on your side of the booth and said, “everyone around here knows you one way or another, but everyone thought you were dead after you disappeared.”

“Did you know who I was when you came here with me?” Jason spoke lowly.

“Nope.” You flatly responded. “But I figured it out along the way. You used to live in my building when I was a kid, I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

“3B?” He asked.

“That’s the one. You remember?” You smiled.

“I remember a scared little kid with dirt all over their face no matter what time of day.” You both chuckled. “Wow, it’s been a long time. I guess I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“It’s nice. I just don’t know where to go from here.” You took the last few bites from your meal, averting your eyes from his gaze, nervous for what was to come, but also hopeful. At this point, you didn’t care what you did or where you went, as long as you had some kind of purpose. Spending your youth in sleeping in wet boxes or crashing on a sunken-in, stained couch was no longer something you could stand doing.

“I had an idea. A while ago. But I just didn’t know how to go about it.” He revealed with a long pause, mustering up better details to share. “I dont know. It sounds crazy, but maybe not anymore.”

“Can you get to the point?” You tilted your head, eager for a bit more.

“Yeah, yeah…” He gulped. “I talked to this guy, it was after some really bad shit went down,” he brushed his scarred cheek, “this high-profile assassin wanted to train me—work with me. There are some demons I have to face, but I need some help to get ready.” You stared blankly for a minute, fingernail scratching the tabletop as you thought about his words. “It’s out of the country, somewhere in South America.”

“You’re crazy.” You stated. “I’m in.” Jason’s eyes widened. “Anything to get me out of Gotham. And you’re Jason Todd, I’d trust you with my life, even after all this time.” His expression softened and he kind of chuckled, in disbelief of you and himself.

“I—I guess I gotta go make a call.” Jason knocked his hand on the table. “Go ahead and order dessert, I’ll be back in a few.” He stepped out the front door and opened his phone, scrolling down to a contact labeled “S. Wilson.” It rang twice. “I’m in, and one more will be joining us.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for your travels, stay on the line.” Said Slade, there were faint keyboard clicks. “I have a private jet that awaits you at eight a.m. tomorrow. I will send you the address, don’t be late.” The phonecall ended abruptly and Jason went back to your table, finding you eating a slice of pie.

“Tomorrow morning we get to fly in a private jet.” Jason saw your face light up. “Never been?”

—————

Venezuela was incredible to you, even if it was a bit more humid than you were used to. On the plane ride, Jason told you everything. He didn’t spare one detail, he didn’t care. You were another Gotham City orphan with a dark past and a bright future. You two were ready for anything.

It was grueling. It was incredible. It was nothing you’d experienced before. Which was terrifying. But invigorating. You could tell Jason felt right back in his element, but you were desperately trying to catch up. He’d had much training before this, relevant to the current situation. You’re training went as far as standard Gotham Slums scuffling. Your skills included switchblade maneuvers, aiming for the crotch, running from trouble and climbing from trouble. Nothing like this ever seemed possible for you. But Jason knew what it felt like to be brought from your level to his. And as Deathstroke brought Jason to his level, he’d make sure you’d catch up.

—————

“I think you two are ready.” Slade announced as both of you stood before him. Straight backs, eyes forward, and arms behind your backs. “The plan is to be enacted soon, and you,” he turned his attention to Jason, “it’s up to you what we do from here. Gotham City finally meets its match?” He suggested. Jason nodded his head once and you followed. And so it began, the planning phase.

—————

You looked at Gotham from down below. Smaller than you remembered. The whirring of the helicopter blades lulled you away from reality for a few moments before Jason tapped you, motioning for you to come up front with him. You slid your headset on and heard him begin barking orders at the militia before setting your comms to private. “How’s it feel?” Jason asked you.

“I don’t know, actually.” You replied, doing a final check to make sure your guns were loaded and secured. “What about you?”

“It feels like I’m finally getting my revenge.” His voice modulator sent a chill down your spine and you soon landed in Gotham. The plan went off without a hitch. Gotham evacuated, scum running loose, Batman distracted, and his allies scattered. It was exciting, but something was off. Scarecrow’s plan didn’t sit well with you. It was gruesome, even to you. You never really cared about anyone but yourself, but as Jason lost his humanity, you gained it. “I’ve got your back, y/n. You got mine?”

“Always, Knight.” He chuckled as the chopper began to descend. “Let’s kill the Batman.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @deanzboyfriend //

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey hi, I am so normal. About bane. Please can you do some more headcanons about him and a trans masc partner? Some wholesome fluffy ones please?

Bane x FTM reader

Headcanons

A shorty, since I’ve already posted most of my headcanons for this in part 1 :3c

Read part 1 here

The huge size difference means cuddling with Bane can be challenging at times. By that I mean, he rolls over at night and completely smushes you at times. Hes also the default big spoon when you cuddle, since you hang on his back like a small backpack when you do it.

