#gotham reader insert

[sunflowerrosewood]

He Has a Nightmare HC~ Gotham Boys

Author's Note: Since my other account @cheekyredwillow got deleted. I am adding some of my favorite fanfictions to this account and revamping this one with new ones. I hope to make an actual list of fandoms I am still a fan of! NO requests for the time being.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of killing, nothing too graphic.

~~~

Jim Gordon 

~Jim has dealt with so much shit

~Between going after villains to dealing with the PD

~So when you two fell asleep one night

~He had a nightmare you were killed by multiple Gotham villains

~You don't notice he has a nightmare until you feel cold

~When Jim is sitting in the kitchen nursing something to drink

~But not facing the bedroom

~You have to come up from behind

~And hug him tight

~He will probably jump 

~But he melts in your embrace 

~He wont tell you want happened

~But he will allow to be vulnerable 

~And allow you to just mumble in a sleepy voice all the reasons you love him

Edward Nygma

~Edward didn't have nightmares often

~But seemed to have them after being in Arkham

~Then escaping to home

~You would only know when you heard him arguing with himself

~That he shouldn't wake you up

~That this makes him useless

~As you could hear him mutter these things

~Pull him down to the bed

~So you can cuddle into him

~And promise that you'll always be there

~Both sides will melt

~And he'll tell you about the nightmare 

~So you'll understand his pain

Oswald Cobblepot 

~Oswald had nightmares often

~And you usually knew

~The reason is that he talked in his sleep and would hold onto you tight

~You would feel his hands tighten

~And whimpers fall out of his lips

~You’ll probably have to wake him up

~Just to let him know that he is not alone

~He will be sweaty and his heart racing

~But as long as you kiss his lips

~And squeeze his hand

~Oswald will calm down

~Go get a washcloth to help him cool off

~And intertwine your hands before you fall back asleep

Jonathan Crane

~Nightmares plague his head all the time

~And it isn’t because it is his fault

~It usually has to do with his father

~And another person that you will know when he wakes up

~Because he gets as far away from you

~He is shaking in fear 

~It’s usually when he does not consume himself in fear

~But appears in his nightmare

~Allow him to slowly calm down on his own

~He’ll immediately climb back into bed 

~Because he needs to feel you by his side

~Usually he falls asleep slowly after

Jervis Tech

~Jervis usually has nightmares that his Alice runs away

~You ran away because he harms you

~Jervis is one of the ones who will wake you up

~Just to make sure you are real

~And still loves him

~Before you get tired again, you’ll notice the fear in his eyes

~Whisper to him how much you love him

~And kiss his cheek 

~Before cuddling into his chest which calms him down

Victor Zsasz

~Victor wont show he has nightmares 

~You usually know when you wake up

~And he’s sitting in the shared bathroom just staring

~No emotions are shown

~But you know what is going on

~So you’ll have to go in

~And kneel where you look up at him

~He won't say anything

~He’ll just pull you into his lap

~And holds you tight 

~Just the silent of the night is going to be heard

~Victor will pick you up and bring you back to bed

~Usually it takes just that before the two of you fall asleep

~Victor will probably mention his nightmare later on in the week

~When he is ready

Jeremiah Valeska

~Even after the spray, Jeremiah still gets nightmares

~It happens to be about him almost killing you

~And he’ll wake up to you being sound asleep

~He’ll touch your arm

~And sigh 

~Usually you know something happened because he’ll be in the lab

~Bent over

~And probably throwing things in anger

~When you ask him what’s wrong

~You’ll see the anger turn to worry

~An emotion you do not see often

~And Jeremiah will walk over to you to hold you tight

~Demanding you wont leave him

~Even though you never thought that way

~It’s feeling you near him that causes him to want to go back to bed with you

Jerome Valeska

~Jerome did not have nightmares too often

~He was awake in the middle of the night usually

~But when he did fall asleep and had nightmares

~He was similar to Oswald by holding you tighter against him

~But you would still be asleep 

~Until you feel him kissing your face and neck while rubbing your hip

~When you slowly wake up, Jerome will kiss you lips and grin

~Usually you wouldn’t ask much

~Until you watch his grin falter

~That’s when you touch his face

~And kiss him softly till Jerome makes you fall back into his chest

~Once the two of you hit the bed, he’ll still be rubbing your arms or hips

~But you’ll hear him yawn

~He falls asleep pretty quick

[angelofthenight]

Ed: My (s/o)’s been listening to these true crime podcasts and now they know too much

Ed: they just said,

You: “bodies don’t float if you puncture the lungs”

Ed: So if I go missing TELL THE COPS THEY DID IT

[myerssimp21]

Iceberg's Jewel pt. 1

This is just another idea rattling around in my head! While this is still yandere Batfam, the premise is slightly different—here, they haven’t quite met you yet. The focus starts with Oswald Cobblepot and the Iceberg Lounge, but trust me, the Batfamily won’t be far behind. Timeline-wise, this would technically come first, even though in my other yandere Batfam fics, Tim and Jason have already had their moments with you. So yes, there will be a plot hole later where they’ve somehow already hooked up with you—just roll with it. Consider it canon-ish, but mostly just me playing around with ideas. tl;dr: This is a prequel of sorts to my other yandere Batfam fics, but I’m mostly here to have fun with the concept. Hope you enjoy! 💙 word count: 3201

Oswald Cobblepot prided himself on running a tight ship. The Iceberg Lounge was a beacon of opulence in Gotham, catering to a clientele that wanted their danger with a side of champagne. When he put out that little “Help Wanted” sign as a joke—an amusing way to signal to the people he was looking for that he was ready to onboard—he hadn’t expected someone like you to waltz in.

You were nervous but bright-eyed, clutching a copy of your résumé (how quaint) in one hand, wearing a Gotham University sweater that screamed student loans and part-time hustle. The smile you gave him when he walked into the lounge floor was disarming—too genuine for this city. You asked to speak to someone about the janitorial position, and Os had to bite back a laugh.

“A janitor? Here? Sweetheart, you might be too good for this place,” he muttered under his breath, too quietly for you to hear, before waving a hand dismissively at one of his goons. “Send her to my office.”

His office wasn’t where interviews were usually held—far too personal, far too… revealing. But for some reason, he wanted to gauge you himself. Maybe it was your naivete; maybe it was the way your gaze lingered on the crystal chandeliers and plush carpets like you’d never seen luxury this close before. You were looking at him as a normal boss, not a criminal mastermind, and he realized he might like that.

By the time you’d been seated in the chair across from his polished mahogany desk for only 15 minutes, he was already hooked. He asked simple questions at first—your availability, your experience—but quickly veered into territory that let him know more about you. Your classes at Gotham U were interesting, but you worked too much to fully appreciate them. You loved your psychology major but struggled with scheduling, hoping that the pay here was more than the measly pay you scrounged from your other two jobs. He listened with great interest as you spoke of your genuine excitement to be working in a "classy place like this."

He didn’t have the heart to tell you this place wasn’t really classy—just good at pretending.

Cobblepot tilted his head, the curiosity in his expression sharpening as he tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, a sly grin forming. “So, what do you think of our little city?”

“Oh, uh…” You laughed nervously, shifting in your seat. “It’s… something, that’s for sure. Gotham’s kinda like… I don’t know, a scrappy mutt? It bites, like, a lot, but you can’t help but wanna pet it anyway. It’s scrappy and loveable.”

Oswald chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “Lovable?” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re a strange one. Most people run for the hills when it comes to Gotham.”

“Yeah, well…” You shrugged, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “I’m already here, so I might as well figure it out, y’know? Plus, it’s not all bad. I mean, the people are tough, and the city’s got… personality. A weird, messed-up personality, but still.”

He found himself appreciating your honesty. It was a rare thing in his world—people who weren’t either trying to butter him up or wring him dry. And that smile… Hm. Something about it didn’t belong here.

Then, the door to his office slammed open. A goon stumbled in without so much as a knock, huffing like a dog chasing its own tail as he fumbled a thick stack of papers in his hands.

Oswald snapped to attention so fast it was animalistic. One second, he was relaxed, bemused by you—the next, his face contorted with fury, his lips curling back in a snarl that made the dim office feel suddenly suffocating.

“What?” Cobblepot snarled, his tone cutting like ice. The very air in the room seemed to turn electric, humming with the promise of violence.

The goon froze mid-step, eyes darting between you and his boss. He looked like he’d just walked into an execution chamber by mistake.

Oswald’s teeth clenched so tight a vein throbbed visibly in his temple. “You knock before coming into my office,” he seethed, voice dropping to something far more dangerous than the initial explosion. Cold. Calculating. A blade slipping between ribs. “You wait. You don’t—”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw you.

