#nolanverse imagine

[scarecrowismybabygirl]

Professor Crane working on his fear toxin

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

God made girls lethal, when he made monsters of men.

Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART TWO

PART ONE

warnings - blood, gore, attempted sexual assault, death.

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

*************************

You’re sessions with Jonathan began to dwindle. No matter how much you screamed, bit, scratched and attacked the other shrinks, demanding to see Jonathan, no one would let you. Always claiming that he had other patients he deemed more severe.

“BULLSHIT!” You screamed. If he wanted dangerous, boy, was he gonna get dangerous.

That was how Jonathan Crane sauntered down the hall and into your cell where he saw you, straight jacket on, strapped down to a wooden chair, held by three guards. Your smile dribbled blood out of your red mouth.

“There are easier ways to get my attention than biting off a guy’s ear.” He sounded almost bored and this made you whimper.

“Well they clearly weren’t working as I asked for you a million times and you NEVER CAME!” Your voice rose into a shrill scream for the last words. But he didn’t even flinch. Instead he kneeled down in front of your shaking form and stroked your soft cheek.

“Now, now darling. There, there. I haven’t been a very good psychiatrist have I?”

“No.” You softly whimpered out.

“No. I’ve been neglecting you haven’t I?" He cooed. Your body softened at his caring words. You meekly nodded.

The guards around you were confused but one sharp glare from Jonathan shut them up and they daren’t look at your intimate moment any longer.

From then on, Jonathan allowed the two of you to have weekly meetings. But they weren’t designed to analyse you, but rather to court you.

He would come and sit down with you and you would talk for hours. About movies, books, games etc.

Some days he would bring you little treats. Secret chocolates, a teddy bear. One day he even brought a hairbrush and he sat behind you and the whole session consisted of him lightly brushing out the tangled locks of your unkept mane. No words were said. But it was ecstacy.

Your favourite gift was when he presented you with a white rose.

“What are those red splotches?” You enquired looking at the streaks which littered the pure base.

“You see I cut myself on the thorn and some dropped on the rose. I was going to get you a new one but I couldn’t help but be so intrigued by it. It really adds something, don’t you think?”

In lieu of a reply you merely reached forward and grabbed his hand where you could see the healing scar. Without breaking his gaze you leant forward and took the whole finger into your mouth. Jonathan struggled to hold back a moan as you salivated at the still iron taste.

In his time with you, Jonathan had noted the keen interest some of the male guards had in you. He sometimes laughed it off believing their stupidity knew no bounds if they were willing to take you on. But he couldn’t help but worry for you.

“God I wouldn’t mind taking a bit of that ass.”

“Are you serious dude? That bitch is crazy. Proper stone cold psychopath.”

“Don’t worry, she’s being sedated well enough, or at least she will be soon. She won’t give us any problems.”

Jonathan overheard the guards from the outside of the break room door.

Since meeting you he had become enraptured. Enchanted by your very being. He viewed you as the most sacred relic he could ever dare to possess. He knew your strength was unimaginable. But you were his. And no one messed with his Queen.

One day you were being transported from your session with Jonathan, who had now deemed it fit to have the sessions in his office rather than your cell. The two guards, who flanked your sides, spoke over you in silent code. Once they had deemed the corridor completely empty. They grabbed your sides, still held in the straight jacket, and began to drag you towards an abandoned closet. Taking your pants and underwear off on the way. Their intentions clearly immoral.

It took you by such surprise that you barely had time to react. You were not used to being manhandled but the shock of the moment meant you couldn’t clear your head enough to launch a good enough attack.

Before the three of you were over the doors precipice, a loud voice announced their exit from their office.

Jonathan called out to ask the two men a question, to which they responded after manoeuvring you out of a compromising position. He shot you a single glance before explaining how he would prefer to walk you back to your cell as well, as, in his words,

“I don’t want her to give you any problems.” with a knowing glint in his eye.

That night the two same guards were summoned to your cell.

They stood to the side of where you sat slumped in your chair. The previous encounter had scarred you and weakened your own sense of self. They were just men, you had killed them before. Why was it so hard now. What was this weak feeling and why did it make you want to scream.

However, your self-sabotaging thoughts were halted the minute Jonathan’s lean frame entered. His soft smile landed on your frame which appeared to have shrunk in the presence of the two guards. This lit a fire deep within his heart.

He brought his briefcase up to the table and popped it open. He pulled out a macabre clown mask, decorated with black and red. He walked forward, whistling as he went, and placed it on your face. You were unable to resist, but deep down you didn’t want to. You trusted Jonathan.

He returned to his briefcase, sat down, took off his glasses, and looked deep into your eyes.

“Would you like to see my mask.” He condescendingly teased.

He pulled out a ratty burlap sack which you noted had stitching which resembled a face. He placed it on his head and immediately pressed a hidden button which released a sulphuric green gas into the air. It was then you noted the breathing device attached to your own mask.

Jonathan bared his knuckles on the table and used it to raise himself into a godlike stance.

You were startled by the bloodcurdling screams which erupted from the two men behind you. You whipped around to see them collapse to the floor, writhing about in pain. Both looking and pointing up at Jonathan in pure god-fearing terror.

Suddenly, they both seized. Their last moments of fear etched onto their faces like stone. Their hearts had gone.

You tilted your head to look down, interestedly, at the two corpses. You turned back around when you felt a presence at your back.

Jonathan stood over you, masked and all. His hand outreached.

“Scarecrow will never hurt you, my love.”

You carefully lifted up your own mask to reveal a teeth-chattering grin plastered over your sadistic expression.

*************************

PART THREE

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612 @slut4thebroken @akiratoro420 @astheni-a

[nocturnest]

The y/n that nervously asks if she can marry Jonathan instead of death or exile, would be the opposite of Jonathan, she’s shy and sweet, and Jonathan would find her puppy dog eyes to be so cute that he can’t help himself but to agree which is why he’s just like, “Hmm. Interesting. Why not”

@kpopgirlbtssvt This is one of my absolute favorites now! ahhh! please enjoy!

In the dimly lit chamber of an abandoned courthouse, Jonathan Crane, Gotham's infamous Scarecrow, held court with an air of authority that sent shivers down the spines of those gathered before him. The room buzzed with nervous anticipation as citizens awaited their fates, their faces drawn with fear and uncertainty.

You, amidst the sea of anxious onlookers, found yourself unable to contain a nervous laugh as the tension in the room weighed heavily on you. You were on trial for attempting to steal from the city's food stash, which Bane had accumulated for criminals and the like. It wasn't exactly your fault - you were desperate. You just wish you hadn't been so foolish to have gotten caught.

As you were shoved into a brown leatherback chair, you observed your surroundings. Criminals of all kinds gave you harsh looks of disgust and disapproval. They looked practically ravenous and hungry for a new form of entertainment, which some of them had found in you. Their attention made you uncomfortable.

You gazed up at the stand and your eyes widened in surprise. You'd heard rumors, to be sure, but you had never seen Jonathan Crane in person. And even from afar, you could see the bright blues of his eyes, like a beacon of hope in this horrendous situation that you found yourself in.

He looked bored, glasses in his hand as he cleaned its lenses. A lackey of his taps him on the shoulder and Jonathan rolls his eyes, putting his glasses on to read the papers in front of him.

He clears his throat and announces your name, which sends shivers down your spine. His voice was gravelly and hoarse from yelling yet calming all the same. You find yourself wishing you had met him under other circumstances.

"Guilty of attempting to steal food from the people of Gotham. Now what will it be, Death or Exile?"

"Isn't there another option?! I mean...can't I just marry you instead?" you blurted out, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. Your attempt at humor was feeble, a desperate bid to lighten the oppressive atmosphere.

To your surprise, Jonathan's sharp gaze snapped in your direction, his pale blue eyes glittering with intrigue. "Hmm, interesting. Why not?" he responded, his voice carrying an unexpected hint of amusement.

Your heart skipped a beat at his unexpected reply, your mind reeling with disbelief. Surely he couldn't be serious. But, before you could gather your thoughts, Jonathan pressed on with his characteristic bluntness. "Would you rather death or exile?" he inquired, his tone matter-of-fact yet oddly playful.

Caught off guard by his question, you stumbled over your words, unable to form a coherent response. "...No," you managed to mumble, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Great," Jonathan exclaimed, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, "Exile! By marriage."

With a swift motion of his gavel, Jonathan sealed your fate. He beckoned you forward with a wave of his hand, his expression betraying a hint of sly amusement.

You padded across the room cautiously as a wave of confusion swept across the spectators, who watched in bewilderment as Jonathan Crane orchestrated an impromptu wedding ceremony in the midst of what was supposed to be a trial. As you approached the judge's area, the whispers of the onlookers swirled around you like a whirlwind of uncertainty.

Jonathan took your hand in his. It was soft and warm. The emotions in his face were guarded but you could see what seemed like sympathy in his eyes, as if he knew you knew how you were feeling - with being married to a complete stranger and all that.

Though, you weren't entirely complaining...Jonathan was much taller up close and practically towered over you. Not to mention, he was quite attractive. His eyes were as clear as ocean waters and his brown hair looked so soft that you fought the urge to run your hands through it. His suit was tattered and feathers were sewn into it, its cut tailored remarkably well to his figure.