This also means you lay on top of him a lot, imagine almost the scene in my neighbor totoro, except Bane is carefully reading a book as you scroll on your phone.

The times where he gets to lay with his head on your chest he just melts when you cradle him. You can’t really run your fingers through his hair most days, but Bane would turn into a puddle if you rubbed the back of his neck and massaged the sore muscles there.

Knows a whole lot about massages, since most of his muscles get sore from everything he does. Expect Bane to know how to turn you into melted butter with that skill. He also appreciates it when you try to massage him back, even if your hands are strong enough most times.

He wears the mask pretty much all the time, even when he sleeps or hes in the shower. It always gets a good cackle out of you to see him in casual clothes, just walking around in his mask and some funny print t-shirt and a pair of heart boxers.

Wouldn’t care if you preferred to sleep with or without a shirt on, depending on your dysphoria, all that matters to him is your comfort. Would get you some for different weather though if you did.

The kinda guy to wear a pride pin if you a comfortable with that. Who needs cops at pride when you got Bane? The bats are also there, and most other rogues honestly, they’re all parts of the fruit basket.

Would beat up a transphobe as stated before, but would also do some kind of psychological warfare on them because he’s smart enough to do that. You very much harm his image as a big scary bad guy, since its so clear to everyone there that he’s actually a great guy outside of, you know, everything else.

You visit him in Arkham whenever he’s locked up, the guards know to expect you. They learned pretty quickly to treat you with respect, since the ones that didn’t ended up… missing. Bane is happy to sit and listen to you talk about the boring aspects of your day when you visit.

You’ve dealt with the bats enough for them to be on first name basis with you. If you are on testosterone and got them from Bane, then they’ll supply them when he’s locked up. They’d do it when he isn’t too, but Bane likes supplying them for you.

You’ve convinced the bats to wait before taking Bane back to Arkham so you guys can go on a date or just watch a movie together. And depending on what he’s done, they’re likely to let it happen, you two are getting observed the entire time though.

[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.

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

Hideout - Jonathan Crane x!Sister Pt. 3

Author's note; Wishing all the happiest of New Year! Image Credit; Edward Addeo

Summary; Lillian Crane is on the run. Out of luck and out of time, she only has one place left to go. After turning up at her brother's high-rise apartment she hopes to just lie low for a little while. Can Jon help his little sister outrun international authorities, or will the past, present, and future all find their way into her hideout?

When Lillian opened her eyes the following morning she went stiff at the sight of the white blanket that wrapped around her body. For a moment she had forgotten nearly all of the events that had led her to this room the previous night. She squinted through the light peering into through the curtained windows and rolled over, feeling around within the mountain of plush pillows and sheets for her phone. Nearly dead and with no messages of importance she noted the time to be a quarter past 9 a.m. Upon remembering the charging cable stuffed deep into her backpack she swung her legs over the edge of the raised mattress and took her first steps of a new era; fugitive in hiding. 

After nearly tripping on them as she made her way to the door she looked down to find a pair of light pink slippers sitting neatly by the foot of the bed. She took this small detail to confirm that Jon in fact, did seek the companionship of a woman. She laughed and rubbed her face as she entered the hallway. Noise echoed from the kitchen as she made her way down the  hall to see her brother, with his back turned to her, tending to something on the stove. The smell of breakfast sausage and fresh coffee caught her off guard seeing as she hasn’t eaten anything but cheap diner food, frozen meals, and fast food for weeks while dealing with the stress of her new situation. She could hear the soft sounds of the Gotham’s morning news come through the speakers of the small TV that was luxuriously fitted into the walls of the kitchen. She moved closer with a sense of hesitation, though she couldn’t figure out why. Without turning around Jon broke the figurative silence. 

“I made coffee. Cups are above the machine. Use the white ones.”  Lillian cleared her throat and replied, “Thanks.” She, now more quickly after being invited into the space, made her way to the coffee maker and helped herself. Adding just a small spoon of sugar and stirring it in. Just enough to cut the bitterness but not much else. It was another thing that unwillingly bonded the Crane siblings, they both took their coffee black, unless they bothered to put in the extra effort to add just a single serving of sugar, and given the bewildering night they had just experienced, they could be bothered. 

“This is great,” Lillian complemented her brother. It was the best coffee she had drank in a long while. She usually preferred the expensive lattes and drips that her salary afforded her but, like many other things as of late, that preference, unfortunately, wasn’t being accommodated. At first, she felt comfort and nostalgia for the drink found in the Denny’s coffee pot at 2 o’clock in the morning. It reminded her of her days in high school when she would run off with her friends to the outskirts of town. Now, she preferred exhaustion over that filth. 

“I get it from a roaster on 14th,” Jon explained. Since she had entered the room he had only spared a glance at the TV set when the meteorologist to run down the weekend forecast and then returned his gaze to the stove. After taking a seat at the breakfast bar, still talking to her brother’s back, Lillian asked, 

“Don’t you work today?” With no time for contemplation, he said 

“I called and told them I wouldn’t be making it in today.” 