Frozen.

Wide-eyed.

And just like that, the change was immediate.

His snarl vanished. The storm passed in an instant, like flicking off a switch. The barely-contained rabid rage that had been twisting his face smoothed into something almost… embarrassed. Guiltily casual.

Cobblepot glanced back at you, then at the goon, then back at you. For a brief, telling second, he looked—not regretful, but calculating. Then he sighed through his nose, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off an unpleasant thought.

"Handle it later," he ordered, voice abruptly warm. Silk-soft. As if he hadn’t just been inches from taking a man’s head off. His hand flicked lazily toward the door, a dismissive gesture. “Can’t you see I’m with someone?”

The goon scuttled out of the room like a kicked dog, the papers in his hands rustling violently as he clutched them to his chest.

The moment the door shut, Oswald let out a measured breath, as if centering himself. Then, in a whiplash-inducing shift, he turned back to you with an awkward, almost sheepish smile.

"Sorry about that,” he said, voice dripping with artificial sweetness, as if his outburst had never happened. He waved a hand, dismissing it entirely, his gaze keenly watching your expression for any lasting tension. “Some of my employees just don’t have any manners.”

You offered a polite, thin smile, still shaken, but brushed it off with a shrug. You had already figured this place wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming, but the speed at which his fury had vanished was... unsettling.

Oswald noticed.

He noticed everything.

And for the first time in a long, long while… he wasn’t sure if he liked the way your smile still had a hint of nerves clinging to it.

The Batcave was unusually quiet, save for the faint tapping of Tim’s keyboard and the low hum of the monitors. Bruce sat at the console, watching the live feed from Oswald Cobblepot’s office. You were seated across from the Penguin, a mixture of nerves and polite excitement etched on your face. The Iceberg Lounge’s chandelier lights reflected in your wide eyes as you gestured animatedly, your Gotham University sweater and résumé betraying your earnestness in a city that thrived on deception.

“Can’t decide if she’s brave or just clueless,” Tim remarked, leaning back slightly as he toggled between camera feeds. “She walked into Cobblepot’s lair with a résumé. A résumé, Bruce.”

“She’s a student trying to make ends meet. That’s not bravery—it’s necessity.”

Damian’s voice crackled through the comms. “She really responded to a ‘help wanted’ ad? Tt. Typical. Of course that bloated bird would choose a naive one. She’ll probably end up scrubbing vomit out of his VIP lounge carpets.”

Tim tutted thoughtfully at Damian’s comment. “I mean…..he’s probably aiming higher than janitorial work for her. Did you hear the way he sweetened his voice?”

Damian scoffed but didn't reply. 

A new voice broke in over the comms—Dick, speaking from his position on patrol. “You think she knows what she’s getting into? Working there isn’t exactly safe.”

“She doesn’t,” Bruce answered simply, “But that doesn’t make her unique. Plenty of people stumble into Gotham’s underworld without realizing it. We can’t save everyone.”

Tim muttered, “Still doesn’t mean we should ignore it. If Penguin’s targeting her for something, we’ll want to know why.”

Damian chimed in again, his tone slightly mocking. “We already know why, Drake. He likes his toys naïve, optimistic, and disposable. She won’t last a week before she gets a reality check—or worse.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked toward the feed as Cobblepot stood, offering you a hand and gesturing toward the door. “They’re moving,” Bruce said. “Tim, keep the office feed rolling, and find another camera angle.” 

“We won’t have audio and depending on where he’s taking her, I’m not sure we’ll have visuals either.”

There was a moment of silence, the kind that spoke volumes in the Batcave.

Dick broke it. “She’s smart enough to know what Cobblepot is, right? I mean, who walks into the Iceberg Lounge thinking it’s just a nightclub?”

“People who don’t know Gotham,” Tim replied, scrolling through files, soaking in what he can on you. “..She’s a psych major at Gotham U, full-time. She’s been juggling two jobs already, so she’s probably just desperate for the paycheck.”

Damian’s tone turned sharper. “Desperation or not, she’s still a fool. You don’t wear a sweater with your university’s name on it when you waltz into the lion’s den.”

Tim smirked. “Guess she didn’t take Gotham’s prerequisite: Street Smarts 101.”

The screen now displayed the empty office, Cobblepot’s desk abandoned. You were out of their sight, and for the moment, out of their reach. But the Batfamily wasn’t about to let you disappear into the darkness of Gotham without a trace. Tim was scrambling to find a feed that would give them info as to where Cobblepot’s taking you, but at the very least, they have relevant info on you.

Dick’s voice again. “Did you hear her in that interview? ‘Lovable but scrappy.’” He smiled faintly at the words. “She actually likes Gotham. We should keep it that way.”

Tim again, confirming some details. “Transferred to Gotham U from out of state. No criminal record, no red flags.”

Damian’s voice cut in, sharp and dry. “Other than walking into the Iceberg Lounge with a résumé. That’s a red flag for stupidity.”

Dick countered, his tone softer now. “She doesn’t know any better. Give her a break.”

Jason laughed, his voice snarky over the comms line from his own patrol. “Oh, sure, Grayson. Let’s all gather around and shield her from the big bad city. What’s next, care packages?”

Dick sighed audibly, “Don’t you have a crime boss to scare right now?”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Already done. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Priceless.” Another faint noise came through, likely the reloading of a gun.

Bruce’s voice cut through before Dick could respond. “Enough. Focus, Jason.”

“Whatever you say, B,” Jason replied breezily, though the teasing lilt was still in his voice. “I’ll keep an eye out, too, just in case our scrappy little friend stirs up any trouble at the Iceberg.”

Damian snorted. “I’ll enjoy seeing Cobblepot’s face when she quits.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on your face, captured mid-smile on the monitor. Quietly, he murmured, “She’ll need another job. A safe one. I’m sure Wayne Enterprises will have something available for her.”

“Keep me updated,” Batman ordered as he stood, his cape swishing as he headed toward the Batmobile. “If she gets in over her head, we’re pulling her out. No debates.”

Damian’s voice came back, quieter this time, reluctant. “She’s already in over her head.”

Little did they know, Oswald Cobblepot’s schemes for you were the furthest thing from exploitative labor. In his mind, the idea of you actually toiling away with a mop and bucket was quickly becoming unthinkable—borderline offensive, even.

The moment he saw the way your eyes sparkled with hope and determination, and saw the way you'd listed your good grades on your resume in a hopeful attempt at impressing him and proving your aptitudes, he’d decided he’d let you sleep on the job if you wanted to. Hell, he’d set up a whole suite in the back of the Lounge if it kept you close and content. You could waste time dusting the empty liquor shelves or filing nonexistent paperwork all day if it made you feel productive. What mattered to him wasn’t what you did—it was that you were here, where he could keep an eye on you.

But of course, Cobblepot wouldn't admit that to himself. Not yet, at least. No, this was just “good business,” he rationalized. You were a valuable asset—your charm and friendliness were enough to lighten up even the Iceberg’s darkest corners. You had a way of making the whole place feel... welcoming and warm, like you were untouched by Gotham’s grime and crime. Plus you wanted to be productive. He scoffed under his breath, amused. Of course one of the first fresh faces ready to work at the Lounge was also someone who he didn’t dream of involving in his actual operations. Just his luck.

So, if you decided you needed an afternoon nap in the dusty janitorial closet? He’d send a goon to bring you a pillow. If you scoured the cleaning supply catalog for hours without actually ordering anything? He’d find it endearing. As long as you were happy and oblivious to the underworld swirling just beneath the Lounge’s polished surface, you could do whatever you wanted.

Unbeknownst to them all, while they debated your safety, Oswald was sitting back in his office, already plotting ways to make your life easier. Sure, he’d keep up the charade of being your boss for now—keep you busy with harmless tasks so you didn’t get suspicious. But he wasn’t about to let you work too hard. Not his sweet, naive new hire.

You didn’t belong in Gotham’s shadows. And as far as Oswald Cobblepot was concerned, he’d make sure you never had to find out just how dark they could get. Or at least, he’d try. 

By the time Oswald walked you to the janitorial closet—a tiny, forgotten room in the back of the lounge—he was already plotting how to keep you close. The closet was practically empty, a detail that normally wouldn’t bother him, but the way your face fell at the sight made him want to slap whoever was supposed to manage the damn place.

"Um… is this where I’m supposed to… work?" you asked softly, your voice unsure as you peeked into the empty closet. Your eyes darted around, taking in the barren shelves and dusty floor, as though you’d missed some hidden stash of supplies. "It just… doesn’t look ready yet?"

"Ah… this won’t do," he said quickly, covering his irritation with a smooth smile. "Looks like someone’s dropped the ball here. Don’t you worry about this, darlin’. I’ll get one of my guys on it—someone reliable. You’ll have everything you need to get started." 

