#scarecrow drabble

[yandereunsolved]

— Yandere Jonathan Crane —

"Do you know where you are?

"Arkham Asylum."

"Good. Your memory is improving. Are you still having those dreams?"

"Yes."

"I want you to describe them to me again. I know you don't remember much."

"I-It was extremely dark out. I remember that. There was this strange smell in the air. It goes blank after that. I vaguely remember feeling someone's hands ghost my body. When I woke up, it was a massacre. They were dead all around me."

"You had a psychotic breakdown. There was a leaking gas pipe that caused you to hallucinate. When the Gotham police came to the crime scene they say they saw you with a mask in hand."

"It was more like a straw bag. I-I don't remember ever having anything like that before... except for when you—"

"I see the light bulb appearing above your head. You are very smart, you know? That's why I picked you."

"Scarecrow."

"Such an astute observation. I wouldn't suggest you start screaming. No one will believe someone diagnosed as clinically insane, especially not someone who committed mass murder, such as yourself. I see you are sobbing now. It's a natural bodily reaction to relieving stress. Would you like a tissue, my dear?"

"Why?"

"Oh? You ask the predator why it stalks its prey? That's a question I am delighted to answer. It's simple, really. I am intoxicated by you."

[thevelvetvampyre]

Bunny to a wolf - Jonathan Crane x patient reader

“So go on bunny. Run for me.”

Warnings: Predator x prey dynamic, noncon, restraints and cuffs, victim blaming, sexual assault mentioned, he’s derogatory, creampie, dacryphilia, general smut and dark adult content

Note: this is basically an intense game of hide and seek (predator x prey kink on 🔝)

──── ──── ────

It had been a few months since the attack, the smell of musk still making your stomach turn and your face cringe.

The memory of how heavy he felt on top of you, the way he heaved against your limp body and his rough grip on your sides that bruised a deep purple the next morning. The only thing that made it more horrific was the fact that he was still out there, probably boasting about the young girl he cuffed and fucked on the side of the road after one too many beers, how tight she was and how she took him so well.

“Are you scared that it may happen again?”

Dr. Crane gazed at you expressionlessly as he held his notebook on his crossed thigh. Exasperated and bored from asking you the same questions after each therapy session, his time with you proving to be non-beneficial as each appointment came around.

“Very.”

Your voice shook as your eyes remained on your lap, unable to look your psychiatrist in the eyes as you felt him grow more irritated with you daily.

“Well- unfortunately there’s not much else I can do.”

He huffed, uncrossing his legs and widening his knees as he clenched his jaw. Pushing up the frames on his nose bridge and glaring at you disgustedly, he linked his fingers on his stomach and furrowed his brows as he analysed you.

The fear that radiated off your skin was hypnotic, capturing his affection with how weak and pathetic you looked. He could smell how scared you were. Of him or the context as to why you sat opposite him, he didn’t care. He felt honoured, blessed even, he got to hear your sweet voice string out sentences of his version of an erotic violence.

Your descriptions of the attack were pornographic to him, the way you sobbed as you went into extensive detail of the pain you felt was so arousing you’d think he was watching you get off. With each tear that rolled down your cheek, a bead of cloudy white leaked out his pulsating tip.

A seething jealousy prickled under his skin as he imagined a filthy, Gotham peasant thrusting himself into you, angry he couldn’t of been present that night to stop him. He often wondered how adorable your wrists looked cuffed together, bruising and bleeding as you tried to escape.

He dreamt of replacing the man’s drunken cock with his experienced shaft, squinting down at you begging him to stop as he felt himself spill his cum into the back of you.

Watching you now, seeing how you were still so hopeless after months of therapy, he felt he’d broken you down enough to take matters into his own hands.

“There is one more thing we could try…”

His words were slow and deliberate, the tone he emitted made it sound like he would present you with a gift, a glimpse of hope in your psychologically devastating situation.

You pull your eyes up to meet his, a small haze had covered your vision and you rapidly bat your eyelids to focus on his face clearly.

“You may be… scared.”

He tilted his head as he pondered what emotive affect his suggestion may cause, confused on how your sensitive emotions may arise during the ‘treatment’.

“But it will work. It has to work.”

His lips pulled into a grin, the corners turning upwards as his eyes flattened into a squint.

Nodding your head agreeably, you’d do anything to rid the trauma from your mind. Desperation was in your blood at this point, your heart thumping in defeat as you’ve accepted you may feel like this forever.

“Anything Dr.Crane… I’ll do anything.”

Cocking a brow up, he clenched his jaw as he stood up and took slow strides to his desk, pulling open the top drawer on the right side of the mahogany wood and looking up at you in amusement.