“Why?” She asked only seconds later realizing exactly why he had done so. 

“Why do you think?” The doctor asked sounding as if he was asking a child why they thought a rainbow had spread across the sky just minutes after a thunderstorm. She stayed silent. Guilt filling her and staring down into the dark abyss that she held in her hand. She saw movement where Jonathan stood and she snapped her eyes up to see him holding two plates, both consisting of scrambled eggs, sausage and a piece of wheat toast with a thin coat of jam. Her eyebrows perked up just enough for her brother to notice her understated excitement. He set the plates down over the bar. One in front of Lillian and one in front of the empty seat to her left. Before he could finish retrieving utensils and seating himself in the open chair, Lillian had finished the piece of bread that once rested on her plate and began eyeing her brothers. He set the paper towel and then the fork gently by her right hand before doing the same for himself and finally finding his seat. Lillian took a proper bite of her food and turned to her brother. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly to the side of his face before returning to her meal. He finished his bite and began to pick up his mug when he responded. 

“I had extra.” 

—

The pair had finished their meal and after refilling their coffees, Jon began to load the used cookware into the dishwasher. Lillian didn’t know how to bring up the shampoo or the razors or the slippers she had found since her stay here began but her curiosity ate at her, still surprised at the possibility of her brother, her quiet, stoic, just plain weird bother, could actually have a girlfriend. In what may have been the most complex way of raising the question she stuttered out, 

“What’s her name?” Jonathan slowed to stop what he was doing and turned to look at the girl. His brows furrowed and he ever so slightly cocked his head. 

“What?” He said sharply. 

“The girl you have over,” she continued, “what’s her name?” He stood up straight from his hunched position over the open appliance and his hands, one clutching a dish towel, fell to his sides. 

“What are you talking about?” The same tone as before followed these words out of his mouth. Lillian took in a breath and fixed her eyes on her brother softly as to not annoy him any further. 

“The girly shit in the bathroom, and the slippers. I was just curious. How long have you been seeing her?” She said trying to hide her excitement. He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes in a way only Jonathan Crane could. He turned back to his task and Lillian retuned her look of guilt, yet again, to her coffee. 

“I was just curious, I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she said quietly but before she could finish her sentence her brother spoke with an annoyed huff. 

“There is no woman.” 

“Then why do you have fuckin’ pink razors,” she laughed nervously and continued to drink her coffee. Holding the cup to her face almost felt like a shield from whatever Jon would say to her. 

“I was at the store, and I just got things that I figured you’d need. In case you had to leave them behind.” The room fell silent all but for the TV still lit up above the counter, now it was rolling ads for a local window washing company. Lillian let out a sharp, but relieved breath, through her nose and took another drink. Her small, hushed laughed caused Jonathan looked back at his sister while finishing with the dishes. She looked at him and spoke with the tenacity of a professor asking her students what the true meaning of the universe is. 

“Slippers?” 

—

After minutes of comfortable silence between the two, Lillian remembered her phone charger that sat in her bag still resting by the door. She rose and went to search for it finally retrieving it out of her pack. She might as well take her belongings to her new room soon, since it was apparent she would be here longer than she anticipated. This was supposed to last a few weeks - a month tops - but after her expedited appearance in Gotham, she feared this ordeal would go on much longer. The last she had heard before leaving her apartment was that agents stationed in Germany had found the location of two members of the Black Cobras during a raid. Since learning this, the rest of the small organization had feared that these two may give up the identities and whereabouts of other members. That, in collusion with INTERPOL’s networks already gaining a renewed interest in the group, caused alarm bells to sound and those still free of custody had to take more extreme measures than the originally agreed upon “laying low.” 

Lillian gathered her belongings loosely in her arms and tugged the rest behind her in the suitcase into her bedroom. After a short moment of assessing all that she had brought laid out on the clean white bed, she felt a wave of sadness boil up deep within. She stared into nothing and allowed herself a small moment of regret and longing for the life she had left behind which she in some way hoped to go back. Could she go back? What else did she know? In all, what she had brought from her small apartment nestled on the outer streets of Paris were 3 changes of clothes, her notebook, laptop, the few bottles and jars of bath products that she scooped off of the bathroom counter on her way out, a hair brush, wallet, passport, a few pens and pencils already at the bottom of the old backpack, a few other odds and ends including charging cables, headphones, sticky notes, and a flash drive, and finally, her small stuffed bunny named, well, bunny. She had been given this toy upon her birth from her mother. No matter where the young girl went, even today, the bunny never left her. Through all the running, the hiding, the restless movement, every home Lillian had occupied had also sheltered Bunny. So, when she got the call that one dreadful evening that she needed to evacuate, the first thing she packed, of course, was Bunny. 

After standing and reflecting for just a minute more, she now turned to carefully stack her few lasting toiletries on the dresser beside the bed. Upon moving she took a startled step back when she saw Jonathan standing in the doorframe, silent and watching. 