His tone was honeyed, and though he aimed for casual reassurance, his sharp eyes flickered to the shelves like he wanted to set the whole closet ablaze for offending you. For fuck’s sake.

“No, no, this won’t do at all,” Oswald said again, shaking his head and clucking his tongue like he was personally offended by the state of the janitorial closet. “You deserve better than this mess, darlin’. I’ll have it sorted by tomorrow, you have my word.”

You blinked at him, “If you want me on the job today, I can make something work,” you offered tentatively, gesturing toward the dusty shelves. “I’ve been in worse spots before.” You gave him a sheepish smile, trying to seem accommodating.

Cobblepot scoffed softly, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no, absolutely not. I won’t have my new employee starting off in such... subpar conditions. It’s a poor reflection on me, and I can’t have that, now can I?” He straightened his tie with an air of exaggerated importance before leaning on his cane. “Here’s what we’ll do instead. You take the night to get familiar with the Lounge—on the house, of course. Have some drinks, relax, mingle a bit. Consider it my way of welcoming you to the team.”

You blinked again, even more confused. “Oh, um, that’s really generous, but shouldn’t I, like… fill out some paperwork first? Or sign something?”

Oswald chuckled, a warm, low sound that almost made you feel silly for asking. “Paperwork? We’ll handle all that boring nonsense tomorrow. No need to rush into the dull parts of the job, eh?” He gestured toward the door, ushering you back into the main lounge. “For tonight, enjoy yourself. Swing by the bar, meet some of the staff, maybe say hello to the security team. It’s important to me that you feel comfortable at the Iceberg.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if this was some sort of test, but his expression was disarmingly sincere. “Well… if you’re sure…”

“Positive,” he interrupted, clapping a hand on your shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Now, off you go. The night’s young, and the Lounge is at your disposal.”

As you stepped out of the closet and back into the opulent main floor, you glanced over your shoulder to see him watching you with a smile that seemed too genuine for someone of his reputation. You didn’t know him, but you’d heard some things. 

Unbeknownst to you, Cobblepot wasn’t just offering you free alcohol or a night to relax—he was staking his claim. He wanted you to feel at home, to see the Lounge as a safe haven, a place you’d always want to return to. Sure, there’d be paperwork eventually, but for now, the only thing that mattered was keeping you here, comfortable and unaware of the darker dealings hidden beneath the glamour.

Tim leaned back in his chair, toggling between the camera feeds inside the Iceberg Lounge. He was alone in the Batcave now, the others out on patrol in the city. “Well, there she is,” he muttered, zeroing in on his view of you at the bar. You were perched on a sleek barstool, your Gotham University sweater a stark contrast to the high-end fashion of the Lounge’s usual clientele. “She’s… drinking. A lot.”

Jason, freshly back from patrol—or what little of it he actually bothered to finish—sauntered into the Batcave, pulling off his helmet and setting it down with a thud. “That’s her?” he asked, nodding toward the screen.

“Yeah,” Tim replied without looking away. “You decided to show up?” His eyes flickered to the time down at the bottom of his monitor. "Thirty minutes early? B's not gonna be thrilled."

Jason ignored the jab, stepping closer to get a better look. “Huh,” he muttered, crossing his arms as his sharp eyes drank you in. You were laughing at something the bartender said, your cheeks flushed. You gestured animatedly with your glass while saying something they couldn't hear. “She doesn’t look like much.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, glancing up at Jason. “That’s what you cut patrol short for? To see her in person?”

Jason shrugged, his gaze fixed on you. “I was curious. Heard you and Damian going back and forth about her. Figured I’d check it out for myself.” His lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Didn’t expect her to be… this.”

Tim tilted his head. “This what?”

Jason gestured vaguely at the screen. “This… normal. Sweater, messy hair, drinking like she’s celebrating her midterms being over. Doesn’t scream ‘Iceberg Lounge material,’ y’know?”

Tim chuckled, toggling to another camera feed for a better angle. “That’s kind of the point. She thought she was interviewing for a janitorial position, Jason. Janitorial.”

Jason blinked, then snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” Tim said, leaning back in his chair. “She walked in there with a résumé—an actual paper résumé—and asked about cleaning floors or whatever. Cobblepot probably laughed his ass off before offering her a drink.”

“He’s footing the bill by the way,” Tim added, toggling to a feed that showed the Penguin subtly watching you from across the room as he conversed with some guests. “She hasn’t reached for her wallet once. He’s just… letting her.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Penguin’s expression. There was no malice there yet, no obvious scheme in motion. Instead, Cobblepot looked almost… satisfied, like he was pleased with what he was seeing. “The hell’s his angle?” Jason muttered, his top lip curling in disgust at the possibilities.

“No idea,” Tim replied. “But if I had to guess? He’s trying to butter her up. Make her think the Lounge is a safe place, keep her happy and oblivious while he decides what to do with her.”

Jason scoffed, leaning back against the console.”She won’t last a week.”

Tim smirked. “You’re awfully invested for someone who just met her. Maybe you should prep a care package.”

“I didn’t meet her,” Jason shot back, though his eyes flicked back to the screen almost involuntarily. “I’m just saying, someone needs to give her a reality check before she gets eaten alive.”

“Maybe,” Tim said, watching as you swayed slightly to the music, chatting with another patron who’d joined you at the bar. “But she doesn’t look like she’s in danger. Yet.”

Jason grunted, pushing off the console and grabbing his helmet. “Yeah, well, I’m keeping an eye on this one. If Penguin tries anything, I’m ending it.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re helping? Didn’t you just skip the last half of your patrol?”

Jason smirked as he turned toward the exit. “Hey, monitoring Gotham’s underworld is part of the job, isn’t it? I’m just doing my part.”

Tim shook his head with a laugh as Jason disappeared up the stairs. “Sure you are.”

Back on the screen, you were oblivious to the scrutiny, to the way the curiosities of Gotham's vigilantes were beginning to blossom into something more.

[adalwolfgang]

Jervis: Happy birthday my dear! It’s me! I’m your gift!

(Name), whispering to Jon: did you get a receipt or do i have to keep him?

———————————————

(Name): And that's how I got here...

Zsasz: Ha! You sure are a funny one!

*Zsasz stares for a long moment*

(Name): What?

Zsasz: I like you. Like a lot. I'm going to keep you.

*His hand tightly held (Name)’s*

(Name): Uh..okay-.

Zsasz: Good! There was no choice anyway.

———————————————

Edward: I always apologize when I'm wrong.

(Name): I don't think I've ever seen you apologize before.

Edward: I'm never wrong.

———————————————

Oswald: you're trying to use my ego against me?

(Name): I thought it'd work.

Oswald: no, it worked. I'll do it.

———————————————

Jerome: Something's off.

(Name): maybe you've finally developed human emotions and are actually feeling bad for hurting people?

Jerome: no, but that's funny!

———————————————

Jon: Have you heard the joke about the gas light?

(Name): no..?

Jon: Yeah you have.

(Name): no I haven’t.

Jon: You've literally heard it already.

(Name): I HAVEN’T?!

Jon: You're crazy.

[adhdnursegoat]

Hello, welcome to my curated collection of questionable decisions, emotional damage, unsolicited genius, and Gotham-grade intimacy, starring one very high-maintenance man in green.

I wanted to challenge myself to make pieces without too much plot, without making a whole production out of it. I wanted to explore more and have a space to put some new pieces. So what should you expect?

Sometimes the lights go out, and you don't bother finding the switch.

Sometimes he finds you reading smut about him.

Sometimes you're just trying to do your job.

Sometimes he's pretending you don't undo him with a look.

And sometimes—just sometimes—you both act like this isn’t the most important thing that's ever happened to either of you.

Features: accidental confessions, emotional constipation, too much eye contact, not enough self-control, a wellness journal Edward swears isn’t going to work, exactly zero logical coping strategies, and smut, smut, smut!

There are no rules. Only regrets and ridiculous amounts of tension.

Masterlist below:

In the Event of a Blackout - Arkham Knight Riddler x gn reader

This is Not a Drill - Young Justice Riddler x gn reader

Asset Extraction - Young Justice Riddler x fem reader

Puppy Love - Young Justice Riddler x fem reader

Oral Exam - Arkham City Riddler x gn reader (with mentions of a vagina)

Low Power Mode - Arkham Knight Riddler x gn reader

[x-gabrielle-x]

Withered Cards | III

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

"Mistakes are not something you can afford to make, Jason," Bruce commented, though his gaze was trained on the screen before him. "I told you this was an intel mission. You should have waited for my queue."

Jason adjusted his position on the chair he was currently sat on, his gaze burning into Bruce's back the longer he continued to stare at the projective computer before him. The tape that he had collected from the mission played on repeat, and truthfully, it was becoming painful for Jason having to rewatch it over and over.