Reaching down, you heard a clanking metal scrape along the material and his fingers revealed a dangling, swaying set of silver handcuffs.

Your eyes widened and you gulped, the fear of seeing the restraints sending goosebumps onto the back of your neck and flushing your cheeks with a violent red.

He walked around the desk to sit on the tabletop on the opposite side, your body physically reacting as you pushed yourself further into the couch to create as much distance from him as possible.

Watching as he sat on the desk, the grin on his face made you queasy and on edge.

“Come here.”

His voice was low and husky, his eyes following you as you hesitantly stood up and carefully walked over. The knot in your stomach was bubbling with anxiety, twisting in your gut and making you want to gag.

Standing in front of him, he took a deep breath as his eyes fell over your face, basking in how scared you looked and ignoring his primal queue to pounce on you then and there.

“This treatment is called systematic desensitisation. Where aspects of the patients PTSD or trauma is gradually exposed to them in a safe environment- the end goal being…”

He swiftly grabs your wrist mid sentence, causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“The confrontation of the fear allowing the patient to overcome that aspect of their trauma.

He gave you a full smile as he tugged lightly on the free side of the cuff, looking down and humming in approval at the way your wrist fit perfectly under the metal.

“Dr.Crane I-“

A wave of uncertainty and panic rush over you, subconsciously trying to retreat your wrist as it proved to no avail, his fingers holding firmly on the other clasp to keep your wrist propped up.

“Be a brave girl… I’ll admit you if this doesn’t work.”

Your eyes went wide as they began to swell in tears, his threat of Arkham throwing you off guard as he’d never mentioned it before this moment.

“You’ll be a danger to yourself.”

His head tilted as his voice purred a tone of sarcastic, speaking to you like you were a stupid dog who didn’t know how to sit for a treat.

His face became blurred as a tear brimmed on your waterline, the icy blue that stared daggers into you feeling threatening enough over his cold words.

Swiftly pulling your wrist a couple feet to his left, he ducked down and cuffed the other side of the cuffs onto the leg of his desk. You followed behind stumbling with the force of his action dragging you downwards to attach you to the pole of wood.

Sitting down and bringing your knees to your chest, you curled vulnerably as your mind raced with your attempts to calm yourself, trusting Dr.Crane through your palpitating anxiety.

As he glared down at you, his eyes turned dark and an overwhelming sense of panic flooded over you. He looked at you like a piece of meat, wanting the floor to suck you in whole to avoid his hungry gaze.

“Have you ever considered that maybe, you were asking for it?”

Dr.Cranes words shocked you, furrowing your brows and opening your drying mouth to respond to him.

“W-what?”

Pulling your knees closer, your heart pounded in your chest as he pulled a chair in front of you and sat down, spreading his knees as you sat perfectly between them.

“Tell me again, what were you wearing?”

His words were venomous yet clinical and he spat them out onto you, your limbs began to tremble as he suddenly looked a lot bigger with you sitting down.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with-“

You were offended, confused as to why he was suddenly going against the comforting advice he’s been giving you since the first session.

“Oh but it does darling, this is Gotham- remember?”

His face pulled into a look of disgust as his eyes trailed along your frail body, shuddering as his gaze was eating you alive.

“S-skirt- I was wearing a skirt.”

You shamefully looked down and tears started to swell in your eyes, the pain in your chest evident as you started to breath heavy in an attempt to calm yourself.

Groaning and clenching his jaw as he rolled his eyes back and pictured you laying exposed on the side walk in a tiny skirt, he felt his cock thicken under his pants and he licked his bottom lip as he salivated.

“So you were asking for it.”

His eyes remained closed and yours snapped onto him, your jaw falling in shock as your tears violently fell down your cheeks.

“No! I wasn’t!”

He chuckled at the fight in your voice.

“Oh I think you were”

His eyes opened and his head nodded to his words.

“Only whores wear skirts in Gotham.”

You began sobbing and trying to pull your wrist out of the clasp of the metal, panic fuelling you into fight or flight and in this case, running was the only answer.

He chuckled as he watched you intently, enjoying the view of you struggling.

“Calm down…”

His voice was oddly comforting but to no avail, your wrist pulling harder on the desk and it proved to be much heavier than you as you winced.

“I said- calm down.”

He lent his chest forward and grabbed your scalp, pulling your face up with your hair as he remained inches away from your lips.

His eyes fell across your features as you winced in pain to his grasp, admiring how pretty you looked with flushed cheeks and black smudge running along your eyelids.

“Are you going to be a pathetic little victim forever? Or are you going to let Dr.Crane fix for you?”

He growled his words, showing his teeth as he spoke.

All you could do was whimper, causing him to pull back at your hair once more and snap your neck further back.