As you stood beside Jonathan, his grip firm yet oddly comforting, he began to recite the vows with a surprising eloquence. His voice, smooth and commanding, filled the room as he spoke of love, commitment, and partnership. You found yourself mesmerized by his words, drawn into the enchanting rhythm of his speech.

As the ceremony continued, you couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, standing in a courtroom turned makeshift wedding chapel, about to marry a man you barely knew—all under the watchful eyes of a room full of criminals.

And yet, despite the unconventional circumstances, there was something undeniably captivating about Jonathan. His confidence, his intelligence, his sheer audacity—all combined to form an irresistible allure that left you spellbound.

As Jonathan pronounced you husband and wife, a sense of disbelief washed over you. You stole a glance at him, unable to suppress the awe flickering in your eyes. How could one man possess so many talents, wear so many hats? Psychologist, villain, minister, judge—each role seemed incongruous with the next, and yet, Jonathan Crane embodied them all with effortless grace.

As the ceremony concluded, Jonathan flashed you a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes sparkled with mischief as if he knew the effect he had on you. You gave him a shy smile in return.

Your brief moment of peace was interrupted by Bane, who had a foreboding presence about him. He was large, and the breathing mask that masked most of his face intimidated you.

Suprisingly, he seemed to be in good spirits, his deep voice booming, "Now is a time for celebration! Let the newlyweds have the day off and trials shall commence again tomorrow."

As Bane's booming voice echoed through the room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. With the trials postponed, you and Jonathan were free to escape the chaos of the courtroom and retreat to the sanctuary of his world.

Jonathan led you out of the courtroom, his hand warm against yours as he guided you through the labyrinthine corridors of the building. As you stepped out into the crisp night air, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of your mind. Bane's presence had cast a shadow over the proceedings, his intimidating figure a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of Gotham.

But as you climbed into Jonathan's car and he started the engine, the tension began to melt away. The warmth of the car enveloped you, cocooning you in a sense of security as Jonathan navigated the familiar streets of the city.

As Jonathan drove you through the bustling streets of Gotham, you couldn't help but get lost in your thoughts. What now?

Jonathan's voice broke the silence, his tone gentle yet reassuring. "You're safe now," he said, his gaze flickering to meet yours briefly before returning to the road ahead. "I'll make sure of that."

You offered him a grateful smile, though the weight of the situation still hung heavy in the air between you. The thought of being married to Jonathan—albeit in name only—was both exhilarating and daunting. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, the magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer with each passing moment.

As you arrived at Jonathan's surprisingly luxurious apartment, you couldn't help but be impressed by the opulence of his surroundings. The spacious living room was bathed in warm light, casting soft shadows across the elegant furnishings.

The warm glow of the lights bathed the room in a comforting ambiance, momentarily easing the tension that still lingered in the air.

Jonathan led you further into the apartment, his demeanor calm and collected as he gestured for you to take a seat on the plush sofa. As you settled in, he turned to face you, his expression thoughtful.

"Listen," Jonathan began, his voice gentle yet firm, "about what happened back there... The marriage isn't official unless I make it so. I don't have to, but only if you want me to."

You blinked, taken aback by his words. "But why would you even consider it?" you asked, confusion evident in your tone.

Jonathan's lips curled into a sly smile as he tilted his head, his gaze piercing yet playful. "Ah, now that's the question, isn't it?" he replied, his voice laced with intrigue. "Why were you so ready to marry me, hm?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Jonathan's playful gaze seemed to penetrate straight through you. "I... I don't know," you stammered, feeling completely out of your depth. "I mean, it was just a joke... I didn't think you'd actually..."

Jonathan chuckled softly, his laughter echoing in the quiet apartment. "Perhaps it was more than just a joke," he mused, his tone teasing yet strangely sincere. "After all, why else would you propose marriage to a man you barely know?"

You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "I... I guess I was just caught up in the moment," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're... you're not like anyone I've ever met before. And when you looked at me in the court, I don't know, something just... clicked."

Jonathan's expression softened, a hint of warmth creeping into his eyes. "You find me intriguing, don't you?" he observed, his voice low and measured. "Admit it, there's something about me that draws you in."

You swallowed hard, unable to deny the truth of his words. "Yes," you whispered, your admission hanging in the air between you. "Yes, there is."

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Jonathan's lips as he reached out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then perhaps this marriage isn't such a far-fetched idea after all," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft hum of the city outside. "But only if you want it to be real."

Jonathan's fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he was searching your soul for answers.

Taking a deep breath, you mustered the courage to speak. "I don't know what I want," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I do know that being with you feels... different. Exciting, even."

A soft smile graced Jonathan's lips, his eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and something else, something deeper. "Then let's take it one step at a time," he suggested, his tone gentle yet reassuring.

You couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through you at his suggestion. "Dinner sounds wonderful" you replied, your voice tinged with anticipation.

~

Jonathan was methodical in the kitchen. You insisted on helping him, but he assured you he could manage. Rather, Jonathan urged you to explore his bookcases after hearing you mention that you enjoyed reading.

He directed you to the room that he considered his library. At which you muttered, "Of course, you have a library." He merely grinned at that. Even though you had just met the man, the room seemed so remarkably him.

The library was a reflection of Jonathan Crane's meticulous nature and intellectual depth. As you stepped into the room, your eyes were immediately drawn to the hundreds of books lining the shelves, meticulously organized by genre and subject matter. There were classics, modern literature, and an extensive collection of texts on psychology, each spine neatly aligned in perfect rows.

The air was imbued with the scent of aged paper and leather bindings, creating an atmosphere of quiet reverence. Soft light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room and illuminating the countless volumes that filled the space.

You ran your fingers along the spines of the books, marveling at the wealth of knowledge contained within their pages. Your gaze lingered on a particular title, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, a classic novel that seemed to echo the complexities of the world you found yourself in. You had read it countless times before. You, like Raskolnikov, had found yourself on trial for criminal acts, except that stealing food and committing flat-out murder, like Raskolnikov had, weren't exactly comparable. Nevertheless, his story of redemption and overcoming guilt after such an act continually resonated with you.

You settled into a chair and found yourself whisked away into the novel. Lost in thought, you barely noticed Jonathan's presence until you felt his eyes on you. Turning, you found him leaning against the doorway, his expression unreadable yet open and somehow inviting. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze as he watched you.

You marked your page with a spare slip of paper you found in your pocket (rather than dog-earing the antique book like a heathen) and felt Jonathan's gaze upon you.

"Find anything interesting?" he asked, his voice quiet yet filled with genuine curiosity.

You turned to face him, holding up the copy of Crime and Punishment. "Just considering some light reading," you replied with a hint of amusement, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his presence.

Jonathan chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "An excellent choice," he remarked, stepping further into the room to join you. "Dostoevsky certainly had a way of delving into the depths of human nature."

You nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie in your shared appreciation for literature. "It's fascinating how universal and timeless his insights are," you mused, trailing your fingers along the rows of books.

Jonathan's gaze softened as he watched you, his expression thoughtful. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice tinged with a hint of what might have been nostalgia. "There's a certain comfort in knowing that some truths remain constant, no matter the passage of time."

He reaches his hand out, inviting you to join him for dinner. You place your hand in his. You and him discuss your lives and interests over dinner and it feels like you have always known each other.

~

It's late. You don't quite know what time it is, and all you do know is you can't sleep. Rain patters on the windows of what is now your room. You have a nice view and notice that the city is less lit than usual. It seems that most people have either fled or gone into hiding, if they haven't already been taken by Bane's men.

You can't help but feel unease. Maybe it's the whole situation, or being in the menacing presence of Bane, even if only for a short time. But you can't help thinking about your apartment or the friends you haven't seen in months. You wonder if the elderly neighbor of yours who you often check on and her cat are alright.

You pad through the room feeling chilly. You pull on the sleeves of your sweatshirt. Jonathan gave you some of his clothes in the meantime, or at least until you both can stop by your apartment for your things. You're thankful for him being so accommodating but have a small internal voice that tells you that you're intruding, that you're a burden to him.

As you approach Jonathan's room, you hesitate at the doorway, feeling a sense of guilt for even considering disturbing his sleep. But then you remember the kindness he's shown you, the way he's gone out of his way to make you feel safe and comfortable. With a soft sigh, you push open the door and step inside.

Jonathan stirs from his slumber as you enter, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. His hair is tousled and his eyes are like beacons in the night. There's a moment of silence as he takes in your presence, his gaze softening with understanding.

"Can't sleep?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, unable to find the words to express the turmoil swirling within you.

Without hesitation, Jonathan lifts the covers beside him, inviting you to join him. "Come," he says gently, his expression warm and inviting. "You're not intruding. I want you here."

You hesitate for a moment, your shyness holding you back. But the offer of comfort is too tempting to resist. With a grateful smile, you slide into bed beside him, feeling the warmth of his embrace enveloping you like a protective shield against the darkness outside.

As you nestle against him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you into a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long time. And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos that surrounds you.

@kiss-me-cill-me hope you enjoy this take on the dark knight rises court scene!

[red-riding-wood]

Yellow Light

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x F!Reader

Summary: Jonathan is your guide as you escape Arkham Asylum.