Yes, he had been given strict orders to merely stay hidden within the shadows and report back to Batman with the intel he was instructed to gather, but Jason wanted to do more than be a sidekick to gather information.

“How was that a mistake?” He retorted, pointing to the screen. “If I hadn’t gone, you would have never known what was happening down there.”

Finally, Bruce turned in his chair, his voice just as deep as always. Like a parent scolding his child - which was true to an extent.

"You're telling me that you found out what that whole ordeal was about?" He questioned, gesturing a hand to the screen. "Because it sure doesn't look like you do."

It angered Jason more than he would have liked to admit that Bruce was mostly right. The most Jason knew was that the Joker was up to something, but when was he not? The best possible answer he got was that he has an alliance of some sort. You seemed to be around his age, possibly younger, and yet you were one of the most skilled fighters he's fought. You were experienced, and no doubt deadly.

His nose ached from the harsh punch that you had thrown, the wet rag that was now soaked with crimson blood was discarded beside him.

When Bruce noticed his silence, he continued to ignore him from then on. His fingers dancing along the computer and leaving an uncomfortable silence that Jason wished to break.

Alfred walked in with a tray of coffee; something Bruce had waved him off to go and grab whilst he worked. Whilst the silence lingered, Alfred's gaze flickered up to the screen of the masked girl.

"I do not recognize this criminal," Alfred spoke as he settled the tray down. "Have we seen this girl before?"

Bruce shook his head, a frown etched on his features. "No, but there have been witnesses. Apparently, she's only shown up around Gotham the past two months."

Alfred hummed. “And what does this criminal do, exactly?”

Bruce pushed his body away from the desk with a long sigh, his brows still pinched into a deep frown as his hand dragged down his face. “Jason’s body cam just managed to pick up a little of their conversation before she ran off. The Joker is in on this, too. She knows him, and well.”

Jason's curiosity was piqued. What was the Joker's intentions, now? Surely it was another scheme to lure Batman into a trap.

“Perhaps another laughing gas?” Alfred suggested as he glanced over at Jason, gesturing toward the tea as he offered to pour some, but Jason shook his head.

"Not a laughing gas," Jason concluded, digging into the suit that he still wore. He pulled out the familiar vial that he had managed to snatch from the masked girl, holding it up for everybody's view. "I'm thinking maybe a drug, or maybe some sort of crazy mutation serum!" He looked between the two, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Bruce remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving the vial in his son's hand. Jason was expecting praise, a congratulations, maybe even a pat on the back and allowed more freedom whilst on patrol. But Bruce's face remained stoic.

"Jason," he started, tone very far from what he had expected. Was it anger? Disappointment? Shock?

He was quick to saunter over and take the vial from his hand, analyzing it carefully as he twisted it in his grasp.

With a shake of his head, his frown deepened. If that were even possible. He placed the vial carefully onto the desk beside the computer.

"You're too reckless," he began. "Not only did you go against my orders, but now you are involved with a crime much deeper than what you can handle. You've put yourself in danger. And not only yourself," he pointed to the screen again. "But you got her in danger, too."

Jason felt his anger boil, ready to spill over any second. Could Bruce not see his success for once? Could he not give him the approval he desperately wished for? It was risky, but he had got the job done.

"I did what I had to," he defended, the anger evident in his voice as he took a step closer.

Bruce quickly snapped back. "And what you did was wrong."

A pause.

"Next time something like this happens, you follow my order... otherwise the title of Robin goes to somebody else."

In the heat of his rage, Jason stormed past both Bruce and Alfred and made his way out of the Batcave, cape flowing behind him with every long stride. Before the door had slammed shut, he just managed to hear a little of Alfred's voice.

"They're both just children, Master Wayne," he tried. "Much like you once were."

"I can't have him making more mistakes."

A harsh slap landed against your cheek, your head snapping to the side from the force. The burning sensation left behind caused for your eyes to sting with tears, your vision blurred.

His maniacal laughter was all you could hear despite the ringing in your ears, and you didn't fail to notice the very evident annoyance behind each deep inhale of laughter.

"I can't believe it!" Joker paced. "You really let that little rodent slip past your fingers, just like that? My, my, I might have placed just a little too much faith in you."

He crouched down before you, masking a frown as his thumb came up to swipe the blood from your lip. Your tongue darted out to swipe at the cut he had left, the metallic taste lingering in your mouth.

"I must say I am very disappointed," Joker hummed, but oddly enough his hand came to rest on your shoulder, like an odd way of comforting. "But that's why there's always room to learn from mistakes!"

The vial that you were sent to retrieve merely a few hours ago was no longer tucked away safely in your pocket.

You had only realized once you were in front of Joker's latest warehouse that he used as a current hideout, your hands searching every pocket, each shoe, in search for the vial. Robin had managed to slip it out without you noticing, and it enraged you.

He was fast, skilled, and very obviously sly. Although it was a tough fight, it brought some adrenaline and excitement into your night. Something you had craved for a while.

Joker clicked his tongue in thought, now sat on a torn couch across from you with his leg propped up on his knee.

"You'll make it up to me, right, my little clown?" his tone was almost mocking. "Perhaps next time you might run into the little birdy again, oh, that would spice things up!"

You inhaled a shaky breath. "I'll get it back," you said, but he waved you off.

"Nah, I'll just get the doc to make me a new one. Although, we can't afford any more mistakes now, can we, Y/N?"

He looked at you expectingly, dread washing over you the longer his gaze pierced your own.

"No, we can't."

"That's my girl!" He clapped his hands. "Harley! Come get the poor girl cleaned up, will ya? She looks like she's been through hell!" He let out a loud cackle at what he considered a joke, slapping his knee.

Harley's head popped from around the corner of the cracked wall, pigtails swinging with every movement she made. With one look at you, she was rushing over.

"Puddin, what happened?" She practically squealed, ushering you to stand up, though the small smile never left her lips. "Oh dear, let's get you all nice and cleaned up!"

The bathroom that she had practically dragged you into smelt of urine and had broken tiles scattered across the floor. Mold was growing along the ceiling and puddles of water crowded at the base of the sink. You had to hold back the look of disgust when Harley took a small rag and wet it under some water.

It wasn't long until Harley was finally finished with dabbing your split lip with the cold water and tending to the few cuts you had littered over your flesh. It was a poorly done job, but the moment you had got to step into your own small room - a storage space that barely managed to fit the worn mattress you used to sleep on, you were instantly flopping down.

It was quiet and dark, but nothing that you weren't already used to. You enjoyed having some time away from the two clowns, after all.

Looking over, you reached for the same small bear that you've kept over the years, only now it wasn't as soft as it used to be, and the familiar smell of your old home was gone from the fur. Instead, it was now covered in dirt and grime. A button had been sewn on poorly as an eye after the last had fallen off, and its right arm was barely hanging on by a thread. Still, you carefully held it against your body as you laid on your side, alone and tense.

Your mind refused to settle, thoughts swarming with the Robin boy who had managed to make your night go from alright to horrific in only a few hours.

He had outplayed you - tricked you - and still somehow, he had managed to get your mind swimming. Your fight was oddly thrilling, and it confused you with his cocky comments. Batman was nowhere to be seen, meaning that Robin had let you go. Why?

Your knuckles had tightened their hold on the bear, a reminder of your life before any of this had happened. You didn't dwell on it, knowing that there was no way back. But the sadness lingered once you buried your face into the soft fur, allowing for the sleep to catch up to you. As usual it was never a peaceful one, but instead filled with nightmares and an all too familiar wide grin.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[gracelessace]

Nooooooo bbgirl don’t cry. Do you want me to kill that guy for you?

[fatheriimaginedyoutaller]

[Farrell!Oz x Biographer!OC] - Fic Preview/Concept

SUMMARY:

Oswald "Oz" Cobblepot, the Kingpin of Gotham. Previously only known as the right hand of Carmine Falcone, blah blah, everyone knows that story.

He had given up trying to tell it, he had sat down in front of his mother's old typewriter (no way in hell he would trust a fucking computer with the feds all up his ass). So naturally, the next best thing was getting someone else to tell it.

He got the contact information from Eve. A freelancer. Some kid from L.A. who had made a name for himself to tell real-life chronicles of different controversial personalities across the country.

So yeah, he called the kid to write his memoir.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Heiress Of Gotham Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: After the sudden loss of your mother to mysterious circumstances, you’re claimed by a father you didn’t know you had: Bruce Wayne. If it isn’t bad enough that you’re complete strangers to one another, your world is flipped upside down with all the changes said to come with the Wayne name. What’s worse is that you’re not so sure your mother’s death was an accident.