“Hm?”

You gulped down as you looked at him, his hum now a softer whisper.

“Dr.Crane to fix it for me.”

You mumbled, he let go of your hair and sat back on the chair, you swayed as you lost his grip and he cleared his throat.

You could only look up at him with furrowed brows, your eyes swollen and your scalp stinging. You felt pathetic, chained to your psychiatrists desk as he made you feel responsible for your attack.

Sighing, his eyes fell along your body and you shuffled back, anything to get out of his sight.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

He threw his hands up, stating his sentence as something that was obvious.

“And I’m going to fill your cunt until I’m finished.”

Your eyes widened and your brows knitted, a string of begs fall from your lips as your wrist started pulling violently on the cuffs.

“No! Dr.Crane-please!”

You began to sob, panic possessing you as you watched him chuckle.

He basked in your pleas, rolling his head back with his eyes as he furrowed his brows.

“I’ll do anything! Please let me go.”

You choked on your words, your wrist bone bleeding purple as a bruise began to form.

“That’s it… cry for me.”

The shock of his words left you sobbing louder, your chest heaving and a panic flushing your skin warm. You tried lifting the desk, sneaking your wrist out and opening the clasp manually, you were stuck under his control for as long as he had you chained.

His cock began throbbing as you cried, his months of patience paying off as he felt his veiny dick fill with blood.

He continued to chuckle, amused by your failed attempts of escaping.

“Please- Dr.Crane let me go!”

You extended your last word, sobbing through your mouth and whining like a spoiled child.

“Go?”

His eyebrows cocked up.

“Go where?”

You continued pulling on your wrist, the pain growing unbearable.

“Home- please… I want to go home.”

“Oh no bunny… not yet.”

He began tapping his foot, growing irritated at the sound of the metal pulling aggressively on the wooden leg.

He chuckled louder as you began to scream for help, screaming louder than your lungs could hold as a hot burn filled your organs in urgency.

“There’s no use darling. I’m the only one in my office.”

Your cheeks stung with his nicknames, a heat rushing across your skin as you felt you were knocking on deaths door.

“Oh c’mon…”

His eyes rolled.

“Nobody’s coming to save you. Fuck, no one can even hear you.”

His tone was flat, his words stabbing you deeply as you knew it was true.

His office was huge, basically the small section of the ward in Arkham was completely his. Three rooms, one of which you were currently in, and the reception. Nobody was ever there and you were alone in this apartment sized office, crying and begging your psychiatrist to not fuck you.

“Please… please let me go!”

Your whines grew annoying to him, rolling his eyes and groaning at the sound of your screaming voice.

“You just won’t have it, will you?”

“No-no, no… let me go!”

You shook your head in denial, your words rapid and rushed as your wrist started to bleed.

Sighing in defeat, he leans forward as a smirk grows on his face.

“Let’s play a little game, hm?”

He roughly grasped at your wrist, groaning at the sight of your exposed flesh that your desperately pathetic attempts to escape caused.

Looking up at him through your heavy, tear stained eyes, you frowned and felt your heart thump in fear.

“Are you good at hide and seek?”

His face was dangerously close to yours now, the bright white of his office turning your stomach as this monster was supposed to be your psychiatrist, your saviour.

He reached into his pocket to pull out the key to your cuffs, your eyes going wide and your chest fluttering in relief.

“We’ll play a round. You hide… and I seek.”

His voice was low and merely above a whisper, the undertone of excitement made you breath shakily in fear, unable to respond to his words.

“Please let me go.”

You whispered, his face still inches away from yours.

“I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, watching as his fingers clasped at the metal and his other hand turned the key to loosen its hold on you.

“So go on bunny. Run for me.”

As soon as you felt the cool air on your bruised wrist, you shot up and began sprinting towards the door.

You stumbled as your legs tried to move faster than you were capable of, sobbing and screaming as your knees moved fast.

You pushed past his office doors and he watched as you shoved yourself through the frame, clenching his jaw, flaring his nostrils and cocking up his brows as he remained bored at your panic.

Running as fast as you could through your exhausted pants, you ran through his reception and attempted to push the door.

He locked it.

Screaming a screeching sound of ‘no’ as your palms slammed against the door, you pulled at the door handle desperately as you sobbed in failure.

Staying seated in his chair, he flipped his wrist and pulled back his suit, watching as his watch ticked to thirty seconds since letting you free.

Standing up slowly before adjusting his tie, he took slow strides out of his office and chuckled as he saw you on the other end of the reception banging as hard as you could, your ongoing screams swelling his thick cock harder and tenting his pants.

“You just don’t listen, do you!”