“Christ. Knock much?” She huffed and returned to her task. Jonathan remained in his place and said in a coldly, 

“I didn’t think I had to knock in my own home.” The girl rolled her eyes and began sifting through her packs once again in hopes of finding anything else she may have missed. Jon took a few steps into the bright room and looked down at his sister. A small change, barley noticeable, came across his face when he examined her. Pity, almost. With an only slightly relaxed tone than before he offered, 

“You can do your laundry down the hall, there is a basket in the closet.” Lillian spared a brief look at him and hummed a short breath in acknowledgment. When she moved to gather the basket that would carry her rain-dampened clothes to the washer, Jon took her spot in front of the bed with her belongings spread out. 

“Is this all you brought?” He asked bluntly. His sister, a much more emotive speaker replied in an offended huff, 

“Yes it is.” Trying to keep her annoyance at bay, she refused to look at him and forcefully shoved her few articles off the bed and into the basket. As she picked up the basket, her brother spoke again, this time in his best attempt at a softened voice, 

“If you need anything, I can take you shopping tomorrow, or I can get it for you. If you didn’t want to go out.” She slowed her movements, frustration falling away from her as quickly as it arose and looked up at her brother’s still stoic, unmoving gaze. Loosening her grip on the plastic basket she nodded shyly returning her gaze to the floor. It pained her ego enough to even show up at her brother’s door, and having to rely on him to get her basic necessities hurt in a way she hasn’t felt since living under her father. Jon stepped forward, not wanting to continue this display of emotion any further and gently placed a hand on the center of Lillian’s back. The touch shocked her and sent a shiver down her spine. Quietly, and as gently as the man could, he said, 

“I’ll show you where the laundry is.” A gentle guidance led Lillian out of the bedroom door. The soft delicate touch never left her until they made it to the machine. 

[lovelybucky1]

Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- noncon, kidnapping, violence, drugging, mentions of sexual assault, revenge porn, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, forced breeding, blackmail, AFAB!reader, bondage, humiliation, pain play, degradation, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, 18+ minors DNI

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

You enjoyed your time at college. You made many new friends, partied, joined clubs, and learned a little along the way. It was fun for a freshly eighteen-year-old, but by the time the end of your senior year came, you were ready to move on to adult life. Since then, you don’t think about college much in your daily life. Your college friends are now just your friends, and your better days are still to come, not behind you.

That’s not to say you never think fondly back on a memory or two here and there, but you’re so busy with your job at the DA’s office that you don’t have time to be hung up on the past. Others, you’ve found, do still live in the past.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, the chief psychiatrist at Arkham took notice of you when you first started working for the DA. Crane was not well-liked by your boss, seeing as he always managed a way to get the criminals you were trying to put behind bars an insanity plea. While he was a frustrating legal enemy, you never had anything to do with the man outside of the courtroom, or so you thought.

After a long day of court and debating with Crane, you were walking home from the office late when a metal pipe cracked over your head and you fell to the wet pavement, out cold. When you woke, you found yourself in a damp, cold warehouse with Dr. Crane looking on from a chair, dressed in a lab coat. Fear spikes in your stomach when you see the man in front of you. Being in your position, there’s only one explanation for why he would be here as well, though you can’t imagine why.

You are bound and gagged; your arms are wrenched in an uncomfortable position above your head and your wrists are tied to a chain from the ceiling. Your mouth is covered with duct tape, effectively suppressing any screams. Your toes just barely touch the floor, which puts a horrible strain on your arms, but there is no use fighting against the bonds.

When Crane notices you regain consciousness, he stands from his chair and approaches you. He gets close to your face and looks into your slightly hazy and unfocused eyes, his own piercing ones making you tremble under his gaze.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, voice eerily soothing for a kidnapper. “You know, it’s dangerous for a girl like you to walk alone at night. This city’s a dangerous place, you never know what kind of creeps could be lurking in the shadows.”

He grins a sick, vile grin that makes your skin crawl. Crane reaches out and tips your chin up with his cold pointer finger. He moves your face from side to side, examining you, checking for any damage he might have done. His thumb traces the duct tape over your mouth, finding the seam of your lips and touching you like a doll.

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your looks with how you used to party,” he says casually. You furrow your brows in confusion but you’re unable to question him. “Though I’m sure your liver isn’t what it used to be.”

Before you can ponder his words, Crane walks behind you and you can hear the sound of metal tools clattering together. When he reappears, he is holding a pair of sheers and wears a sadistic smirk. He roughly grabs the hem of your blouse and cuts it up the middle, exposing your bra. He then cuts the fabric of the sleeves so the garment falls to the floor, leaving you topless.

You want to fight back to get this sick creep off of you, but you figure it’s best not to provoke the man with scissors against your skin. Instead, you’re subjected to his eyes ogling you.