Warnings: Angst, Anti-Police themes, Cursing, Depression themes, Negativity, Numbness, Disassociation, Existentialism, Misandry, Crying, Suicidal Thoughts (if u squint), Yelling, Outbursts, Injury, Blood, Catcalling, Threats, Funeral, Knives, Fighting, Panic Attacks, Shame, Guilt, Fight or Flight, Spying, Voyeurism, White Lies, Alcohol, Underage Drinking, Making Out, Miscommunication, Anxiety, Mourning, Hurtful Comments, Reckless Driving(?) ,

Mentions of: Death, Suicide, Body Fluids, Bodies, Sex Trafficking, Criminal Activities, Drug Busts, Prostitution, Assassins, Sexual Inferences, Slut Shaming

Part One Chapters: Seed Uprooted | Cruel New World | Memories Embarked | Desolate Days | Threatened to Reset | Summer of a Lifetime | Uncharted Territory | Reckless Decisions & Dancing | Fake Dates & Milkshakes | Revenge and Retribution

[swanimagines]

Hi, Can I get C41 with Jerome Valeska, thanks!

Prompt: C41. “Fuck you! Get out of my house!”

EFFORT

Living in Gotham had never been easy, and some of your friends wondered why you would stay there despite all the crime, corruption, and being in some level of danger every day. You knew it might have sounded crazy, and it probably was — but you still thought of Gotham as your home, as flawed as it was.

This particular night had been a long day at work, and your boss had set you free two hours past your regular work time. He had done that a lot lately, whipping his workers to the edge, threatening to fire you if you dared to complain. So when you got home and kicked your shoes off and hung your coat into the closet, you felt at peace for the first time for hours.

You went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge and took out the lemonade jug you had had sitting there for a few days now, sniffing it before shrugging - good enough. You poured it into the glass, adding some ice before chucking the lemonade down your dry throat. You let out a breath after swallowing, and watched the lights sprawling through your home street.

“Rough day, doll?” a voice drawled from the darkness of your living room, and you spun around, throwing the glass before even looking at the intruder — you knew exactly who it was. That fiery-haired boy had been following you for weeks, enough for you to see nightmares with his voice. You’d recognise it from anywhere.

And sure enough, it was him. He dodged the glass easily as it hurled into the wall behind him. He lounged on your couch, clearly anticipating you throwing something but he laughed anyway. “Woah, you have an odd way to greet your guests.”

“Jerome,” you growled, lifting the lemonade jug for protection. “What are you doing here?”

He stood up, smoothing out his jacket. “I saw your boss shouting at you today. Not very nice of him. I’m planning to give him a talk later, but I first wanted to check on you.”

“Fuck you! Get out of my house!” you shouted, waving the lemonade jug at him.

He pouted at you. “Am I really that unwelcome here? But I made all this effort to find you, to get into your apartment — I could get used to hanging out here occasionally, if you let me.”

You ignored it, turning to your bag for your phone, but Jerome reached you with a few quick strides, taking a hold of your wrist and pried the lemonade jug away from you, placing it on the counter. “Ah, ah, ah. Let’s not make this difficult. We could have so much fun, you wouldn’t want the police involved in our fun, would you?”

You tried to pull your wrist off his hold, but he just tightened his hold. You took a step closer to him. “Let me go, or I will make sure your balls will never again function.”

He tilted his head. “I just want to get to know you better.”

You tried to struggle yourself free as you seethed, “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

His smile disappeared for a moment. “That’s not very nice to say. I’ve been watching you for weeks. I know every little quirk and habit of yours. Doesn’t my effort mean anything to you?”

“You’re sick.”

His grip tightened again for a moment before he slowly let go, and you pulled your hand back as soon as his grip loosened enough, rubbing the red marks he left on you. He stepped back and sighed. “You know, you aren’t the first person to tell me that, and won’t be the last either.”

You took one more step further from him, your spine colliding with your kitchen counter. “What do you want from me? Why me?”

His grin returned immediately, trapping you in between himself and the counter. At that moment, you wished you would have been one of the people they experimented with in Arkham, that you could just… melt through the floor to escape, or something like that. He lifted his hand, caressing your cheek. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to study you. I want to learn what makes you tick. Why aren’t you like the others, others are boring but you… you’re like a puzzle. And I love puzzles.”

Your gaze jumped around the kitchen as you tried to make up a way to get past him. The kitchen knife was tucked away with your cutting board next to the sink, and your phone was still in your bag over your shoulder, but with Jerome so close that you could almost feel his breath… not a chance.

“S-stay away from me,” you stuttered out, grimacing internally at your attempt to sound brave. “I-I mean it, I’m, I’m going to get you locked up, I…”

He pouted again, cupping your chin. “Oh, doll. It’s cute how innocent you are sometimes, do you really think the police will find me? Or if they even bother looking properly just for you? Have you forgotten where you live?”

You swallowed, knowing he was right. The police wouldn’t have time to protect you like that, you weren’t important in any way.

“My friends will notice if I disappear,” you squeaked out, and he hummed.

“That’s the best part of it. The thrill of being chased. But don’t worry doll, I’m not here to take you away. Not tonight, anyway.” He took a step back again, and looked around. “But I see you’re in no mood of company today, so I'd better get going. Your boss waits for me anyway, that warehouse is cozy for me but for my guests, it’s… less cozy.”

He walked to the door, and you stared at him as he went. You finally found a piece of courage, and asked, “What are you going to do with him?”

He turned to you slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Your boss? Well, let’s just say… he may not come to work tomorrow. Or ever, depending on my mood. Don’t be too surprised if that happens, he needs to learn that my doll deserves some respect.”

Your heart jumped, and before you even had time to consider it, you took two steps towards him. “Jerome, I may lose my job if you kill him. And I can’t pay my rent, or bills, or food if that happens.”

He looked at you, and smirked. “Leave all that up to me. Just sit tight, all of your worries will be gone by tomorrow.”

Before you could reply, he was out, his steps echoing in your stairwell — and even when you knew it was wrong, you were unable to dash after him and plead with him to not kill your boss. You just stood there frozen and only went back inside when you heard the stairwell door close. You closed your door with a soft click and leaned against it, taking in deep breaths.

You knew you should call the police. Or even one of your friends. Tell someone. You knew it, but yet you just stood there like an idiot. A thought that filled your head, that you should just let him do it. It was true that your boss was being unfair, forcing you to work like slaves. Overtime without bonuses, knowing his workers wouldn’t be able to afford to get fired. And his superiors didn’t care about it. As long as money was pouring in, your boss was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

So maybe… this was a way out. Maybe you should just let Jerome do what he will to the boss. And it wasn’t like you knew which warehouse he was talking about, there were hundreds in Gotham. You could just pretend to be shocked when the news rang out about what happened.

You knew it was still wrong, and it may be that this was exactly what Jerome was after, but you couldn’t help it, the feeling of finding a way out.

So, you closed your eyes for a moment before you straightened up and made your way to the couch, moving it to clean the shattered glass from the floor — and you found yourself being intrigued about his next visit, even when you tried to shoo yourself from thinking about it.

---

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[guilty-ff]

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐭. 𝟒

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ˚⁎⁺˳ .

This story takes place after Jason's death (warning: not 100% Comic accurate)

Pairings: Dick Grayson/Nightwing x (fem!Reader), Slight Jason Todd/Red hood x (fem!Reader)

Genre: Action, Angst, Revenge, Violence, DC

Warnings: Comic Spoilers!, Explicit content, Child abuse, swearing, torture, mental health, weapons

Word count: 2589

The air feels thick with blood, the cold smell of death filling the room. Jason stands over Ra's al Ghul's lifeless body, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His broken hand hangs limply at his side, the weight of the fight heavy on him, but something haunts him- a strange emptiness, a hollowness where there should be victory.

He killed him. He killed the man who controlled Y/n's life for so long. He took away the source of her torment and pain. But now, when it is over, Jason does not feel relief. He does not feel victorious. Instead, there is only the growing self-hatred eating him from the inside.

The door to the training room swings open, and Jason's gaze snaps toward the figure standing in the doorway. It is Talia al Ghul. Her expression is not one of anger, grief, or shock. It is something darker- satisfaction, even amusement.

Talia does not flinch as she takes in the scene. The bloody remains of her father lie across the floor. "You've done what I could never bring myself to do," she says, her voice calm. "I suppose I should thank you."

Jason's jaw tightens as anger surges in him. He wants to kill her too. She is just as much a threat as her father. He steps forward, eyes burning with rage.

But Talia holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender, her gaze never leaving his. "I'm not here to fight you," she says, her voice careful.

Jason remains aggressive, fists clenched, but he does not move. The tension in the air crackles, and he waits for her next move.

"I came to discuss your next move," she continues, glancing briefly at her father's body. "What you did was necessary, I suppose. Ra's had grown too obsessed with his plans. He was always blind to what really mattered. You were right to stop him." There is no sadness in her voice- only the same cold, calculating tone Jason expects from her.