His voice was loud and echoed through the clinical walls, swinging your head back to look at him as the panic stole the air away and switched it with fear in your lungs.

You heard the clanking of his shoes come closer behind you, bailing on your attempt at his reception door and deciding that maybe you could outrun him.

You were exhausted from the sobbing as your knees became weak and barely let you run, your breathing was erratic and you heaved in desperation.

Although you felt as if you were bolting around his office, his long strides seemingly caught up with your pathetic jog.

Feeling the heat of his arms, he grabbed you firmly and pinned you against the wall. He was bigger, stronger and faster than you and held you up on your tip toes as you struggled beneath him.

You felt his throbbing erection press into your stomach, sobbing out choked cries as his cock felt huge, bulging into your stomach and spreading a heat across your core.

“Is that the best you could do?”

You continued to squirm, avoiding his face as he was merely an inch away from yours.

“No wonder you were so easy. You’re not very good at this, are you bunny?”

He chuckled and pressed you tighter against the wall, grunting as he tried to keep you still.

You were on your tip toes as he held you on his eye level, wincing out in pain as the concrete was violently pushed against you.

Dropping you slightly but keeping you firm in his grasp, he wrapped his arms around you and guided you into the room besides his office. The room with the examination table, limb restraints on the bed and a rack of medical tools that ranged from blunt to flesh teasingly sharp.

Manoeuvring you onto the examination bed, he swiftly chained your wrists to your sides and made his way to your feet. You kicked at them in an attempt to hurt him, his grasp too strong and overpowering as he held you down and chained you up to the heightened stirrups.

“Don’t be so… difficult.”

He grunted as the final clasp tightly restrained your left ankle, your legs open and wide for his viewing.

Huffing out and placing his hands on his hips, he tilted his head as he admired how weak you looked chained up and legs spread, a smirk growing as he turned around and walked to the cupboard behind him.

Your chest heaved heavily and your hands trembled, fear possessing your body as tears violently sobbed down your face. Watching as he turned around with a pair of scissors in hand, your stomach turned and almost brought up breakfast in panic.

Watching as he held one hand to pull up your pyjama pants and used the other to slice the fabric down the center, you cursed yourself for not wearing underwear as the cold, clinical room hit your exposed cunt.

“Such an easy slut… have you learned nothing?”

His face was in disbelief, licking his bottom lip as he placed the scissors down next to him and ducked down to meet your pussy at eye level. He brought both his hands up to pull you apart and growled at the sight of your pink flesh.

“You’re very wet for someone who’s so unwilling.”

Your face flushed red as you cringed, turning your neck to the side to avoid looking at him analysing your dripping cunt.

He stood back up and his eyes turned dark, purring groans as his expression was now possessed with lust and hunger.

As your tears continued to roll down your face, your chest palpitated as you watched him glaring down at you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked like he was about to dig right in to your raw flesh and eat you alive.

After basking in how pathetic and easy you looked, his hands fell to his pants and he unzipped his middle, leaving his belt on as he shimmered his cock out from under his underwear.

“No- please Dr.Crane no!”

Your head rolled and your tears were flowing, the size of him frighting as it sprung out into the cold air onto his palm.

“You’re scaring me- please.”

Your voice remained as whisper as you lacked air in your lungs, feeling his hand grasp round your hip as he moved closer to your exposed cunt.

“That’s the point darling.”

He growled lowly, pressing his tip against your entrance before slowly dragging it up and down your wet slit.

His cock was already warm, a residue of liquid smearing along your opening as he picked up your arousal onto him. Whimpering under his touch, your body attempted to shift but proved useless, his grip too firm on your hips and your wrists heavily bound onto the table.

Pressing his tip against your hole, he sunk his head quickly and you sobbed at the feeling of his cock breaching your tight walls.

“Oh- bunny.”

He panted breathlessly, watching as his inches pressed into your unwilling cunt.

He groaned around your walls, after feeling how tight you were on his tip he impatiently pushed himself down to his base. His balls pressed against the bottom of your asscheeks and you couldn’t help but cry out a sobbed moan at the feeling of him inside you.

“That’s it…”

He pulled his hips out slowly before harshly fucking himself fully once more. Wincing in pain, his mouth fell open and his brows furrowed.

“Take your psychiatrists cock like the whore you are.”

He groaned and you squirmed in pain, his thick, veiny cock being much larger than your attackers.

Repeatedly dragging himself out before roughly fucking his hips into the back of your cervix, your cries became muffled as you laid there limp in acceptance to your situation. Occasionally shedding a tear as you whimper against his thrusts, he strung out praise on how tight you were around him.

“Taking my cock so well.”