Based off the song "Yellow Light" by Of Monsters and Men (original version here and acoustic version here). This song is really special to me and helped me brave my heart surgery in August. A lot of this fic is a projection of my own experiences, trauma, and health issues over the past several years -- but Arkham can represent absolutely anything you want it to that you or the character is trying to escape.

Song lyrics are in bold.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depictions of PTSD (hospital trauma specifically), drug addiction/use, psychosis, hallucinations, fear of death, blood.

Will also use similar themes to my upcoming series "Darkness Until Dawn" and OC Cassie Hart but this is a standalone x reader fic.

I also feel like Crane might come across a bit OOC in this fic because he's in an established relationship with the reader and he's in a comforting role, but I promise I have some very fucked-up stuff for him coming up where he's an absolute menace.

WC: 3309

Sounds of Hell threaded themselves into the night air. Howling, bleating, baying down the streets. Whispering thoughts of death into your ears. Thoughts that formed into icy talons that raked down your spine, that stirred goosebumps along the bare flesh of your arms. That froze you in place, your heart slamming against your ribs as they tethered you to the cold concrete like vines.

Frantic looks cast to your left, to your right, you turned, stumbling over your own feet as you whirled, the darkness of each alleyway sinking into your soul. Staring back at you as if to say, you cannot escape me.

I’m looking for a place to start. Everything feels so different now.

Which way was out? Which way was back there? Back to the dingy halls of Arkham, the acrid stench of spoiled cafeteria food, the howling of patients that still seemed to echo back to you from the alleys.

The maw of a great beast parted, razors of teeth glinting silver in the dark, stretching from one brick wall to another. Hurtling towards you, wisps of black smoke emerging from the darkness and curling round you like hissing tongues. The roar started as a peal of thunder, and ended as a shockwave, razor teeth shattering into glass as the beast collided against your skull. Dizzying waves sent the world spinning, brought you to your knees before the Devil himself.

She’s good as dead.

The beast’s maw burned hot as hellfire, breathing smoke into your aching lungs, ripples of molten lava racing beneath your skin. Teeth tore into your shoulder as your hand met the ground, shaking fingers settling into the grooves of the concrete like cold tiles. Death’s talons wrapped around your throat as a cry twisted from your larynx, pointed nails morphing to scalpels and tearing down your sternum, splitting open your ribs and baring your bleeding heart.

Crimson freckled the concrete, splatters of your blood landing hot and thick against the back of your hand as cold washed over each limb, the darkness creeping in from the corners of the alleys. You reached your free hand to your forehead, and nearly cried out again in pain, but you couldn’t speak; something sharp wedged itself between your fingers, something sticky attaching webs of hair against your clammy palm.

Your hand came away with a shard of glass protruding from the stretch of skin between your fingers, red dribbling down flesh too pale to be living.

Your stomach buckled, and you curled in on yourself, eyes rolling to the back of your throbbing skull and voices pouring in like a tide.

Get back here! She’s running. Running away. Where does she think she’s going? She’s not going anywhere. She can’t escape us. You can’t escape us.

Patients rattled the bars of their cages, threw themselves against their padded walls. Screeched warnings and mournful wails and haunted cries into the stale air of the hospital, into the icy chill of night.

Fingers seized into talons as they closed around your ears, attempting to block out the noise as it built into a terrifying crescendo, wails and whispers melding together as if the darkness were mocking you but the chill that swathed your impotent form reminded you of your isolation.

GET OUT! your lips parted to say but fell silent upon the words of the damned. Let me go. Let me go, let me go.

Warmth brushed your shoulder, and you blinked saline from your eyes, streaking salt down your lip, dampened hair falling over blurry vision as you looked up to the hand held to you in the darkness. The white cuff of a shirt disappearing beneath a black suit.

Just grab hold of my hand. I will lead you through this wonderland.

And his voice, soft and warm and human, cut through the noise. Hollowed a path through the tunnel of voices and breathed life into lungs that gasped for air. Sent a tremble of fear through death’s icy talons and made the demons crawl back into the earth.

I’m here, he said.

You couldn’t straighten your claw-like grip as it brushed the warmth of his hand, but his fingers entwined in yours and the glass split his palm and bled over your knuckles and he pulled, your shoulder screaming in pain and your legs wobbly beneath you, but you stood.

Your fingers balled into a fist, the touch of his hand dissolving like a pill in water, like sutures that held you to together for one moment only to leave you in pieces, scarred and bruised and broken. For a moment, you thought you’d fall again.

Faintly, a glow emerged from the blackness, silhouetting the lazy fall of a feather, so tranquil in contrast to the tendrils of ink black that writhed in your peripheral. You swiped a hand out to the feather, its softness akin to his hand, but the voices hissed at you to look up.

The jagged peaks of the skyscrapers groaned above, folding in across the dim sky and curling into black tides that came crashing around you as pressure mounted in your skull.

The darkness devoured you. 

Water up to my knees. But sharks are swimming in the sea.

The ocean came flooding in around you, dampness seeping into the cuffs of your trousers, rising as the blackness pressed in around you. Ahead, the light glinted yellow, casting a thin line of white against the waves. The feather bobbed along the surface, chased by current that now buffeted the backs of your knees.

One foot placed before the other, you waded through the water, each step weighing heavier than the last. Each time, the light ahead grew just a little brighter, though the sides of your vision darker.

Wretched creatures began to emerge from the darkness, hissing and snarling and reaching for you in tendrils of smoke and ink. Gravity began to pull you downward, the current guiding you forwards as the alleyway morphed into a tunnel, and the voices of the underworld rang louder in your skull as you descended into the bowels of the city.

She’s heading into the darkness. The rot.

A giggle, echoing against the walls of the chamber that reeked of all things barren and desolate. Her mind’s a disease.

The reach of death grew thick here, in twisted ropes and vines that swallowed the arched ceiling, that bore down on you like snakes and streaked through the sea like eels of tar, the water itself no longer seeming so heavy in comparison as they engulfed each limb. Tightening. Shuddering.

She can’t get very far. She’s killing herself.

She has to. She has to live.

The voices were starting to argue.

Some were even voices you knew; they came to you past the iron bars nestled into pockets of your memories, depressions in the walls – people you’d known in that awful place cried out to you, cursed you, their faces fuzzy but still recognisable even in the darkness. Fellow souls trapped in the place that knew not of the sun’s warmth against your skin or the whistle of freedom through the wind.

Look. Look, girl.

Your brow furrowed, and your eyes scanned the darkness. With each face they landed on, the symphony of wails seemed to spike in volume along to the frantic thud of your heart, the little weaving line of a monitor etching itself across your mind’s eye.

Not there. No, not there.

Can’t she feel it?

It’s too late. The rot has her.

Soon it will reach her soul.

Your heart came lurching to a burning throat as the waters stirred and a creature emerged from their murky depths, slivers of metal protruding from its back before it disappeared, for half a moment resembling the wicked tips of syringes that still pricked your swiftly numbing skin.

Tearing your hands from the water, you froze, paralysis seeping in to every pore.

Ink tendrils snaked across the pallor of your flesh. From your fingertips to your elbows, the rot had taken you. It tightened round your forearm, your fingers turning completely numb.

You screamed.

Shhhhh, he soothed. Just come to me, darling. I’ll make it all better.

“JONATHAN!” Your mangled cry turned into something intelligible, the name sweet like honey on your tongue despite the bitterness of bile at the back of your throat.

Just follow my yellow light. And ignore all those big warning signs.

You began to slosh through the water, seeking him out in a frenzy, your teeth gritting as the walls of your skull began to cave in, as the rot spread to your shoulders and turned the water to pitch.

And at last, you saw him. Like the feather, silhouetted by the light, but unmistakably him. He paused, looking over his shoulder, strands of his black hair wisping this way and that. His face was shadowed, the sockets of his eyes black. The frames of his glasses glinted silver in the dark, like the teeth, the scalpels.

And he disappeared round the corner that twisted, walls shifting and shuddering as if forming a maze for a path.

Death’s icy fingers pried their way beneath your skin as the cold seeped past your blood and bones and settled somewhere deep inside the dwindling warmth of your soul. Freed from the water at last, you turned the corner and raised a rot-wreathed hand to the light fractured by a criss-cross pattern that reminded you of the bars of the asylum’s gate.

And the damp air became dry and musty, and the sewers morphed into dingy halls, alabaster wallpaper peeling back to reveal the black rot. Your pace quickened as these walls closed in, groaning with curses of the damned.

Just a little farther, the soothing, slightly-lilted baritones of his voice encouraged you on, but every turn you made down the narrowing halls, he managed to evade you, disappearing just out of reach. At the end of each hallway, what must’ve been a sewer drain and not a gate yawned from the blackness, little pockets of light stretching wider with each turn.

The feather crunched beneath your toes.

Fingers wrapped around the bars of the gate, and the hinges squealed as it swung open, your feet slotting into indentations along the walls as you desperately attempted to pull yourself up.

Warmth made you shiver in your cold sweat, and whispers funnelled into thin threads and lay buried beneath the ground as his hand met yours. In the faint glimmer of the light, you witnessed the rot dissipate, chased away by his touch. Purified.

“Jonathan,” you breathed, pulled flush to his chest, the mint of his breath raking across your lashes and the familiarity of his musk inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. You buried your face in his wrinkled tie and dress shirt and sobbed, your tears still tasting like saline. You savoured this moment, trembling beneath his touch, his hand petting the back of your dampened hair. You pulled away only as he hissed in pain.