“What a thing to wear to work,” he says, amused. “I’m sure this can’t be comfortable. Were you wearing it for an occasion?” he asks, fingers tracing the delicate lace of the band. “Surely not a date. I know you don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t think you’re the type of girl to put out on the first date.”

You wonder how he could know you don’t have a boyfriend when the realization hits you. He knew what path you took on your way home, he knew what time you’d be leaving the office, and he knew details of your private life that you haven’t shared with anyone but your friends. He’s been stalking you.

“Maybe you had other plans for lunch with your boss this afternoon. Dent is quite the looker, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What his poor wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” he asks with a smirk. “You really haven't changed.” You’re not sure what he means by that, but you’re not sure what any of this means.

Crane then moves the sheers to the hem of your skirt and makes a small cut. Instead of cutting all the way up like he did with your blouse, he drops the scissors, grasps the skirt, and starts to slowly tear it. The sound of the fabric ripping is deafening in the near-silent warehouse, and fear threatens to rise in your throat as he creeps up your thigh. His eyes watch the exposed skin intently as he undresses you, clearly gaining some kind of pleasure from this. When he reaches the top, he lets the skirt fall at your feet and now has an unobstructed view of your matching underwear set.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “what a surprise. I guess you did have big plans.”

He slips his finger underneath the elastic band of your panties and snaps them back against your hip, making you jump. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the cold air and you squirm as you try in vain to hide yourself.

“You don’t mind if I look under these, do you?” he asks, tugging on your panties again.

Up to this point, you haven’t protested, figuring it was better to cooperate, but you can’t let him violate you like this. You let out a muffled “no” and violently shake your head as you try to move away from his touch. Crane only laughs and moves closer to you. You kick him in the knee and he curses, but it doesn’t do much to deter him.

“You can’t fight me off. All you’re doing is making this worse for yourself,” he hisses. You try to scream, but with the duct tape sealing your lips, it’s no use. “Do you have something to say?”

You plead with your eyes and he reaches up to grasp the edge of the duct tape, but he takes it as an opportunity to be more cruel. He rips the tape from your lips, surely taking skin with it.

“Help!” you scream, “Somebody help me!”

Instead of ordering you to be quiet or suppressing your screams, Crane just laughs.

“Scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you. Not like anyone would care if the world was down one useless bimbo anyway.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?” you shout, your throat feeling raw from the strain.

Anger flashes in Crane’s eyes and his jaw clenches. You continue to thrash and scream, and despite what he said about no one caring, he tightly grabs your waist and steps on your foot to keep you from moving. His face is now only inches from yours and you get the idea to spit into his face. It won’t do much, but it’s the only thing you can do to deter him.

Crane hisses and lets go of your waist to wipe the spit out of his eyes, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are glassy and his dark eyelashes are clumped together.

“You fucking bitch,” he bites. “You’re lucky I haven’t hurt you yet.”

The vague threat does frighten you, but you have many questions that you demand answers to.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Crane?” you ask again.

He laughs bitterly. “Of course you don’t know. You probably have no clue what you’ve done to me. The hell you put me through.”

He leans his weight on the foot crushing yours and when you wince, he grabs your jaw tightly, squishing your cheeks together and forcing your mouth open.

“I don’t know,” you say as best you can.

“You don’t remember college?” he asks. “Your sorority sisters and their fucking jock boyfriends tormenting me. How for years you made my life a living hell just for existing outside of your perfect little bubble.”

His face is twisted into a snarl now as he recounts the memories that drove him to his actions tonight. “I thought the bullying would be over when I got to college but it was so much worse. My door would get vandalized every fucking day with insults and crude images. You and your group of whores spread all kinds of rumors that I was crazy. You said I was a psychopath, a pervert, a sadistic killer who got off on seeing women in fear. Everyone believed it. Everyone.”

As he explained his story, your memory was jogged. You remember a short, skinny guy from college who wore thick-framed glasses and carried a satchel to class. He was awkward, made uncomfortable eye contact, and often made himself the target of ridicule. He had a vast knowledge of science and medicine and was very interested in the mind’s reaction to fear. You never knew his name, only ever referring to him as “Peeping Tom”, which was kind in comparison to some of your friends’ nicknames for him.

“I was an outcast for four fucking years. I couldn’t transfer, I couldn’t afford any other school. Not like you could ever understand that. I accepted that I was a social pariah, but then you went and ruined my fucking life even more,” he hisses.

You didn’t notice the knife in his hand until the point was against your chest, too lost in his rage-filled eyes. You now remember more of what he’s saying and you want to apologize and assure him that you’ve changed, but he seems past the point of reason.

“October 2nd, 1997. I was in my room studying for an exam when you showed up at my door. You were clearly drunk and you came onto me. You promised me all kinds of things and pushed me onto my bed and sat on my lap. You kissed me and took off my shirt, then put your hand down my pants and took my dick out. That’s when your hoard of sluts and every guy you’ve ever fucked barged into my room and took pictures. They spread them to everyone, and it was all because of you.” he hissed. “I was labeled the creep, the predator, the pathetic virgin who thought he could make it with a sorority girl and it was all your fault.”