He grunted, fastening up his pace as his balls slapped against your ass and filled the room with a squelching noise, his growls filling your ears as his pace remained robotic. Your stomach turned as he spoke, repeating the same words your attacker did, your pussy clenched around him in response and he grunted against the feel of you tightening around him.

Your crying was poetic, softly sobbing as you felt him ruin you. With each sob, his dick hardened and flexed.

“Cry for me bunny… cry- oh yes, just like that.”

Throwing his head back and rolling his eyes, you peered a look at your psychiatrist who was seemingly coming undone around your cunt.

You watched as his face blushed a soft pink and his lips were swelled, his mouth falling open as his eyebrows twitched in rhythm to how his cock flexed. His fingers remained deep in your hips, stinging at the sharpness of his nails in your soft skin.

You bounced off his hips as your skin slapped together, watching how his hair fell around his face as he scrunched it in pleasure.

“M’gonna- fuck- fill this cunt. Have’s you dripping my cum- mhm- all week.”

His words were breathless and whiny, his knees bucking as his thrusts became sloppier.

His cock stuffed you, ploughing into you hard enough to shift you along the examination table.

“Yes… yes- oh fuck bunny your cunt feel so good.”

His voice was trembling at a higher pitch, swinging his neck down to watch himself break you in half.

He whimpered as a circle of white covered his base and his cock glistened in the medical, white lighting in the room.

“M’gonna- fuck!”

His cock flexed and twitched violently inside of you as he met your eyes, watching as you bawl in pain undid the hot knot in his groin as he spilled his cum into the back of you.

It felt like a dam that had cracked, a monstrous amount of liquid seeping out of him as it sprayed along your walls.

Whining and panting as his thrusts fucked you pathetically slow as he came, his face was a deep red and his hair fell over his eyes.

His mouth was open and his brows knitted together into one, the strength of his orgasm overpowering him as he wobbled on his knees.

The liquid heat had filled your pussy, you felt the stickiness rub against you as he continued to drag out his cock and delicately touch the back of your cervix.

After slowing down his thrusts and panting through his whines, he pulled his cock out and it fell out softly in between his thighs.

His eyes remained knitted and tearful as they looked at you limp on the examination table, your shirt wet from tears and your nose runny from the force he fucked you at.

Collecting himself, he pushed his cock back into his suit and slowly removed the shackles around your ankles. Moving slowly and deliberate on your skin in a soft, gentle manner.

Unable to move as you continued to lie in front of him, even once he had freed all your restraints, you were defeated and stared at the floor, unable to meet his eyes as you were now weak and used.

Sighing as he looked down at you, he lowered his gaze and pressed his glasses up on his nose bridge.

Meeting his eyes he was shockingly giving you a sympathetic look, genuine or not you’d never seen him look so kind.

“You can go now, bunny.”

He whispered, bringing the back of his palm up to caress your tear stained cheek.

Huffing out at your lack of movement, he stood back up and left the room.

Your body began convulsing as he walked away, his absence from your side, or in you, feeling colder than you expected.

He turned around at the frame of the door to glance back at you.

“The session next week will be at the same time. Wear something… accessible.”

Your eyes rolled on the bed and you huffed out, a string of his cum tickling your slit as it rolled out of you.

[vintage-selfshipper]

Can we get some crooner being fluffy lovey-dovey with the BTAS rogues? TNBA rogues are alright, I just have a preference.

Yes we can! Here’s some various headcanons for the sillies, along with a sketch I’ve been meaning to post:

Frankie is a MASSIVE cuddle bug. The worst part about Arkham is not being able to cuddle with his partners/lovers. If you’re wondering, little spoons: Riddler, Penguin. Big spoons: Scarecrow, Mad Hatter. But they don’t mind switching it up!

Suggested by @dnpanimationstudioclone, they all have themed slippers and pajamas (I WISH I had included them in the doodle below). Oswald has penguins (obviously), Jonathan has crows, Jervis has bunnies and an additional mouse one that Crooner bought for him, and Eddie has question marks. As for Crooner, he probably has music notes on his pajamas and fuzzy pink slippers. He also does have pink robe he wears quite a bit!

Frankie’s love of singing can be unbearably cheesy, mainly with singing things related to moment. Like “Money, Money, Money” by ABBA while escaping a heist. Or singing “Splish Splash” while helping Jervis take a bath. Example here hehe:

Although Crooner puts on this air of confidence, he struggles when he’s simply Frankie. A civilian. Like he has to convince himself that he’s worthy of his partners. And in his character design, you can see this with his hair! When he’s confident and putting on a production, his hair is a perfect heart-shaped pompadour. When he’s self conscious and the mask is down, it flops down in messy ringlets.

I doodled this after a hard week not too long ago. They’re having a movie night, the movie in question? A compilation of Batman getting his ass beat (again, thanks Paige for the idea!)