“Jonathan, I’m scared,” you whimpered, guilty that you had seemed to wound him but caring only for sanctuary in this moment in which you knew nothing but fear. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so, so scared.”

“I know you are,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “But you have to keep going.”

“Where? Where are you taking me?” You stared into the hollows of his eyes, still pitch black past the glint of those silver frames. Why couldn’t you properly see him? Could he see you? Was he just another shadow, a trick of light on the wall?   

Somewhere deep in the dark, a howling beast hears us talk.

Sirens wailed from the alley behind, and your blood ran cold. Jonathan stepped away, his touch tearing from yours almost painfully. Like he’d left the shards of glass in your palms.

“Don’t let them take me!” You pleaded, stumbling forward through the darkness. “I can’t go back! I can’t! COME BACK!”

She’s so afraid. So pathetic. She can’t do this without him.

The light grew in intensity, tinted more gold now than yellow, bathing the walls in a soft glow as they drew impossibly close, tapering the air in your lungs, building the pressure against your temples until your shoulders sagged under the weight of fatigue and white-hot fire cleaved your skull in two.

Jonathan paused, and turned. “Close your eyes,” he told you. “It’s not so dark here when you embrace it.”

I dare you to close your eyes. And see all the colours in disguise.

“NO!” You screeched, afraid that if you so much as blinked, he’d disappear, and you’d be lost to the darkness forever. You lurched forward on your heel, wedging yourself between the shuddering walls that closed in around you, following the same – and only path – he had taken. Turning sideways, you gulped in a breath of air, fingers scraping madly against the brick walls as the tide beginning to pool again round your ankles. The sky collapsed, pinning you, forcing your only breath from your lungs and snapping your ribs around your stuttering heart.

She’s gone. She won’t make it. She can’t reach him.

The air grew stuffy, stale. Your own breath bounced off the walls and flushed your cold, tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just trust me,” Jonathan said. “Just let go.”

Running into the night. The earth is shaking and I see a light.

With the darkness claiming you and the ground beneath you quaking with wrath, the howls of the damned echoing through a familiar hall, the world swaying on its axis, you had no choice but to suffocate your fear, to shutter your eyes closed on the light that seeped through the crack in the walls, warm against your skin in the cold dread of night.

She’s giving up.

She’s fighting.

She wants to die.

She wants to live.

The yellow-gold exploded across the backs of your eyelids, streaking like fireworks along the pitch black. Your skull still throbbed in pain, and your lips parted, the sound of a window banging against old hinges as death whispered to you through the alleys, the sewers, the hallways.

Next time.

Jonathan’s touch met your clammy palm, and the world fell silent, the walls disappearing around you and the emptiness of air spilling around your limbs.

I’m here, he reminded you.

The light is blinding my eyes, as the soft walls eat us alive.

Your eyelids peeled back to reveal the checkered, rose pattern of your wallpaper, the bright fluorescents of the bathroom, the blue eyes that bore into your own past silver frames. Slivers of ice encroaching on ink black pupils, cold and calculating yet echoing a familiar warmth.

He loosened the makeshift tourniquet from your arm, pins and needles racing from your fingertips to your elbow. A syringe of your favourite poison lay on the bathroom tile, beige powder swirling in a sea of saline.

“Come back to me. Come back to me, please,” he begged, as if for this moment alone, he allowed himself to believe in the higher power you knew he cursed.

Water seeped into your clothing like the sea of pitch, spilling from the bathtub that you had left on. It carried little rivulets of crimson around a minefield of glass. He didn’t seem very concerned with turning it off right now, despite always bitching at you about saving electricity or water. His eyes were on you, and only you.

“Jonathan,” you mumbled weakly, though you thought you screamed; your eyelids fluttered and your heart pounded faster in your chest as the darkness threatened to spill across your vision again. Your nails dug past the fabric of his suit, gripping his arm tight so that he could never let you go.

“I’m here,” he breathed, and reached his other hand around your neck to cup your head, to bring you forward. You glimpsed the white ceramic of the bathroom sink, bloodied where you’d tried to steady yourself with your hand after you’d bashed your skull against the mirror – your ineffectual attempt to cast the demons out. Glass shards lay scattered against the tile. Fragments of your broken reflection.

You still remembered the haunted look you’d hoped to banish from your eyes.

“You have to get your head out of that place,” he murmured against your scalp, his fingers bloody and sticky as he brushed shards of glass from your hair, seemingly immune to the pain. “You’re not in hospital anymore. You’re here. With me. You have to come back to me.”

Your lower lip trembled. “I can’t escape them,” you admitted, voice a mere whimper. “I can’t escape it. You’re here to take me back, aren’t you? You’re gonna lock me up.”

For a moment, you really thought that he might; his palm still rested, warm and bleeding, against your cheek, but his cold blue eyes studied you not as his lover but as his patient, assessing your condition. He sighed, as if disappointed. Shame crawled its way beneath your skin like the cockroaches that had infested the asylum’s lower wards. You had always been so desperate for his approval, he rarely saw this side of you since your rehabilitation. It wasn’t until slivers of ice shattered into twin pools of blue fire that relief began to seep into you, slow and warm but whelming.

“No. No, I’m not,” he said, voice gentle, soothing. Blue eyes glanced to your head again. “Though, you are showing symptoms of a concussion…”

Your heart sped in your chest, and the icy talons of death speared your soul, the darkness hedging the borders of your vision. Innerved by your fear, you reached for the bottle of tiny white pills that lay open, haphazard next to you. But the warmth of his hand left your face, and your fingers clenched around nothing. In a blur of movement, Jonathan threw the bottle at the toilet and it clattered against the back of the seat. You jolted, gasping, wincing as the jagged teeth of the beast sliced through your clothing.

“You prescribed me those,” you told him. “They’re supposed to make me better. You said so yourself.”

“I’ll fill you a new prescription tomorrow. Taper you off. They were no good for you,” he said, and laced his fingers through the bloodied locks of your hair. Pulled your forehead to his so that your breaths became one, and the demons in your skull grew muffled, and his warmth chased away the icy touch of death.

“What am I gonna do?” you whimpered, sobbing, hands grasping feebly at whatever you could grab hold of – his sleeve, his tie, his collar. You felt as if your soul, your mind, were laying in fragments around you like the glass, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t piece them back together. “I just want to be free. I just want to be okay.”

“I know.” He inhaled, closing his eyes, and his grip tightened on your hair, scalp stinging slightly at the almost needy action. Like in this moment he was more afraid of losing you than you were him.

Even he thinks she’s a lost cause.

And Jonathan was never one to utter false truths; because you knew this about him, his silence unnerved you. But finally, after what could’ve been hours or minutes of your pitiful sobbing and the endless drone of the tub, the trickling of water against the tile, he said,

“I’ll be right here, darling. All you need to do is take my hand.” The warmth of his palm slotted into your own, and you wove your fingers so tight that your knuckles turned white around the blood that trickled down both your wrists from the jagged glass that barbed your flesh. A seal. A pact.

“I will see you through this,” he said. “All of it. I promise.”

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @purplesnorlaxplush @drcranessweetestdoe @goblinjnr @mizzbel @s0urmarvel @onasmoko @elenavampire21 @rysko @chris-seb-marvel @muhahaha303 @novemberschy @thatonesinglefriend @forgottenpeakywriter @your-nanas-house @onehornedbeast @kiss-me-cill-me @ilovefictionalpsychopaths @birminghamshelbyboys @sometimes-i-sing @olivialveshbc @urlivingdeadgirl @kadethomes @iwannadie07 @persephonaoflove @ssweetleaf @a-nemoiia @cillianhead

[dutchess-of-fear]

[gothamitelove]

yandere nolanverse scarecrow hcs?

ooh you fucking got it. sorry this took forever i forgot it was in my DRAFTS not my inbox

yandere!nolanverse!jonathan crane headcanons:

lemme just say he gets FAR worse during the dark knight rises. before that, it's still bad! but then it absolutely gets Worse.

he is every type of yandere. dude is manipulative, he's deeply possessive, he's absolutely a stalker, and he's intelligent, which makes him dangerous

he notices you before you notice him. and once he does, he's absolutely hooked.

he follows you, collecting any information he can find on you. (this is quite a lot- he knows how to get into your medical records, and the internet is a wonderful place for finding people's personal information)

he wants to study you. you're fascinating to him

he's slightly hesitant to approach you in person, because for all he knows about you, he doesn't want to be let down

and now to get weird. he will drug you. handy little example here: if you're depressed, you end up with antidepressants mixed into your drinks. it's like that

will kill the guys you go out with. they're all insolent little boys who think they get to have what's his and there's a punishment for that.

he's not the type to be swayed by emotional outbursts and certainly not the kind to feel guilty about anything he's done, so don't even try it, cause it won't work.

would kidnap you. and he keeps you comfortable but your room is essentially escape-proof. it's like babyproofing but worse and just. more so

is capable of being both kind to you and cruel when he needs to be. he can play rough, don't test him

you don't find out about his... tendencies until it's far too late. this is by design. but if you are looking for them, you'll find them in his eyes. they're always a little too intense when it comes to you.