The man in front of you was shaking with anger, his voice trembling slightly as he recounted the memory. The blade trembled in his hand and dug slightly into your skin, but the pain from the knife was overpowered by the icy feeling of fear.

“Jonathan,” you say meekly, “That was almost a decade ago. I-I’m so sorry I did that to you, I don’t even remember it. I promise I’ve changed.”

“You don’t remember it, that’s exactly why I have to do this. You’re never going to forget again.”

You whimper in fear as he brings the knife up to your neck. The blade bites at your skin, catching when you take a breath.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That’d be such a waste of a warm hole.”

His words are disgusting and degrading. They make you want to shiver out of your own skin and run as far away from him as possible. Luckily, he removes the knife from your neck and takes a small step back.

Crane reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a small digital camera. Your eyes widen when you see it, immediately catching on to what he plans to do to you. He powers the camera on and points it at you, smiling when he sees your pixilated form on the display. He clicks the shutter and a light flashes.

He lowers the camera from his face to reveal a wicked smirk. "It doesn't feel too good, does it?" he asks. "Well it's about to get a lot worse for you."

He kicks your bare ankle with his foot, making you wince as your legs spread. He laughs cruelly and does the same to the other foot. Your legs are open uncomfortably, giving him easy access to what you're desperate to hide from him.

His fingers, long and cold, push through your folds and into your cunt without warning or preparation. He fingers you despite being dry to start, but you slowly get wetter in response to the intrusion.

"Still such a slut even after all this time," he says. "I'm not surprised you're so loose."

He fingers you roughly, seemingly unsure of how to do it, or maybe he just cares that little for your comfort. His nails catch on the ridges inside of you and the poking of his fingers scissoring make you wince. Thankfully he got his fill of that quickly, and pulled out his wet fingers.

He brings them to his nose to sniff, then wipes your wetness off on his pants. "Smells like whore," he says.

Without any further words, Crane reaches down and grabs you by your ankle and pulls it off the floor. You yelp as you lose your balance and your bonds tug on your shoulders. Crane then hooks your foot on a strap that also comes from the ceiling. He then does the same to your other leg.

Now you're suspended in the air, cunt on display for him and helpless. Crane takes out the camera again and takes more pictures of you spread out.

"I have waited so long for this."

Crane wears a sick, wicked grin that does not falter as stands between your spread legs. His hands work his fly open and quickly he frees his cock. It's already hard and the flushed tip is leaking, just from the torture he's inflicting onto you.

"I knew after that night that you would be my first," he says as he rubs his head through your folds. "Weather you wanted to be or not."

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes into you bare. He goes slow, likely for his own sake so he doesn’t cum too soon, but whatever mercy he shows you doesn’t provide any comfort.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he begins to rut. Erratic, inexperienced thrusts to chase his own pleasure inside of being conscientious of yours. His eyes are half lidded and laser-focused on your breasts.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

With each thrust, the makeshift sex swing he has you in rocks, making the chains that hold you creak. You worry that you’re going to fall, but you suppose that would be better than a knife in your gut.

Crane’s cock bumps against your cervix which makes you whimper from the discomfort, but he thinks it’s out of pleasure.

“You like that? You like taking my cock like a fucking fleshlight? Didn’t think you’d be so easy, but I guess all it took back then was a spot on the football team to get into your pants.”

Crane is indeed using you like a fleshlight. He alternates between thrusting into you and holding onto the chains to move you over his cock. It’s humiliating, painful, awful, but he’s no longer threatening you with a knife.

He pulls out the camera again and points the lens at your pussy where it’s stretched around him. Then he backs up the camera a bit to capture your full form, contorted by the chains.

“W-what are you gonna do with those?” you ask with your broken voice.

“Exactly what you did to me,” he growls.

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

He grabs the chains and slams you down onto him, sending him impossibly deeper.

“You ruined my life. Now it’s your turn.”

“My career will be over! Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t send those to anyone!”

You’re begging shamelessly, sobbing and snotty, but none of this seems to turn him off. In fact, he seems to enjoy it more.

“I’m sure Dent would be interested to see what you get up to after hours. Of course, your reputation would be ruined once the rest of the city sees your messy cunt.”

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

“I know you’re good friends with Bruce Wayne. Maybe I’ll tell everyone that he did this to you and ruin you both. Wouldn’t that be sweet,” he says.

His voice is raspy and low; he’s clearly very affected by the pleasure of using you and you doubt he can hold on for much longer.

“I-I’ll do anything, Dr. Crane. Please,” you say between sobs.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Crane grabs your breast roughly and squeezes, digging his nails into your soft skin. You hiss and your face screws up with pain. He then slaps it repeatedly until you show signs of more discomfort.

“Please,” you beg again.