[arty-motherfather]

Not an art post just a thought I had

Jonathan crane cabaret show where he slowly fear toxins the audience

To this song

[heartshapedmisery]

day two! ⇢ roleplay with jonathan crane

warnings! ⇢ MINORS DNI 18+ | jonathan crane x fem!reader, fingering, quickie, doctor/patient roleplay, dacryphilia, semi-public sex, 'doctor' k!nk, creampie, unprotected p in v sex, lmk if I missed anything!

notes! ⇢ AHHHHHHHH had a lot of fun with this one 🤭 sorry if this is a little rushed, been busy lately. next post is scheduled for tomorrow!

"What if someone walks in?" you breathed, your fingers grasping at the lapel of his blazer as he laid you down on the stiff leather couch, moving to settle his hips into the space between your legs.

"Shh," he cooed, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. His fingers were cold against your warm skin, sending chills down your spine as they moved down to tug your skirt up over your hips. "Don't worry, baby. Just missed you so much, need to feel you."

You were in his office. After hours, of course. He had stayed later than normal to file some reports, so you decided to surprise him with your presence just after he saw his last patient of the day. But, you never expected him to be this needy.

"Been thinking about you all day," he whispered as his lips attacked your neck, his hands roaming all the way down your body—making you shudder. "How your sweet little pussy would feel wrapped around my cock."

"Please, Dr. Crane," you moaned with a sly grin, grinding your hips against his to get some sort of friction. You watched his eyes as they darkened, a wild smirk cracking across his lips at the name. "Need you to help me."

"Oh, yeah? Show me what hurts, baby," he played along, his eyes trailing after your hand as it slipped down to the spot between your legs.

"Need you here," you breathed, your fingertips grazing your clothed core. His piercing blue eyes made you feel vulnerable as he drank you in, but you couldn't get enough of it.

Excitement buzzed in your chest as his hand moved between the two of you, unzipping his pants and tugging himself out of his boxers. Carefully, he moved your panties over to the side swiftly, before aligning his tip with your entrance.

"Don't worry. Gonna make you all better, sweetheart," he sank into you with one fluid thrust, his hips becoming flush with yours as strained moans ripped from your chests in unison. He felt so deep inside of you, stretching your walls so sweetly you couldn't help but clench around him.

"Fuck!" you praised, your hands climbing up his back to pull him closer to you as your head fell back against the armrest. "Please, Dr. Crane!"

His hips stuttered at your words as they developed their own rythym thrusting in and out of you, your legs interlocked around his hips to keep him from pulling too far out.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted into your neck, peppering sweet kisses along your skin in the process. "Just what I needed."

You didn't notice his hand moving between the two of you until you felt his fingers brush with your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud as he continued to fuck you. The euphoric feeling made you ecstatic, your eyes rolling back as you got lost in your own pleasure.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he praised, moving faster as he brought his lips to yours to silence your wanton moans.

He was sure nobody would walk in on the two of you since there was an unwritten rule in the department of not disturbing him when his door was shut, but he didn't want to give anyone ideas of what exactly you were getting up to in his office.

"Shh, baby," he cooed in your ear, his thrusts getting harder and deeper as you soaked his cock. His free hand moved to cover your mouth, replacing his lips to silence your uncontrollable whimpers. "Can't have my whole department knowing how good I fuck you, hm? Don't know how much they'd appreciate one of their doctors fucking his patient."

You shook your head, barely able to make out his words as your arousal fogged your mind. You could hardly think straight as he pounded into you, and his fingers rubbed imperfect figure eights on your clit. It was all becoming too much, the familiar coil in your stomach tightening as you could feel him bringing you closer to your climax. But he didn't let up, if anything his pace quickened as he felt you nearing your orgasm.

"You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come on this cock?" he said through gritted teeth, pounding into you between his words for emphasis. He was making your head spin, tears beginning to well in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

"Yes, Fuck!" you whimpered when he finally uncupped his hand from your mouth. "Feels so good, Dr. Crane."

Your body felt limp as you writhed under him, so close to your high that you could barely speak. His brows tugged together as he noticed your tears, his lips moving to kiss them away from your cheeks. "Don't cry, baby. Just tryna help you feel better."

Your back arched off the couch and into him, your arm slinging around his neck to keep his chest close to yours. You weren't going to last much longer, and by the feeling of his hips slowing from their rapid pace, he wasn't either.

"Let go, baby," he purred, unraveling your clouded thoughts as your body listened to him, a sense of euphoria spreading throughout your body like wildfire. Your orgasm hit you hard, your legs shaking around his waist as he got in a few more deep thrusts before stilling his hips.