Her expression shifts, hardens, as she looks at him. "But you've made an enemy of all who followed him. The League of Assassins will come after you, Jason. And they will come after Y/n."

Jason's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

Talia's lips curl into a cold smile. "I'm moving her. I can't leave her here, not with you. She needs to go far away. You can't protect her from the consequences of your actions. Ra's may be dead, but others will want revenge. For his death. For her defiance."

Jason's heart skips a beat. "What are you talking about? Where is she going?"

Talia's eyes flicker toward the door. "You'll never see her again," she whispers. "She will be far from you. Safe. No one will hurt her anymore. You can't follow her. Not this time."

Before Jason can respond, Talia turns and walks away, her footsteps echoing in the silent room.

Jason stands there, rage building inside him. He cannot let her take Y/n. Not now. Not after everything they have been through. He has to stop her. He runs through the hallways, breathing hard, heading straight for Y/n's room. He needs to get to her, tell her everything, explain why she cannot leave him.

He reaches the door and slams his hand against the metal. The lock breaks with a twist, and the door swings open. Y/n is sitting on the floor, her back against the cold stone wall. She looks up at him, eyes wide with shock and confusion. When she sees him, her expression falters. She stands quickly, unsure of what to do.

Jason cannot hold it back. "I killed him," he says, his voice rough. "Ra's al Ghul. He's gone. I killed him, Y/n. He's never coming back."

Her breath hitches. Her eyes flicker with disbelief, lips parting as if she wants to speak but cannot find the words. Before she can, she slaps him hard across the face.

The sting of her palm burns against his skin. He does not fight it. He just stands there, stunned, as she steps back, tears flooding her eyes.

"You- you don't get to do that!" Y/n cries, voice thick with emotion. "You don't get to take my revenge! I was going to kill him. I was going to make him suffer. And you-" She chokes on her words, fists shaking. "You took that from me. You took my chance to be free of him forever."

Jason's throat tightens. He watches her, his heart aching. He wants to explain, to tell her why he did it, why it was necessary. But Y/n is not listening. She is too angry, too hurt to hear him. And in that moment, Jason realizes- she is not angry with him. She is angry because she lost something. She lost the chance for her own closure.

"Y/n, I—" Jason starts, but she cuts him off, voice shaking with fury.

"Don't tell me what I need," she spits. "You don't get to lecture me on what I should do. You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through. Revenge is the only thing I had to keep me going. And now you've taken that from me. I don't know what's left."

Jason's face twists with guilt. He cannot bear seeing her like this. He did it for her. He wanted to free her from the past. But now he sees that he took something important from her- the chance to confront it herself.

"No, Y/n," Jason says, his voice breaking. "You don't need revenge. You don't need to keep holding onto that anger. You can move on. Please, Y/n, listen to me."

Y/n's eyes narrow, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Don't tell me what I need, Jason," she says, voice fierce. "You don't get to tell me what to do when you're still holding on to your own demons."

Jason's face falls. Her words hit him hard. She is right. He wants revenge on Batman. He has been consumed by it for so long. He thought he could protect Y/n from her past, but he has not even let go of his own.

"I want to make him feel what he made me feel, Y/n," Jason admits, voice quieter now. "I've spent so much of my life thinking about revenge, thinking about taking him down. I don't know how to stop. But here I am, telling you to let it go when I can't even do it myself."

Y/n takes a step back, her eyes dark with realization. Her gaze softens, but it is filled with a sadness that Jason knows he deserves. "You're no better than me," she whispers. "You want revenge on Batman, but then you're standing here telling me I shouldn't want the same. It's hypocritical."

Jason's chest tightens. For a long time, he cannot speak. Her words cut deeper than any blow. He realizes she is right. He is a hypocrite. He has been so focused on vengeance that he could not see how unfair he was being to her. He had taken her chance at revenge away, yet he clung to his own thirst for it.

Y/n shakes her head, eyes heavy with understanding. "We're both trapped in this," she says softly. "We're both holding on to something that's destroying us. And you can't tell me to stop when you can't stop yourself."

Jason does not know how to respond. He stands there, looking at her, knowing she is right. He does not have an answer for her. He cannot fix things for her, not when he has not fixed himself. He reaches out for her, gently cupping her face. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't want to take that from you. I just-" His words trail off. What else can he say?

Y/n's expression softens, but there is still pain in her eyes. "I don't need you to apologize," she whispers. "I just need you to understand."

He nods slowly. Before he can say anything more, he leans in and kisses her. It is slow and gentle, not desperate. It is a kiss filled with everything they both want but cannot fully express; tenderness, desperation, grief, all tangled together.

When they pull apart, Jason's forehead rests against hers, both of them breathing hard. "I don't know what comes next for us," he whispers. "But you need to leave."

Y/n closes her eyes, then opens them again. "But I don't want to", she says quietly.

Jason's heart races as Y/n's words sink in, and for a moment, he is frozen. He can feel the weight of her words, heavy with truth and defiance, cutting through him like a knife. She does not want to go. She does not want to leave him. And despite everything that has happened, despite all the reasons he has been telling her to go, her decision cuts straight to the core of his own turmoil.

"I don't want to go," Y/n says again, her voice shaking but resolute. "This is my choice. My own will. Like you always told me I should have- freedom to make my own decisions, to choose my own path, right? I've been a prisoner my whole life, Jason. But now, for the first time, I get to decide. And I'm choosing you."

Jason feels his breath catch in his throat. The look in her eyes is unwavering. She is standing there, vulnerable but strong, giving him a choice that seems impossible to accept. She is asking him to let her stay, to let her be with him- despite the consequences, despite everything they have been through.

She steps closer, not waiting for him to respond. "I'm not going because someone else tells me to," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper, but fierce. "I'm not leaving because my mother or anyone else says it's safer for me. I'm leaving because I want to be safe. Safe with you. I want to stay with you, Jason."

She pauses, her hand reaching out to touch his arm gently. "You told me once I deserved my freedom. Well, I'm taking it now. And the freedom I choose is to be with you. Don't take that from me. Please don't make that choice for me."

Jason's chest tightens at the words, and he feels like he is suffocating. He wants to let her stay- God, he wants nothing more- but the reality of what is coming, the danger that will inevitably follow them if she stays, claws at his heart.

But her words echo in his mind: freedom. She is choosing her own path, making a choice that is hers alone to make, just like he always told her she deserved.

And yet... He has been telling her to leave, to go, because he cannot bear the thought of her being in danger. The idea of her facing the wrath of the League because of his actions, because of his past... it terrifies him. But as he looks into her eyes, he knows she is right. It is her choice, her freedom, and maybe it is time he let her make it.

"Y/n..." Jason starts, but his words falter. He does not know what to say. He wants to tell her everything- how he feels, how terrified he is, how he has never felt this much for anyone but the words don not come. She is looking at him with such raw vulnerability, and all he wants is to hold her and protect her from the world.

But he cannot.

Instead, he just shakes his head, his own heart breaking. "I don't want you to stay because of me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want you to be here out of guilt, out of obligation. You deserve better than this, Y/n. You deserve peace, a life where you're not constantly running. I can't promise that to you. I can't promise you safety, and I can't promise you happiness. I can't promise that I can protect you from what's coming next. And if you stay, you'll be in danger, and I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you."

Tears fill Y/n's eyes, but she does not back down. She takes another step closer, her hand gently cupping his face, her thumb tracing his jaw. "I don't care about safety," she says softly, her voice breaking. "I don't care about guarantees. All I care about is being with you. That is my choice. It's what I've always wanted, and now it's finally mine to make. I'm not running from you. I'm not leaving you behind."

Jason's breath hitches, and for a moment, he is caught in the swirling chaos of his emotions. She is looking at him with such intensity, with such love and resolve, that it makes his chest ache. She is choosing him. And despite all the danger, despite all the uncertainty, she is standing there, holding onto him, telling him that her decision is to be with him.

"I don't want to lose you, Y/n," Jason finally admits, his voice raw with emotion. "But if you stay, I'll be the one to put you in danger. I won't be able to protect you from everything. I won't be able to shield you from the consequences of what I've done."

Y/n shakes her head slowly, a small, sad smile on her lips. "I'm already in danger, Jason," she says quietly. "I've been in danger my whole life. What's one more fight? What's one more war if I get to choose who I'm fighting for?"

Jason feels a lump form in his throat as he looks down at her, realizing that despite all his fears, despite all his instinct to protect her from the world and the chaos he has brought into their lives, she has made her choice.

"But you promise me something, Jason," Y/n whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "Promise me that no matter what, we'll find a way to make this work. That we'll find a way to be together, no matter what comes next."

Jason pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a sad expression. He does not have answers. He does not have a plan. All he can offer her is the promise that he will never stop trying.

"I promise," he says quietly, his voice steady. "I'll find a way to fix this. I'll find a way to make things right. For both of us."