“It might be nice to have a friend at the DA’s office,” he says with a smirk. “Especially one that would bid in my favor, lest some dirty pictures get out.”

Blackmail? Jesus, he’s fucking sick. Though you suppose the threat of releasing them is better than him actually doing it.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll help you out, just please don’t send them,” you say frantically.

He fucks you even more erratically now, like he can’t decide if he should edge or finish himself off.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice frighteningly low. You nod in response. “You’re scared of me, the loser you tormented in college? Don’t you regret that?”

He’s speaking so quiet and slowly like he’s trying to hypnotize you. You nod along with what he’s saying, figuring it’s better just to agree.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Every time you look at our bastard child, you’ll see my face and regret what you did to me.”

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

“You thought I kidnapped you just to cum in my hand? I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking with my fucking cum. Oh, and you know that little pill you take every day? I switched that out weeks ago. This little womb is as fertile as ever, and you’re going to give me a baby.”

Your stomach flips and you immediately feel nauseous. He tampered with your birth control? That means he was in your house. He could have put cameras up, bugged the place. You have no idea what he’s truly capable of.

Tears being to stream down your cheeks again. You feel so violated, so helpless. He doesn’t wipe away your tears or even tell you to stop crying. He just watches as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And you’re gonna take it all.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to yours, forcing you to look deep into his eyes as he fills you with his cum. The wet, hot feeling of it flooding your insides makes you feel sick, and he continues to fuck himself through his orgasm which makes the cum froth and leak down your holes.

He stays seated inside you, keeping you plugged so the sperm has time to take. Crane is breathing heavily but he doesn’t once look away from you.

"Good girl," he mutters. "Good pussy."

You sag in relief when he finally pulls out. Your cunt aches from his rough treatment, and not in the fun way. Your arms and legs hurt from the bonds, but that appears to be a pain you won't soon be free from.

Crane walks back over to the chair he was sitting in when you first woke up and takes a seat. "I'll keep you here for a couple days so you can't go off and take one of those pesky morning after pills," he says casually.

"Y-you can't. They'll notice when I don't show up for work," you try to reason with him.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I called on your behalf and told them you had a family emergency. Something about grandma and her heart," he says. "I've taken care of everything."

You don't doubt that he has, and that scares you. He rests his ankle on the opposite knee and looks at the pictures he took on the camera.

"Now all you have to do is stay out of my way in court, and no one will ever see these," he grins, letting the camera dangle from his wrist by the strap.

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

A Gilded Cage

The penthouse you're in is beautiful, the closet filled with the finest clothes, the kitchen stocked with your favorite foods, the only problem is; you never asked for this. The Arkham Knight doesn't seem to care. Part One of this series. CW: kidnapping ~1.5k words

You don't know who the Arkham Knight is. You don't know why he kidnapped you from your apartment and locked you away in some penthouse far too fancy for someone with no sway in Gotham.

None of it makes sense. You wouldn't even know his name if you didn't overhear the men dropping off food and necessitates for you talk about him.

They never get too close to you, which eases some of the panic in your throat, but they've only ever spoken to you once. One of the men had dropped a notepad on the marble counter and grumbled something about writing down whatever you need before leaving you to yourself. Being so alone in a gilded cage almost makes you wish they'd say more.

It's not like you haven't tried escaping, but you're on the top floor of some building you only recognized as being in the Diamond District because you can see the glowing symbol of Wayne Tower in the distance. The one time you did try to break down the door, you found out there are in fact guards stationed outside your prison.

You've never been hurt. Never gone hungry or cold. There's a television and more books than you'll ever have time to read. (You try to ignore how many of them are your favorites. It has to be a coincidence.) The kitchen is always stocked and the apartment is always cleaned. (You haven't quite figured out when that happens.) Anything you've ever asked for is delivered and sitting on the glass table when you wake up.

You had only asked for diamonds and pearls once. Curiosity and frustration had gotten the better of you, and when sets of shiny jewels greeted you in the morning, you wanted to faint.

They sit stuffed in a drawer now, and your hands shake when you check to see if they're still there. They sit alongside a note written in messy script, the one asking if you'd prefer a dress or a suit to match the choker made of sapphires. Or perhaps something to match the headpiece encrusted with rubies?

You're starting to think being alone for so long is making you crazy. You wake up sometimes at night, shifting against the soft sheets and feathered pillows and your heart neatly stops at the glowing eyes in the doorway.

Fear stops your voice from coming out and by the time you've worked up the courage to hit the lamp, whatever it was is gone. He's gone. The first time, you told yourself it was a nightmare. The second, a trick of the light. But the third, when you woke to the rough texture of gloves tracing the curve of your jaw, that was real.

You had frozen. Eyes shut tight and heart racing. The touch was gentle, almost non-existent, and if the near silent, rhythmic breathing hadn't reached your ears, you would have believed it to be a dream.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, your kidnappers' fingers brushing your face while you pretended to sleep. The feeling disappears eventually, and you fall back asleep. You lie to yourself when morning comes, that it was something you imagined.