[madame-fear]

yandere! dk! jonathan crane x fem!reader | general headcanons

request : can you do an imagine with yandery dk Jonathan Crane and a fem SO whos shockingly cool with it? “Oh you kidnapped me to keep me safe? Seem reasonable.” Kinda vibes. Absolutely love you!! (requested by: @kakepuff1234)

a/n : ahh thank you so so much dear, love you all too! 🥺💖 you have nooo idea how much i love the idea of yandere! nolanverse crane, so here it goes! 😌 if you'd like an imagine/one shot for this, feel free to tell me and i'll gladly do it <333

TW // Jonathan being a bit too obsessed with you, basically a yandere. Mentions of kidnapping and sickening obsession, but reader doesn't seem to mind.

────────────────────

• The second Jonathan laid his eyes on you, he would've been hit with awe at such graceful sight; he had an almost immediate need of approaching you.

• You were his next door neighbour, and the two of you live on houses who are near Arkham Asylum. He accidentally bumped on you when none of you seemed to be looking at where you had going, and after meeting you, there was no going back.

• Interactions started slow between the two of you. ""Casually"" bumping into each other (say: at the grocery store near your home, walking pass through Arkham, or even, with the classic "do you have some sugar?" technique) was something often happening. You paid no mind to it whatsoever, and found him to be rather interesting.

• The burning, fervid obsession grew as days passed. Jonathan could barely handle the sight of you laughing, talking, or joking with another man who wasn't him. Can't you see, he's the one who so deserves, and is so in love with you?

• Then, as the obsession grew, Jonathan was truly avid to know every single detail about you, and make you his – so, the stalking as Scarecrow happened. Without you noticing, of course.

• Another thing happening with you two are small interactions, when, say, you bump into each other at the grocery store. "How have you been?" would usually be the keyphrase to start a conversation with you.

• After a short while, you got fully used to him. Often waving and smiling at him whenever you saw him somewhere; and that makes his lil growing yandere heart to go 🥰😍💖❤‼

• At this point, his excuse to meet him at his home would be to say that "you seem a lovely neighbour, and that he'd like to know you properly": and we all know that he just wants to keep you with him. Every day, all day long.

• Oh boy, you said yes to him. You're meeting at 9 at his home, unknowingly about to stay by his side for, probably, the rest of your life.

• Jonathan is truly charming with his looks and his captivating personality: it's almost as if he were hypnotising, in a way. He made dinner for you, like a true gentleman, and gave you the absolute princess treatment – only so you could be enchanted by him, just like he always hoped for.

• Didn't put anything into your food or beverage. Though, he had a fear toxin near him in case you tried anything funny when he forces you to stay with him – basically, kidnap you.

• Hours passed: you laughed, chatted, joked around, and even teased with each other. And of course, since everything has it's end, you eventually realised it was time to go back home.

“Would you look at the hour?” you said, abruptly changing the topic of the conversation as you slightly lifted your sleeve to take a look to the watch on your wrist. Jonathan's face fell. “I think, it's time for me to get going–” as you swinged your bag on your shoulder, you grabbed your car keys and made your way towards his front door; only to be stooped halfway by him, blocking the door.

“No, you shouldn't.” Your eyes lightly furrowed, looking at the nuance of his facial expressions. His usual icy blue eyes had oddly turned a darker shade. “It's dangerous out there. A lady like you shouldn't be out at such late hour, especially in a city like Gotham.” he continued, “You're staying here until I say so.” Jonathan slowly started walking towards you, as you instinctively made a few steps backwards. Your face suddenly softened, as you began sliding your bag down your arm, placing it on a nearby chair. “So... you're basically kinda kidnapping me, just so you can keep me safe? Seems reasonable enough, I'm staying.”

What? Now it was Jonathan's turn to furrow his eyebrows in a mild confusion. He expected you to make a fuss about it: screaming and crying for your life, begging for him to let go of you to the point where he'd have to, sadly, fear gas you to calm you down. But it turned out, to be a rather much more pleasant surprise, which made his lips turn into a tiny smile. “Anyways, you've got any clothing to spare? Sleeping with this on is going to be rather uncomfy.”

• Oh. Well. This was better than the scenario he had originally expected. Would be pretty bamboozled, though. You're okay with the fact that... he literally just admitted to you he was going to kidnap you????

• And quite honestly, he is taken aback by your "chill" answer... but I guess he doesn't mind???

• So you just make yourself at home. It kinda annoys you the fact that you can't go out without him following you everywhere, but it's alright, you don't mind.

• Also it's kinda like a silly kidnapping, at the edge of living with him, rather than being kidnapped. He literally helped you move your things to his home...

• Jonathan will also get much possesive with you, now that he's got you under his watch. Always monitoring who you talk to, what you do, where you go, not letting you leave the house by yourself, everything: just like the yandere man he is.

• BUT EVEN THAT !!! You either don't care about him being a possesive, soft yandere with you, or you're oblivious to it.

“Oh, so you want me to stop talking to him? THANK YOU, you have no idea how annoying he was. What should I tell him next time I bump into him?”

• Honestly he doesn't mind at all. He's quite satisfied how you don't care about it, and how you sweetly reciprocate the love and affection he shows and gives you.

• Eventually, he kinda felt as if you needed your own freedom; no matter how badly yandere he is. Of course, he's always going to keep an eye on you: but if you desire to go out by yourself without having him following you from behind, he'll gladly let you do so, and it shall be whatever God wants.

• Jonathan was terribly afraid that once you left his home by yourself, you'd never return. But oddly enough, you came back! You had gone out to buy some groceries for the two of you, and you had bought his favourite snacks.

“Love, I'm back! Apologies for how late I am, the queue was enormous. Anyways, I brought you your favourite snacks. Want some?”

• THE WAY HIS EYES INCREDIBLY LIT UP AT THE SIGHT OF YOU COMING BACK HOME TO HIM.

• Oh my. He's a fervid yandere who desires you to be with him 24/7 and admittedly confessed to you that he was going to kidnap you, and after a while he did so he let you out to go by yourself and you came back to him????

• Saying he's head over heels for you is truly an understimation. He will literally PRAISE you to no end, and will shower you with love and admiration, happy that you recriprocate his lil' obsessed feelings for you.

──────────────────────

♡ taglist : ♡

@wittywitchness @anemicroyalties @imagine--if @scarecrow-jon-babe

[scorpiussage]

NSFW Alphabet - Johnathan Crane (Scarecrow) 

- I’m not much of a DC fan so this is entirely based off the Nolan movies and what we see of Cillian Murphy’s Scarecrow 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Not an aftercare man at all. For real, you’d be lucky if he stayed in bed next to you after he’s done fucking you - he’s busy and got things to do and places to be. 

But, I think that if you caught him at a vulnerable moment (Scarecrow giving him extra grief or him struggling with the Batman) he might indulge in some cuddling but it would be very short lived and he’d expect you to never bring it up again.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Loves someone with a brilliant mind, body doesn’t matter to him at all. He just wants someone who’s crazy matches his crazy. 

He’s literally so vain though, like he will not leave the house unless he looks perfect and put together. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He doesn’t really have much of a preference to where he cums, just that he does. Most of the time it’ll be in you but he has been known to like to finish on your face from time to time. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Scarecrow is obv his big secret, but I think that if he took the time to pursue a relationship with you, it would be because both him and Scarecrow are attracted to you. So that might be a dirty secret of his, that he likes to let the other guy take control some times so that he can get his quality time in with you too.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, he’s always been a huge dork and also very career driven so he’s never put any time into having sex. That said, he’s incredibly knowledgeable about the human body so even though he’s not very experienced, he knows all the best places to touch you.

F = Favourite Position (idk the names of any sex positions so Im just going try and describe them)

Johnathan is a massive control freak and so his favorite positions are all ones that put him in control of you. You on your knees with your face pressed into the mattress and your hands tied behind your back is a particular favorite of his. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He is literally not capable of being goofy and silly. It’s just not who he is. So sex will always be incredibly intense and serious.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Not very intimate nor romantic (though he could be if he wanted to, he just doesn’t want to) 

Don’t get it twisted though, he’s possessive and even though he may not show his affections like other people, you belong to him and he’ll remind you of it regularly. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t masturbate beyond getting excess energy out. He’s not got the time for that.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He’s got a huge doctor/patient kink to the point he’d convince you to get admitted to Arkham so that he could be your doctor and “give you treatments” 😉 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His office at Arkham or whatever seedy warehouse he’s using that week, he’s not picky.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Control and fear are pretty obvious motivators for him. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything church or religion related is a big yikes to him. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He will only give you head if it means a new way to dominate and control you into doing something he wants. That’s just sort of his personality. 