A strangled groan ripped from his throat as he came deep inside of you, filling your already-soaked cunt as his eyes screwed shut, his orgasm rolling over him.

"Atta girl," he praised, placing a quick kiss to your jaw once he gathered himself again. His seed was warm and dull inside of you, the feeling alone sending chills across your body as you felt him begin to pull out. His eyes fell to your entrance as he watched the head of his length fall out of you, only a few seconds passing until he saw his release ooze out of your cunt.

The look on his face was dark but devious, a small smirk evident on his lips. "Christ, baby. Never getting tired of this cunt, might need to do that again." His lips trailed up your jaw and neck before stopping right next to your ear, his voice low and sultry. "Doctor's orders."

[caesariawritesstuff]

Oooo 🍫 with Arkham scarecrow? Either smutty or romantic (or both) I’d just love to see how you write him :)

His hand is around your throat. It’s just enough pressure to cut off your oxygen slightly, making your brain go fuzzy. Jonathan Crane’s hot breath is in your ear, his voice ragged and broken with soft grunts as he thrusts into you from behind.

“Are you afraid?” he whispers, his thrusts not slowing.

“No,” you whisper. You’re anything but.

His thrusts still. You hear his lab coat rustle behind you as he reaches into his pocket. A moment later, a syringe of orange glowing liquid is suddenly in your face.

His lips are at your ear again. “You should be.”

[lily-radiance]

Picture Perfect Psychopath

Doctor Jonathan Crane/ fem reader.

3.9k words

(So far, this is just a drabble, but I do have an idea of where this story could go. I've been watching The Dark Knight trilogy and got inspired. Reader works at Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, sharing the field of study with Scarecrow and old flame Harley Quinn. Likely not canon-compliant. Kinda merged various movies since I'm no comic book expert.)

Arkham Asylum is a cesspool of depraved criminals, as it has been for the past few years. Typical people who are suffering from mental illnesses and were sent away without care were obvious. This institution was the cheapest and easiest way to lock up the sick, even before the creation of the vigilantes. Everyone in Gotham City knew to keep their eyes on the ground and act as if crimes were invisible. If you cause a fuss in any shape or form, don't be surprised if you get dragged away in a body bag. You hated the mere thought of disregarding the pain of the city, but what could you do if no one would listen? Criminals, no matter the type, always have a story to tell.

“Bruce, the next time you interrupt my work for a house call, I'm stealing your Batmobile!”

You've been sitting in Wayne Manor for the past two hours, all because your friend wanted to “check-in” on the status of the newest patients. On any other day, you might have given him leniency, but he's been siphoning you for information without a decent break. Now, you not only have to write and submit a few dozen reports before sunset, all while juggling Bruce Wayne. The billionaire rolls his eyes but smiles, enjoying a day where he can loosen up and act as a person instead of a shadow.

“Nice try, but the garage is foolproof. I learned my lesson when you took my ride for a spin last year.”

You sip the cola in your hand, amused at the memory of speeding around the house and getting the vehicle caked in dirt. You apologized to Alfred when realizing the butler had to clean it afterward.

“Too bad, I was hoping to test the maximum speed,” you said with a chuckle, “I'm kidding, of course.”

“Sometimes, I worry about your coworkers. Do they know how much damage you can cause when bored?”

You glare at him from the couch. Work was something you liked to keep separate from life; he knew that very well. After all, if someone identified Batman successfully, then Wayne Enterprises would crumble in on itself.

“Do you know how much damage you cause when I'm not around to cover your tracks? Honestly, you may give Alfred a heart attack.”

The butler frowns at your humor before taking your empty glass. You notice the lipstick mark left over, reminding yourself to reapply the makeup. Psychiatric professionals do their best to look formal, and this habit has followed them since college. When you consider the many polished individuals at the facility, one is always at the forefront of your mind: Doctor Jonathan Crane. No matter the time of day, his appearance is that of near perfection, or you like to think so. Today, you have a briefing with him, and the idea has prompted you to dress to impress; the shade of cherry red on your lips is a testament to that.

“I'm always careful, (Y/N). I have Gordon, Alfred, and Lucius for that very purpose. You know Arkham is filled with lunatics and, more specifically, the worst villains.”

“We've had this conversation before, Bruce. I'm good at my job, and the people you lock up are kept in the deepest parts. Plus, I always hear exciting stories, which makes time fly by!”

He gives you a stern glance, not happy with your unbothered attitude. You drop the smile and sigh.

“I know you think I can't handle myself in that place. You get up close and personal with villains more often than I do. Every floor has a ton of security guards, not to mention cameras and passcodes in each room!”

Eventually, he gives up the protective demeanor. If you needed his help, he was the first in line. If not, he would be prepared for the future.