They stand there in silence for a moment, holding onto each other tightly, before the sound of footsteps approaching pulls them apart.

Talia's voice cuts through the room. "The jet is waiting," she says sharply, glancing at Jason with a look that borders on impatience. She does not seem to care much about the emotional scene unfolding before her, her eyes already on the door as if she has no patience for this moment of weakness.

Y/n glances up at Jason one last time, her eyes filled with both sadness and determination. "I'll be back," she whispers, her voice low, just for him.

Jason nods slowly, his throat tightening once more. "I'll be waiting, Y/n. I'll find you. No matter where you go, I'll find you."

She smiles softly, a tear escaping down her cheek as she gives him a small, almost sad wave before turning and walking toward the door.

Talia gives Jason one last look, the same calculating expression in her eyes. "We'll be gone before you know it," she says coldly, and with that, she steps aside, allowing Y/n to leave.

Jason watches them walk away, the door closing softly behind them. He stands there, heart pounding in his chest, not knowing what comes next but knowing one thing for certain- he will not stop until he finds her.

Part 5

[angelofthenight]

You: *Grabs Jonathan’s hand*

You: Man, This line is crazy!

Jonathan:

You:

You: You’re not my boyfriend.

Jonathan: Good job, that‘s what I was waiting for.

Victor Fries: You got the wrong hand, (y/n)!

You: So I have.

You: I feel compelled to complete this journey with you.

Jonathan: I’m not paying for you, (y/n).

You: Ugh, fine then, I’ll go back to the boyfriend.

Victor Fries: I won’t pay for you either, darling.

You: Aw, Victor!

Jerome, from the front of the line: Come hold my hand, Gorgeous, I’ll buy you whatever you want!

You: Ah, there’s someone who’ll treat me right!

[gotham25052]

Fire

drabble/short one-shot

Heath Ledger Joker x reader

warnings: description of buildings burning

You and the Joker look on as Gotham burns...

You could feel the heat stinging your face from the growing flames, even at this distance.

It looked like all of Gotham was on fire in front of you. You couldn't help but be fascinated by the dancing light flickering off the surfaces around you and the way the blaze towered off into the night sky. Some of the flames whirled in their own heat like small tornadoes, disturbing the still night air with the whoosh of wind they created as they reached up into the blackness of the night.

You felt guilty about watching the fire with such wonder. You tried to summon your conscience, to think about the destruction that this inferno must be causing.

You sensed him close behind you, his arms winding their way over yours, holding you in place as you gazed at the crackling orange and yellow light.

"Do you like it?" he asked with a false sweetness. He smoothed your messy hair over to the side, clearing a path for his infectious words.

"What if I had been there?" you said, trying to summon the feelings of sadness and worry that you thought someone should feel when they saw a city burning.

"But you're not there," he said, shifting slowly from side to side behind you with pent-up excitement, as if he already knew how thin your grasp on civility, your hold on morality, really was.

There had been a hasty evacuation of this part of the city before the fires began, so you hoped that somehow you could be forgiven for the perverse joy you felt as you saw it all go away, all disintegrate under the grip of this powerful heat. It wasn't exactly joy, though it was just as powerful - it was more like an all-encompassing relief, a comfort so strong that it was addicting, that flooded through you, as everything disappeared into the glowing mouth of the raging fire.

The places you had worked that paid you just enough to scrape by, the suffocating walls of your apartment, the streets where people had pushed you aside, on their way to do more important things… all of it was burning.

"How do you feel, when you see the flames climbing up the walls?" The vibration of his voice tingled in your ear as you felt his finger follow a winding path up the bare side of your neck.

He stopped shifting, holding you even closer, as if that could make his words sink in more deeply. "The fire takes everything, it doesn't think, it doesn't feel. The places you've been, your worries, your expectations, it's all gone. The good and the bad. The fire doesn't judge. It doesn't care. It just… consumes," he said, his voice becoming lower, quieter.

"Do you like it?"

His whisper was barely audible but traveled into your thoughts like his words were written there with an indelible ink, demanding an answer.

You stood silent for a moment, his breath lingering on your cheek and strands of his disheveled hair brushing over your ear. His hands held your arms firmly to your sides, making sure you faced the growing flames.

You let your head fall toward your shoulder, exposing more of your neck so he could kiss you there.

"I love it," you said, the words falling so easily from your mouth, now that you were telling the truth.

"Everything burns," he murmured, the paint from his lips melting hot on your skin.

Author's note: If you do like this, and you feel comfortable, let me know with a reblog/like/comment! I am arrogant and weak, it will help keep me going with my writing.

ps I made the fire video :)

[adhdnursegoat]

Assault on Arkham

cw: fluffy goodness 😊

word count: 986

Edward leans against the doorway of your shared living room, the top few buttons of his white shirt and his tie loosened. He looks as smug as ever. You’re curled up on the sofa, flipping through a magazine while sipping on a cup of tea. As soon as you notice him, your eyes light up, and he gives you that smile—the one that sends a thrill down your spine, even after all this time.

“Welcome home, husband,” you say with a teasing lilt, setting your cup down on the side table.

He arches an eyebrow and strides over to you, sliding to the couch beside you. “Thank you, wife,” he replies smoothly, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Now, indulge me, my dear—how was your day?”

This is the ritual. Every time he comes back from his “work”, he asks you this question. It doesn’t matter that his life is filled with puzzles, schemes, danger, and heists, while yours is a mundane nine-to-five. He listens to you as if your day is just as thrilling as his. And for a moment, it feels like it is.

You stretch out your legs across his lap, getting comfortable. “Ugh, let me tell you what Karen did today,” you start, already feeling the irritation bubbling up at the mention of your co-worker's name. Edward’s attention is wholly focused, as if he’s about to hear the most intriguing riddle of his life. “She’s at it again—trying to take credit for my work! I mean, can you believe her?”

He makes a noise that is somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “How dare she,” he drawls, pinches the bridge of his nose as if this affront to you offends him on a personal level. “The nerve of that woman. Really…” Edward’s tone is casual, almost conversational, but you can see the glint of mischief in his eyes. He dramatically clasps one of your hands. “Should I pay her a visit, my love?”

You roll your eyes, pulling away from his grasp and swatting him on the arm. He flinches away with a cheeky grin. “No, you will not pay her a visit. I can handle Karen just fine on my own, thank you,” you say firmly, though you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your lips. You know he is joking… but you also know he is not.

It’s almost ridiculous how protective he can get, even over the small annoyances in your life. It’s also endearing and makes you feel like you are a queen.

“Very well,” he sighs, leaning back against the sofa. “I shall refrain from enacting my brilliant yet terrible revenge upon this Karen… for now. But do go on, I live for these tales of your daily conquests.”

You laugh, feeling the tension of the day start to dissipate. That’s the magic of this ritual—no matter how insignificant your problems seem in comparison to the criminal mastermind sitting next to you, he always makes them feel valid, important. It’s as if your grievances are his fun little puzzles to solve, and he savors each one with the same intensity he reserves for his grand schemes.

You continue, recounting every petty slight, every ridiculous email Karen sent, and every snarky comment she made. And Edward listens, nodding along, his eyes never straying from your face. He interjects now and then, offering his own brand of sarcastic commentary that has you snorting with laughter.

When you’re finally done venting, you feel lighter, like you’ve shed the weight of the day. “Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with my whining,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m nothing special… Just an office drone complaining about office drama.”

Edward shifts, twisting to rest his elbow on the back of the couch, a fist against his cheek. “Now, that,” he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his other, thumb brushing over your knuckles, “is where you’re entirely wrong.”

You blink at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. “I am?”

“Absolutely,” he declares, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You are everything to me. Your stories, your frustrations, even your hatred of Karen—they’re all pieces of you. And you, my dear,” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “are my favorite little puzzle. Always changing, keeping me on my toes.”

Your heart skips a beat, the warmth of his gesture seeping into your skin. How does he always do this? How does he take something so mundane and make it feel like the most significant part of his world?

You squeeze his hand, feeling a rush of affection for this man who, despite his less-than-ideal ‘career,’ makes you feel like you’re the most important person in his life. “I love you, you know that?”

His blue eyes gleam, and he nods, releasing your hand only to slide his arm around your shoulders, pulling you fully into his lap. “I do,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. “And I love you. This”— he gestures between the two of you— “is the best part of my day. I assure you.”

You snuggle further into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as a contented sigh escapes you. “You’re pretty amazing,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

“I know,” he affirms with a chuckle, resting his cheek on top of your head.

In the quiet of your living room, with the weight of the day melting away, you hold onto this moment. The ritual of recounting your mundane life, of being with him, of knowing that no matter what, he’ll always be there to listen and make you feel like you matter. It’s these small, everyday acts of love that make up the intricate, beautiful puzzle of your marriage with Edward. And it's a puzzle you’ll never tire of piecing together.