He’s personally pretty eh about receiving. It feels good and makes him cum, but he could also get that from fucking you so it’s not a necessity.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Not slow or fast so much as brutal and intense. Getting fucked by Johnathan is absolutely world ending and also too much. You’ll only be able to handle one round at a time from him. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s not one for quickies usually just because he’s very work focused and you absolutely will not tear him away from whatever new thing he’s doing. He has allotted time set aside to fuck you and he will not do it outside of that time.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He loves taking risks, it’s sort of his whole thing because there’s a tie in to fear. You have to be someone who will go along with whatever he wants because if you don’t, he’ll get bored with you very fast.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Average stamina. He could probably do sexathons but he doesn’t have the time for that, his experiments take priority. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own toys personally but if you own them, he’ll for sure use them on you regularly. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nothing would turn him on more than teasing you to the point of tears. He’s an absolute sadist about that and he’s unapologetic about it too. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Not loud, actually very quiet but when Scarecrow is in the drivers seat, he does a lot of dirty talk. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He’s the kind of man who loves one and only one. So if you start a relationship with him, there’s no ending that relationship, you’re his forever. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Long and average width. Cock size doesn’t matter with a guy like this, he’ll make you cum regardless. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pretty low sex drive, he’s not really someone who spends a lot of time thinking about sex. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t sleep until he’s certain he’s in a safe location. So unless you do it at his place, he’s not one to fuck and then immediately fall asleep. 

[sharksnshakes]

Everything You’ve Got - Jonathan Crane (Nolanverse)

Jonathan Crane is infatuated with reader, who’s forgotten about him entirely. That just won’t do. 

A/N; oh? what’s that? you’re yandere! crane’s darling? run. run as fast as fucking possible

Wordcount; 345

TW; mentions of stalking, mentions of kidnapping, restraints, needles, yandere themes, suggestive themes (but nothing explicit), i don’t know what else to tell you other than he’s a massive creep 

“What... what do you want from me?” 

Your voice was small. It shook, despite your attempts to steady it, and your breathing was too fast, too shallow.  

Crane’s eyes glimmered. He was enjoying this, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. 

“Whatever you’ll allow me to have.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He exhaled softly, casting you a look spiked with adoration. 

“I’ve done this for us, you know.” 

“Us? We’re not... we never dated,” you stammered, confused. The last time you’d seen Crane, you’d been a temp at his psychiatric offices. “I didn’t even-- I didn’t even know your full name!” 

He sighed, pushed a hand through his hair and removed his glasses. There was something exasperated in his tone; like you were a child who just didn’t understand. Like you needed discipline. 

“That’s a lie.” 

Was it? You couldn’t remember.

“You asked your friend for my name the moment I left the room.” 

You racked your brain for what he was talking about. You were a temp, you were a temp... but that had been... 

“Two years ago,” you whispered, eyes wide. How... how had he remembered that...? 

“Besides,” he continued with all the nonchalance of a friendly chat, “Last week, you re-read the article Gotham Gazette published about me.” 

You froze. He was right, you had read the article twice, but that had been in the comfort of your kitchen. “Have you been stalking me?” 

He pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t call it that.” 

You shuddered. The restraints on your wrists were clammy with your sweat, and as you tugged against them, he tutted. He’d already told you to be still. He’d already told you it would hurt to struggle. He’d already told you nobody would hear you. 

“This city’s full of rotten people, (y/n),” Crane continued, brushing the back of his hand over the plane of your cheek. “I’m one of them. But I can keep you safe.” 

“Safe from everyone but you,” you whispered.  

“Maybe,” he shrugged, dropping his hand and cocking his head at you curiously. His eyes flickered to the package of needles on the counter at your side. 

Dread pooled in your gut. 

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” 

[dauntless-gothamite]

Master of Shadows [2/?]

Fandom: DC (Nolanverse; Batman Comics) Pairing: Bane x Fem! Reader Summary: You are a tailor that works for Oswald Cobblepot, also known as the Penguin, who tasks you with making clothes for the abnormally large man who has recently arrived in Gotham, Bane. While working with Bane, you see an opportunity to escape the Penguin, something you have wanted for years, and if you play your cards right, you may just gain your freedom and bond with the handsome man in the mask along the way.   A/N: this is aggressively unedited and kind of short but I am eager to keep the story moving :) please let me know what you think!!

Warnings: intentional violence towards reader (not from Bane)

You step out of the changing room, satisfied with your appearance. You’ve changed into a bra that works with the plunging neckline of the dress to reveal a bit of cleavage, and the cinched waist of the dress hugs your body tightly. The pearls sewn into the dress aren’t too heavy; they actually give the dress a satisfying weight to it and they give you the perfect opportunity to wear drop-down pearl earrings that have two white pearls and one black pearl in the middle. While getting changed, you had applied some dark grey eyeshadow to your eyelids, which looks good with the dress. Lastly, you have some black heeled ankle boots that just peek out from the bottom of the dress. “Well?” you ask, twirling.

“Excellent, now let’s go,” Bane says, hardly sparing you a glance. Barsad offers you a smile and offers his arm to you, which you take as you make your way down the stairs once more. You spare a glance at the Penguin’s office door as you walk past it and down another flight of stairs but keep moving without saying anything. Hopefully he is too distracted by either work or Eddie to notice the already faint sounds of you moving about the attic have faded completely. 

–

A short while later, you’re standing in Wayne Manor with Barsad, champagne flute in hand and a smile plastered on your face. Before coming here, Bane had said he had other things to deal with, and while you had figured he wouldn’t be at the party, it was another thing entirely to be there alone with Barsad, who you felt you knew even less about than Bane. Barsad proves to be nice enough, if a bit awkward at times, and you often lead him through the crowd so as to avoid the wrong people–being the talented tailor that you are, you had made clothing for some of the richest people in Gotham and have a good understanding of the social dynamics in the room. Just as Bruce Wayne himself makes an entrance, Barsad leans in and whispers in your ear, “Time to go.” You frown but don’t protest and follow him out of the manor and down the long driveway, where a car waits for the both of you. Barsad opens the door for you, and you’re a little disappointed to see Bane isn’t there. As he gets in after you Barsad smirks and says, “Don’t worry, you’ll see the boss in a couple days when he drops by to check on your progress. He always follows up on his projects.” You scowl at that and Barsad laughs, and you think maybe, for the first time in years, you’ve made a friend. 

The car stops outside the Iceberg Lounge, and you know this is where you part ways with Barsad and face the consequences of leaving without permission. “I had fun tonight,” you admit as you get out of the car. “See you around,” you add, closing the door as Barsad waves and the car takes off. 

–

You walk the short distance from the Iceberg Lounge to Oswald Cobblepot’s more private residence, where he greets you at the door rather than having an assistant do it, and you know things are likely worse than you’d thought. 

“Sir,” you greet, looking at the floor. 

Cobblepot says nothing at first, only slaps you hard right across the face. You hold in the yelp that almost escapes your mouth and look the man in the eyes. “Foolish, ungrateful girl,” he scolds. “Have you any idea what you being seen with Bane and his men could mean for me?” You shake your head as he shoves you against the wall. “It could mean my already fragile alliance with Maroni could shatter! But you don’t care about that, do you, you selfish bitch!” You so badly want to talk back and say you didn’t know, but you know that would only lead to more pain, so you keep quiet. “Back up to the attic, now,” Cobblepot orders. With a nod, you turn to go, but he grabs your arm tightly, and then slides his hand down to yours. Taking your hand, he looks you dead in the eye and snaps your pinky finger in half, causing you to scream. “You don’t really need that one to sew…and if anyone comes looking for you because they saw you tonight, it’s the whole hand, you hear me?” he threatens. Unshed tears line your eyes; you don’t let them fall until he has released your arm and you’re up the stairs in the attic alone. 

–

The next morning, your broken finger wrapped tightly against the one next to it in some extra tulle from your supply, you look through the fabric samples you have stored in the attic, pulling a few options for Bane’s coat and setting them on the table nearby. Lying before you are squares of leather, shear-lined denim and suede, twill, and more. Wincing, you try to ignore the pain in your hand as you open up your notebook to look at the notes you had written down the day before when there is a knock at your door. “Come in,” you call, expecting one of Oswald’s assistants to have a delivery for you; they always come by in the morning. Much to your surprise, Bane walks through the door instead. 

“Oh! Hi Bane,” you greet, feeling even smaller next to him than you did yesterday. “I haven’t started on your coat yet, but I was just looking though some fabric samples-” you start, unsure what else to say. He stops you though, reaching for your bandaged hand. 

“What happened here?” he asks, turning your smaller hand over to examine it. 

“Oh, you know, I just…” you trail off. 

“You just what?” Bane pushes, and you look up at him nervously. 

“Well, I’m just not supposed to go out.” 

“For your safety?” he asks, his body already more tense than it was a moment ago. 

“In part,” you mutter. “Can we not talk about it?” you ask, shifting his attention to the fabrics laid out before you. 

“For now,” the large man concedes, and you exhale in relief. 

“So for the coat, I have a few fabrics here, thicker ones to account for the weather, but I wasn’t sure about your color preference, but if you want it lined with something for warmth that limits the options-” you start, unstacking the fabric squares. 

“I like this one,” he says, leaning over your shoulder and pointing to a dark brown suede shearling square of fabric.

“You can touch it,” you say, and as he leans forward to pick it up, his chest presses against your back lightly, comfortably. In an instant, the touch is gone. 

“This one will be very good,” Bane says, handing the square back to you. “I will see you later,” he says before leaving you alone in the attic, uncertain of what exactly had just happened. 

[mlmxreader]

Auguries of Innocence | Bane x gn!reader

anonymous asked: Bane: Hiya! Hope alls well 🖤. May I please give you a request to use the following prompts for big tiddy Bane X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: "Look, you're gonna be alright"+ "I got you, don't worry" Thank you very much 🖤! 🐍anon

summary: when you need him most, Bane is always, and will always, be there for you in any way that you need him to be.

tws: brief nudity mentions, swearing, poetry???