You've lost count of the days, the weeks, it's been like this. You're not even sure what to call the situation. You're not a pet. You're not a hostage. A prisoner? Yes. But prisoners are never treated so lavishly without a reason.

Curiosity gets the better of you. How could it not when 'why' always haunts your thoughts? You pretend to be asleep. Night after night, you wait for him to come again. But it's like he knows. He's aware that you're waiting.

So, you write on the pristine notepad. You ask to be let go.

There's nothing on the glass table when you wake up, but the notepad is empty of words. The day seems to pass in a haze.

By the time night comes again, you're livid. You'd throw things at the glass enclosing the balcony if it wasn't something you tried already.

You stalk your way out of the bedroom, intent on making coffee and staying up until you can finally face the person who's trapped you here.

Your bravado disappears at the sight of the figure standing in the middle of the room.

The glowing lights of the city illuminates his silhouette. The military style gear, the eerily familiar glowing eyes, the guns holstered at his thighs. All your words and curses and questions stick to your tongue.

"You can't go home," a modulated voice tells you.

"Why?" You breathe out, eyes darting over his figure. You're not scared. You can't explain it, but as frightening as he should be, as terrifying as this situation should be, he doesn't feel unsafe.

He doesn't answer, doesn't move. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, you'd think he wasn't human. Silence falls for a longer than you know what to do with, "This your home," he says, voice even and factual.

"This isn't a home," your protest, anger flaring, "this is a prison cell!"

He steps towards you, menacing and threatening as he hisses, "This is nothing like a cell. You know nothing. You're safe here. Provided for. I've given you everything you could need."

"I'm alone here!" You snap out, despite your better judgment.

"I'll get you a pet," he says firmly.

"I don't have anyone to talk to," You respond harshly.

"I'll send someone to keep you company," he responds easily, like placating a child. But you don't miss his hands clench and unclench.

"I want to go outside," You answer, and you hate how your voice pitches into a whine, a plea, "I want fresh air."

He pauses, studying you, "I'll figure something out."

"Why are you doing this?" You finally ask, tears pricking your eyes. You don't want to cry, don't want to show him any weakness, but you're so tired and he's the first person you've talked to in ages. "I'm not anyone special. You don't gain anything by keeping me here. Please. Please, I wanna go home."

He tenses, then steps towards you steadily. You flinch when he stops just in front of you, turning and ducking your head. He takes your chin in his hand and guides your face back up, carefully wiping the tears that drip down your cheeks.

"You are special. More than you could know," he says quietly, like it's a secret. He says your name softly, like it's important, "You're going to stay here."

"I don't want to," You choke out between tears. He just doesn't acknowledge it, just keeps soaking up your cries with the pads of his glove.

You stay like that until your tears dry up and your body feels shaky. He exhales softly and tilts his head down, resting his helmet against your forehead. You would be eye to eye, you realize, if not for the mask.

"You're going to stay here," he repeats gently.

"Why?" You ask, voice weak.

He pulls back, his hand hesitating against your face before reaching for his helmet. He removes it with a practiced motion, and your whole world freezes.

Your breath catches in your lungs and your heart screams JasonJasonJason.

He doesn't try to explain. You don't have the words to ask. "You're going to stay here," he tells you again, voice low and careful.

"But-" You start, eyes darting over his face, the 'J' branded into his cheek.

He says your name, demanding and firm, "You're staying."

You swallow the rest of your words, and he nods in approval, "I'll get you what you asked for, okay?"

The helmet is back on before you even finished your bewildered nod, gaze locked on him. "Good," he murmurs, voice unrecognizable behind the mask. He's moving away, walking towards the door, leaving you.

You grab his arm, panicked, "Wait–"

He pulls your hand from his arm gently, "I'll come back."

"You haven't explained anything–" You try again, desperate and confused.

"You don't need to understand anything. You just need to stay here, tell me what you want, and let me take care of everything else, alright?" The Arkham Knight– Jason tells you.

You nod weakly, letting your hand drop back to your side.

"Good. Get some sleep," his voice sounds empty through the modulator.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" You ask, voice breaking.

He wavers by the door, "I come back everyday," he admits eventually and sees himself out the door of your prison.

You all but stumble to the plush couch and collapse as the door locks behind him. Jason is alive. Jason kidnapped you. Jason's held you in this luxury apartment for weeks. Jason left you jewels worth more than your entire savings account. Jason is alive. Jason visits you every night. Jason is alive.

Jason is alive. But you're still trapped. Still stuck in a cage with no explanation why and no matter how pretty it is, he's still locked you in here. But it's Jason. Jason wouldn't hurt you. He has to have a good reason.

The thought haunts you until you drift off, drawn to sleep by the soft velvet against your skin. You miss it, when the door cracks open again, and a down blanket is drawn over your body. You don't even twitch, when scarred hands start to trace a familiar path over your face.

Part Two