[tawneybel]

Note: Clearing out drafts again. Had a bunch of bullet points about what was going to happen, but I completely forgot where I was going with this lol so they’re essentially nonsense.

Imagine the Riddler steering Ed towards you.

Nygma was so absorbed in thought, he didn’t notice you slip into the morgue after Lee left. The door clicked shut at the same time he opened the mortuary locker.

Your headphones were donned, but not on. So you were vaguely aware of Nygma talking to himself.

Is he playing mortician again?

Technically you were supposed to admonish him if that was the case. Your new superiors had warned you of his antics.

“When Dr. Thompkins walked in the room, how did it feel?” You were mentally going over your schedule. The question didn’t register until you caught, “She didn’t. You got away with it.”

Okay, I need to tell him to knock it off. As a coroner, dark humor didn’t bother you. It was just that Nygma was getting too haughty about-

“THAT IS ABSOLUTELY THE POINT!”

That jolted you.

You’d crept behind him and jumped a bit at the exclamation. Which caught his attention. He gaped at you and you gaped at the occupant of the mortuary locker. Kristen Kringle. No wonder Nygma sounded so off.

His odd monologue forgotten, you threw your arms around him. Ed was baffled.

“Oh Ed, I’m so sorry!”

When did this happen? you wanted to ask aloud. But it wasn’t the time for queries. Later, though, you would wonder whether Ed fought the compulsion to pose a riddle.

“I bet you can still feel the rush, can’t you?” the Riddler asked Ed. “You know who can help you get that same rush?”

Ed, the “good” Ed, knew the other didn’t want to hurt you. At least not the same way Miss Kringle was hurt.

“Dougherty,” whispered the woman embracing him now. Ed forgot for a moment that you were new. That you hadn’t seen Kristen Kringle suffer like he had. His head reeled. You didn't seem like you’d be openly jealous of a partner’s ex. In fact, Ed would bet anything you were far more compassionate than him. That you were the type to give up a lover just to see them happy.

(The name had just slipped out. A boyfriend was the likeliest culprit. You didn’t think anything of it when Tom Dougherty had… transferred? Really, you were out of the loop at Gotham PD.)

Not that Nygma planned on giving you up. He wasn’t the type. His other self was really giving him quite the identify crisis, but he was sure he could slide into the role of ______’s boyfriend with ease.

“You can still feel the rush, can’t you?” The Riddler flittered closer and closer to Ed. Your hug had loosened, but your grip on him was growing stronger and stronger. “Coming so close to getting caught. Knowing what you and ______ would be forced to do if Lee had seen the body.”

“______?” muttered the forensic scientist.

“Yes?”

You finally released him. Feeling you through his suit wasn’t enough. Next time he’d need to feel your skin on his. Even just holding hands. But the Riddler knew there’d be plenty of time to lock yourselves together soon.

[auroracalisto]

day #15: angst - emotions around the holidays

victor zsasz x gn!reader, 1.2k words a/n: holidays are weird. i either love them or i hate everything about them. the older i get, the more i dislike it. possibly ooc victor, but you and vic are partners so he's gotta be good to you sometimes, right?

Have you ever felt like the world was going to crash around you? Like you'd truly invoke the mediocracies of the universe, and they'd finally grant you a chance to claim that the sky was truly falling around you (much like Chicken Little)?

Of course you do.

You're living it right now. There isn't a single present under your Christmas tree that hadn't frustrated you to no end. You only had the tree because Victor had insisted on it. In fact, he decorated it while you were asleep one night (you assume he had one of the Zsaszettes with him, though, because it was rather beautifully decorated—not that Zsasz was incapable).

It was just the holiday season in general.

You hated every minute of it. The cheery music, the happy smiles, Santa, the elves. Anything holiday related, anything at all, it angered you to no end.

Or maybe... maybe it wasn't truly anger, but just... frustration. Grief.

Anger that when you became an adult, the holidays didn't stay the same. Anger that when you finally had the money to buy gifts for people, they always fell flat. Someone always hated it, or you ended up regretting it the moment your bank account withdrew the money for said gift. Even making a gift didn't have the same effect anymore. It took so much time—time you didn't have.

And don't even get me started on the cooking and baking and cleaning after everything. It was like just having a Christmas tree sucked in all the dust, making everything impossible to actually clean. And cooking? Lord, if you had to cook for a party, you think you'd die.

It was so overwhelming, and it shouldn't be.

You should be able to go home, go to your family, and have a perfect little Christmas.

But you couldn't.

No.

You were an adult, in the big city, with nothing but your assassin boyfriend and your shitty apartment.

You couldn't go back to how Christmases used to be. You couldn't go back to Santa Claus coming down the chimney and the reindeer "leaving" glitter after eating the reindeer food you'd make for them in elementary school. The elves didn't have their magic. The season lost its magic.

The music was grating. The weather was cold and biting at your ankles.

Nothing was simple anymore, and it hurt. It genuinely frustrated you to no end. Not because it was Christmas, really, but because it was no longer the same.

You were all grown up, and you'd never be able to return to the Christmas you once had.

The sky may have truly been falling around you now, but no one would believe you.

You sat on your sofa, head resting in your hands as your elbows dug into the meat of your thighs. You looked towards the burning candle on your coffee table, blinking slowly.

You knew wishes wouldn't come true, but a part of you wished to go back.

As you remained stuck in your mind, Victor made his way over to you. He must have just gotten home—didn't make a lot of noise, either.

He placed a hand on your back as he plopped down beside of you. He hadn't even changed out of his gear. As you looked at him, you could see blood on his cheek and his gun still in the sling. You said nothing.

He frowned at you. "You alright?" he softly asked.

You shrugged. Were you? You didn't know.

What would you even tell him if he asked what was wrong with you?

He sighed and leaned back on the sofa cushions, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Bein' all mopey, huh? You could watch a movie. Get a milkshake. Have some spirits or somethin'."

"Nah," you softly said.

"Nah?"

"I don't feel like it."

He scoffed. "Don't feel like it? What's up with you, doll?"

You shrugged, again.

He stared you down for a moment before he rolled his eyes and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "I'm gonna go change. When I come back, you better be ready to watch a movie, yeah?"

You scrunched your nose. "Yeah."

But while he was gone, you only dug yourself into a deeper hole. One that you were afraid you wouldn't be able to bounce back from by the time he returned.

You curled up on the sofa, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around yourself.

When he came back and saw you, he fought back a sigh. It had been a long day working with the Penguin, and he knew this would just make it longer. Whatever was up with you, he knew it wasn't anything good.

He walked back over to you, forcing you to move your legs so he could sit beside of you. When he sat down, he let your legs rest on top of his thighs.

"Talk to me," he said.

"There's nothing to talk about," you said.

He rolled his eyes. "Bullshit," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

His eye twitched as he looked at you. "You're full of shit," he said, upper lip raising as he spoke. "Come on. Talk to me or I'll make you."

That you knew he would. You sighed softly and rubbed your eyes for a moment before you spoke.

"Do we have to celebrate Christmas?"

He stared you down. "What?"

"I don't want to celebrate it."

"Why not? I thought you liked Christmas. Kind of the whole reason I got you a tree."

You frowned deeply, fingers grabbing at the soft blanket still over top of you. You shrugged.

He said your name warily, narrowing his eyes.

"I just—I don't like it."

"You don't like Christmas?"

"No."

"You don't like Christmas, or are you just in one of your episodes where you hate everything?"

You grumbled under your breath. "No, I—"

"—it's not gonna be the same, you know."

You paused, glancing up at him.

He sighed. "It'll be different. You gotta make it how you want it to be now."

"What do you mean?"

"I know that look," he said. For an assassin boyfriend, he was being quite... nice tonight. He wasn't always this kind. "You hate it because it's different, don't you?"

You shrugged.

"It's different now. Doesn't mean it has to be bad."

You frowned once more. "But... I mean... I want it to be the same."

He raised a non-existent eyebrow. "It's not gonna be. You just gotta accept that and move on."

You looked away from him, glancing at the tree again.

"Make the most of what you have, now," Victor said, reaching forward and squeezing your thigh. "If you really want to skip it, we can, but I think we could figure out something else."

You gave a small nod. He had a point. Even if you hadn't told him everything, taking one step at a time would be best. You could figure it out in the long run—figure out how the rest of the holiday would make you feel as time went on.

"Now," Victor said. "Movie time."

"Victor," you said, groaning softly. "Nothing weird."

"Christmas Vacation."

You scrunched your nose. "I just said—"

"—yeah, well, get over yourself," he said, grabbing the remote. "Maybe it'll get you into the Christmas spirit."

"It won't," you defensively said.

He rolled his eyes. "Do I look like I fuckin' care?"