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Bane hadn't expected it. The hammering against his thick metal door, the desperate cries of his name, but when he opened it and he saw you, the surprise soon turned to worry; you were soaked, shivering and shaking as you sat down.

He gave you a towel, and furrowed his brows as he handed you a cup of coffee once you had sat down on the uncomfortable and stiff sofa. He knew for a while that you had been staying with Bruce Wayne, and never really took much notice, until he saw that you had brought a suitcase and a backpack with you.

It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened, and as he sat down opposite you, there was little that Bane could do or say.

"I got you, don't worry," his voice was just a slight grumble, reassuring like a thunderstorm after a scorching summer. "You'll be alright."

You nodded, sniffling as you swallowed thickly and tried to regain some of your composure. "Promise?"

Bane nodded slowly. "Of course. You're more than welcome to stay for as long as you like, I like having you around, you know that, my spectre."

You were shaky as you smiled, unsure of what to do with your hands and what to say, but you knew Bane well enough; you knew that he would never turn you away or turn on you when you needed him, when you needed him above everyone else.

You sipped your coffee, murmuring softly. "Thank you…"

"No one will ever hurt you again," Bane growled, shaking his head. "I will make sure of it. All you have to do is tell me, I don't care if someone was merely rude, or if they punched you - they won't see another day."

"Bane-"

"My spectre," he huffed, glaring at you. "Don't argue."

You put the coffee down between your feet and ran your hands down your face, cupping your mouth. "I'm not. I, I won't. I've… I've had enough arguments today."

Bane sighed, moving closer and moving the coffee cup safely out the way before he knelt down between your legs, his hands on your calves as he groaned softly. The only indication that he would have smiled if he could. "Memory, hither come, and tune your merry notes; and, while upon the wind your music floats."

You furrowed your brows, hands clinging to his mask by instinct as you tried to remember what he was quoting; it was always something old, something that you never would have known if you didn't know him.

His niche intelligence meant that you could listen to him talk for hours; that voice helped more than you wanted to admit, too.

"I'll pore upon the stream where sighing lovers dream, and fish for fancies as they pass within the watery glass."

His hands dragged up to your thighs as he rose slightly, the metal of his mask glittering in the dim lights of what you could only call his lair; Bane never stayed anywhere for very long, but regardless of where he went, he always made sure you could visit if you so wanted to.

If you ever needed him.

He treasured you, was loyal to you.

"I'll drink of the clear stream, and hear the linnet's song; and there I'll lie and dream the day along."

He pressed the cold metal to the side of your neck, knocking the skin slightly in an attempt to mark it but to no avail; every time, he always wished that he could have sunk his teeth into your skin and he could have tasted the salt of your sweat on his tongue. The soft rise and fall of your breath against his lips. Bane wished, he wished and he wished, that such a thing was possible.

"And, when night comes, I'll go to places fit for woe, walking along the darken'd valley with silent Melancholy."

Your breath hitched when you felt the harsh huff of his breath, filtered through the cold mask, against your ear; he had you pinned to that harsh sofa, but you didn't mind, hands on the straps of his tactical vest as you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to become lost in his safety, his security.

Loyalty and dedication. Support and encouragement. The fierce need to defend and to guard. To protect. His hands were rough when he tugged at your shirt, fingertips shining from the dewdrops that had landed on them.

"I think we should take this off, spectre," he breathed out. "Get you into something warm and dry… I think I might have a few things lying around."

"You sure?"

"Of course," Bane agreed, pulling away. "I won't look when you… take what you want to take off."

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you said quietly. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

He laughed, the sound muffled and hoarse. "But you know I won't if you don't want me to."

He got up and turned around, covering his face with his hands just to make sure that you knew he wouldn't look as you began to strip; you didn't mind at all, Bane had seen everything. You had been together long enough that, when there was time for it, you were happy to share the shower with him.

Helping him wash his back and letting him scrub you down. Bane had always been so good to you.

"Bane," you whispered. "Turn around."

"I shouldn't," he grumbled, taking a step away from you and heading towards his wardrobe.

You couldn't help but to laugh. A pink outline had formed around the contours of his mask. You made him blush; so long being together and you could still make him blush.

You were more than impressed with yourself, if you were honest; Bane was a beast of a man, known for his brute strength and durability, known for being more than brutal even when he didn't need to be.

And yet there he was, blushing like a schoolboy and keeping his eyes tightly closed when he held out one of his shirts and a pair of his trousers for you to wear. You took them, rewarding him with a kiss to the edge of his mask that only made him grumble, the pink outline becoming a harsher colour.

"Are you decent?" He asked after a while, and when you told him you were, he took a seat on the sofa, and stole a swig from your coffee. His eyes raked up and down your body, and he nodded in approval. "You should wear my clothes more often, robin redbreast."

"And why would that be?" You scoffed, raising a brow.

"You look a lot better in them," Bane admitted, tapping his thigh and growling with what you knew to be delight when you sat on his lap. "Now that I have you all to myself, I can actually see."

You rolled your eyes at him, your hands on his broad and strong shoulders as you hummed. But your face fell, and you swallowed thickly when you felt a tightness in your chest. "Y'know, as exciting as it is to actually be able to be your… y'know, Partner in everything but crime… I can't think of why Bruce would-"

"Don't worry about him," Bane hissed. "Look, you're gonna be alright, my little robin redbreast, my spectre… you'll be alright. I'll make sure of it. I'll look after you."

[scarecrowismybabygirl]

Canon Jonathan Crane

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Man discovered fire.

Women discovered how to play with it.

Jonathan Crane x psycho!reader PART ONE

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

***************************

You met at Arkham when you were a patient and he was your doctor. There was something so sweet about him. His seemingly unblemished soul made your mouth water. Every time he fixed his crooked glasses a blackened part of your heart fluttered.

When he visited you for your weekly sessions you enjoyed toying with him. You were often stuck in your straight jacket but it didn’t mean you couldn’t use your foot to run up and down his trouser leg.

“Miss Y/n, I feel that our—what are you doing?” He stumbled over his words when your foot began to gently press against his growing bulge.

“Doctor Crane, I didn’t realise interviewing sicko’s got you this excited.”

He grasped your foot and threw it back down. You sickeningly giggled at his display of force, believing you were slowly uncovering something more to the innocent doctor.

“I’m boreddddd.” You whined. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” You kicked your feet in a tantrum.

He fixed his glasses. “You believe you have been rehabilitated?”

You fixed yourself so you were now sat criss cross. You leaned towards him. “What do you think doc?”

“I think you killed 39 people.” His voice dropped to an enticing whisper.

“No.” Your voice lost it’s teasing lilt.

“I’m sorry?”

“I killed men. Not people.”

After an intense stare, he broke it to gather up his papers and his briefcase. You leaned back feeling your heart race. You hadn’t felt this rush of adrenaline in a while as even killing had lost its excitement after a while. This was a new feeling, and you were addicted.

“I’m bored. Play with me.” You shot him a flirty smile.

He stopped on his exit out and turned to face you. His eyes raked up and down your body.

“Not yet.”

***************************

PART TWO

Here's the post I promised to celebrate my 100 followers! it's kinda late but I'm loving it! Also there will be multiple parts to this!

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612

[nocturnest]

Oooo I thought of an idea for the 3rd part of Amor and Timor!! You know how it left off with Jonathan staying over at Y/n’s apartment? Imagine her ex knocking on her door and either she answers the door and he forces himself in (which was not a good idea because guess who is sitting in her living room🤭🫣) orrrr JONATHAN answers the door… Either way the man is face to face with a very angry Jonathan Crane that now feels he needs to use more of what’s up his sleeve so that her ex gets the idea to leave her alone😅 Ooof and when that door closes behind him, either way he’d be locked in there with The Scarecrow who feels very protective of his girl🫣

I don’t know that her ex would leave this interaction alive😅

@kpopgirlbtssvt AHH LOVE THIS IDEA! protective jonathan for the win!

warnings: mild violence, references to sex (but they haven't actually done it yet don't worry!), a threatening presence

Your apartment was cozy. That was the first thing that came to mind when Jonathan stepped in. There were piles of books scattered across the room, a quite comforting similarity between your apartment and his own.

And now, here you two were. Your head in his lap as he slowly combed through your soft hair with his fingers. If only he knew how much he was affecting you with his feather-light touch.

Jonathan could sense that you were at peace, that you desired his presence. You wouldn't have sought him out otherwise, but he wasn't used to being accepted so willingly, to being able to be so open with another, to being wanted.

The soft glow of the television illuminated the room. You had picked a psychological thriller, Se7en. It wasn't necessarily scary but it made your skin crawl. There were moments when you snuggled closer to Jonathan, your nose nuzzling his neck. While Jonathan didn't like to see you frightened, he couldn't help but feel a sort of pride that you found solace in him, that his presence meant you were safe.

As Jonathan continued to run his fingers through your hair with gentle strokes, you felt yourself drifting into a state of blissful relaxation. The stresses of the day melted away, replaced by a sense of tranquility that only his touch could provide.

Just as you were on the brink of drifting off to sleep, a sharp knock at the door shattered the peaceful atmosphere. You jolted awake, the sudden interruption jarring you back to reality.

Jonathan's expression hardened as he rose from the couch, his protective instincts kicking into high gear.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

You gave a sleepy smile, "Not at this time of night."

"I'll get it," he said, squeezing your hand before making his way to the door, his posture tense yet controlled.

As Jonathan swung open the door, your ex stood on the threshold, his presence an unwelcome intrusion into your sanctuary. You stood up from the couch with shaky legs. Before your ex could utter a word, Jonathan's icy gaze silenced him, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Well, well, well," Jonathan said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Look who decided to drop by uninvited." He immediately wishes he had his fear gas with him, which he wouldn't hesitate to use on this man (if he could even call him that).

From what you can see over Jonathan's shoulder, there was anger in your ex's expression, and then utter confusion.

"Is that my shirt?"

"Hm," hummed Jonathan thoughtfully as he looked down and inspected the shirt that you had given him, "I suppose it's mine now." You couldn't see Jonathan's expression as he speaks but he's grinning.

You wanted him to be more comfortable as he was staying the night. In fact, you had bought the shirt yourself for your ex but he never ended up wearing the damn thing. He claimed that he wouldn't be caught dead in it.

Your ass of an ex scowled, threw his hands up with frustration, and practically roared with anger like the complete and utter fool that he was, "You're seriously going to choose this twig over me? You're already whoring yourself out to other men? I'm not surprised that you're that desperate. You were terrible in bed anyways."

Something flicked in Jonathan's expression. Jonathan's grin widened, a glint of mischief yet anger dancing in his eyes as he exchanged a knowing glance with you. He leaned against the doorframe casually, his demeanor almost playful despite the tension in the air.

"Well, I must admit your assessment of her character is quite revealing of your own," Jonathan remarked, his tone cool and collected.

Jonathan tilted his head and whispered something you couldn't quite hear, "I'll have you know that she's remarkable in bed. In fact, my throat is rather sore from screaming her name. But you don't need me to tell you that, do you?"

Your ex's face contorted with rage, his fists trembling at his sides as he struggled to find a retort. But before he could unleash another verbal assault, Jonathan stepped forward, his presence towering over him.

"Now, now, there's no need for name-calling," Jonathan said, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "I suggest you take a lesson in manners before you go around insulting people. It's unbecoming, you uncouth oaf."

Your ex gave another look of anger but also bewilderment. You were trying and failing to hold back laughter.

He paused and backtracked, "Oh - my sincerest apologies, I know better than to use words that you don't know." He emphasized the last three words by prodding your ex's chest with his finger.

Your ex fidgets with his hands and shuffles backwards, "You-"

Jonathan interrupted him, his thoughts elsewhere, waving his hand away from the door, "Go on, now. Begone! Please assist with depriving us of your pathetic presence."

Your ex looked between you and Jonathan, his face unreadable, and before you could even speak, he leaned backward before punching Jonathan in the face.

You gasp with surprise as your ex's fist connected with Jonathan's face with a sickening thud, sending him stumbling backward. Shocked gasps escaped your lips as you watched Jonathan's glasses clatter to the floor, his hand instinctively flying to his now bleeding nose.

Without a second thought, adrenaline surged through you as you rose to your feet, your protective instincts kicking in. You stepped forward, your voice trembling with fury.

"Get out," you spat, your tone dripping with venom. "Get out of my apartment and never come back."

Your ex recoiled at the intensity of your words, his eyes widening with fear as he realized the gravity of the situation. With a muttered curse, he turned on his heel and fled from the apartment, his retreat marked by the sound of the slamming door.

As the echoes of his departure faded into silence, you turned your attention back to Jonathan and reached for a kitchen towel. With your heart pounding in your chest, you approached him cautiously and lifted his chin with gentle hands, meeting his pained gaze with a mixture of concern and determination.

"Let me see," you murmured, your voice soft as you examined the damage to his nose. Blood trickled down his face, staining his shirt with crimson droplets.

Jonathan winced as you gingerly touched the tender skin around his nose, his breath catching in his throat. You pressed the towel against his face. Despite the pain etched on his features, there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you.

As you tended to Jonathan's injury, your hands trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and concern, you couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy for him.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely above a hush. "I should have been more careful. I didn't expect him to... to..."

Jonathan shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the pain. "It's not your fault," he reassured you, his voice soft yet resolute. "You couldn't have known he would react like that."

You sighed, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders at his words. "Still, I should have been prepared. I should have stood up to him sooner."

Jonathan reached out, his hand bringing yours to his lips for a kiss. "You did stand up to him," he said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering intensity. "You showed courage and strength in the face of adversity. And for that, I admire you."

A blush crept across your cheeks at his words, a warmth spreading through you at the sincerity in his gaze. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely audible. "That means a lot to me."

You grinned as you recalled Jonathan's words to your ex, "You really know how to shut someone down with style. I must say, your insults are quite impressive."

Jonathan's lips curled into a smirk, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Well, I do try to maintain a certain level of eloquence, even in the face of ignorance," he quipped, his tone light yet tinged with amusement.

You chuckled softly, feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between you as you basked in the aftermath of the confrontation. "Consider me thoroughly entertained," you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes.

Jonathan's laughter mingled with yours, the sound filling the room with warmth and light. As the laughter subsided, you found yourselves gazing into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passing between you. You marveled at how beautiful his smile was.

For a while, the two of you sat on the couch in companionable silence, the only sound filling the room the quiet hum of the heater and the soft patter of snow against the windowpane. And as you curled into Jonathan's side, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, a feeling of connection that transcended words. You felt safe.

@kiss-me-cill-me hope you enjoy part three!

@mothhball thought you might be interested!

[rose-and-thorn-fanfics]

BATMAN (NOLANVERSE) FANFIC: PART 13 (JOKER x OC)

It had been two weeks. Lottie stared at the cell wall in front of her. They had moved her to a different cell since the interrogation. This one was darker, and had nothing but a cold slab to sleep on, and a toilet in the corner. She couldn't understand why she was still there. 'Bruce cares about me. He definitely has to be trying to negotiate my freedom.' She thought. But something painful twinged inside her heart. 'What if he... isn't going to help me? What if he thinks I deserve this?'

The cell door suddenly shuttered a it was being unlocked. It swung open. A guard kicked a box of tampons inside and closed the door again, leaving. Lottie stared at the box, then burst into tears. "WHAT?! Suddenly you have the decency to give me tampons?" She scoffed, leaning back against the cold dark wall. "Like hell you care. I want my phone call!" She shouted. Nobody came. She repeated her request as more guards walked by. They kept walking, completely ignoring Lottie. She let out a petulant howl so loud it shook her to her very core and left her voice scratchy. Eventually she curled into a ball and drifted off to sleep, defeated. She dreamt about robbing one of Gotham's major banks, side by side with the Joker and Maya Gardner. Lottie smiled in her sleep. For a brief few hours of slumber, she forgot about the walls that blocked her from the outside world. Then she awoke, startled to consciousness by a loud explosive sound. The cell's door rattled violently. Then all was silent, save the sound of someone walking down the hall, humming softly. Lottie got up, scrambling to the barred door and squinting outside into the pitch black darkness. Whatever exploded must've blown the lights with it. Suddenly the humming grew louder and the sound of footsteps stopped, right in front of her cell.

"...Hello?" Lottie said, voice tired and weak. She felt a soft hand reach through the bars and wipe a tear from her cheek.

"I'll let you out. You owe me an apology, though." Maya's voice echoed. Electrical wires sizzled in the distance.

"Maya?" Lottie said, caught off guard.

"You sound so surprised. Were you expecting someone else?" Maya taunted. "Perhaps a mass-murdering clown?"

Lottie started sobbing again, eyes clouding with angry tears. "Why did he leave me at that party? Why didn't he come get me out of here? Surely he heard I was at the MCU!"

"He was being kept here too, Lottie. He knew very well where you are. He escaped his cell and left without you. Do you believe me now?" Maya said, her monotone voice lacking empathy. "I'm the only one who understands you, Lottie. I'm the only one who cares."

"Maya.... I'm sorry." Lottie said. The words felt wrong on her lips, but she forced them out anyway.

The door creaked open, and Maya pulled Lottie into a tight hug. "I love you, Lottie."

'But I don't want your love.' Lottie thought as she hugged her school friend back. Her eyes stung with tears. 'I want his love. And if I can't have it, I want his jealousy." She mentally noted. "I love you too, Maya. You're right." Lottie lied. "You're the only one for me."

Maya and Lottie headed out the back door of the MCU building. A car pulled up, and the backdoor swung open. Maya motioned for Lottie to follow her and slide into the backseat. Once they were inside the car, it sped off. Lottie recognized the drivers as a couple of the people she had deemed "losers" from Gotham University. She smiled wanly. Theres no telling what those morons would do for some cash. 'Maya must've paid them off.'

Maya pulled out a cigarette and started smoking, not bothering to open the car windows. Lottie watched her in silence. Maya was a good backup plan. She always had been. Now she had to decide how to use her to get the Joker's attention.

[dutchess-of-fear]

Heres a daily reminder of Jonathan Crane loves you very much, and is always there for you🥰