“Right, I know you're responsible and cautious, (Y/N). It's still the institution with the most significant number of patients in Gotham, so I want you to stay alert. Tim and the others are patrolling tonight if you run into trouble. Remember, the GCPD is conducting investigations on a possible new perpetrator.”

You nod to his speech, tapping your heels underneath the coffee table. He is about to give you another piece of information, but the sound of the front door opening and hurried footsteps is your cue to leave. Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Jason Todd enter the room, waving a synchronous greeting in your direction. Your phone beeps in your jacket pocket, and you fumble the device when the caller is listed. Barbara notices your excitement and chuckles, watching as you answer the phone.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) (L/N); how may I help?”

“It's Dr. Crane, as you probably knew judging by how quickly you answered. The administration got caught up in other matters, so it's just you and me. Don't be late.”

The voice catches you off guard, your heart beating too quickly regarding the abrupt message. You lose your ability to speak, and like everything else, he's already caught a glimpse of it.

“Doctor—what about the meeting on security clearances? We still have much to discuss with the board; isn't this important?”

“I've already taken care of most of the concerns. Currently, my priority is talking to you about your individual endeavors regarding Arkham. Do you have an issue with this?”

As he asks, you know he's not looking for an honest answer. You swallow your pride, although tempting to draw on this further.

“No, Doctor. I'm on my way right now.”

“Good, I have high hopes you'll be fascinated by my newest work.”

You have nothing else to add as he hangs up, an annoying habit you wish didn't leave you bitter. Barbara steps over, raising a brow in examination. Your behavior, coupled with the alluring cosmetics on your face, indicates an attention to detail made to attract. The young woman tilts her head, examining your efforts, and pauses. She prevents your curiosity by grabbing a maroon scarf hung on the hat rack and placing it on your neck. As she wraps the fabric loosely around your collar, she discreetly whispers, “In case whoever you see leaves a mark or can't keep you warm. It also matches your lipstick.”

The redhead winks at you, knowing that finding worthwhile men in Gotham is a rare treat. If only you knew who you were falling for, maybe someone else could have turned your head. The likelihood of your coworker getting obsessed with another pretty face was nonexistent, especially when he knew every method of pushing your buttons.

Gotham weather stands to be frigid regardless of the season, and the cold water on your cheeks proves it. Hurriedly, you head to your car, jumping in the driver's seat and turning the hot air on. You flip the sun visor down, using the compartment mirror to double-check your appearance. You smile, wink, and perform other expressions to understand if this is too much. It's not like you dressed yourself in fancy attire, but the makeup sensation tells you this is different—the scarf clings to your shoulders, adding an extra layer of comfort.

The City appears as dreary as ever, with gray clouds looming over the skyscrapers. You knew this landscape was not as picturesque as the Bahamas, but it was familiar. In this place, you felt like a necessary presence, that your actions were genuinely helping people live. Others complain that they think soulless thoughts and have no purpose in a city of thugs, but they don't see the possibilities. No, you appreciated the constant ebb and flow pattern because it meant everything was up to chance. Unlike Harvey Dent, you had no interest in flipping a coin to decide your fate; if you wanted something and could achieve it, why worry about the downfall? Bruce told you to avoid trouble, and maybe if you tried harder, you could, but curiosity always took control. The night turned Gotham into a place of both dreams and nightmares. When the streets glow amber and the windows shine with the moon, the law is subject to change.

Rain slams against the windshield, the downpour forcing you to drive at a snail’s pace. Common sense doesn't stop other drivers from taking risky turns; some cars cut in front despite your right of way. You honk your horn at the reckless speeding, internally regretting this venture. At least twenty minutes have passed since you left, and yet you're still running late. Luckily, most security guards let you pass immediately, while one or two demand identification. If you weren't so anxious, you would see the multiple faults that made Arkham’s reputation. People were lazy, some slacking without a care. Others were too busy dealing with life changes to support this institution.

The repetitive sound of your heels clicking on the tile floor draws someone's attention. Unfortunately, you can barely avoid this girl regularly, so it makes sense that she would be another obstacle.

“Woah, pudding, you getting ready for the runway or something? I haven't seen you wear red in a long time. It makes a girl wonder, what's the occasion?”

Harleen Quinzel stands in her cell, dressed in a jumpsuit that does her no justice. Her usually dyed hair is unkempt and faded, now a dirty blonde with pigment spots. Despite her living situation, her personality is still bubbly. She holds a bent cigarette and takes a drag, then tosses the leftovers underneath her boots. The woman approaches the metal bars, wrapping her hands around two and leaning through the gap. A stream of smoke is exhaled into your face, the delinquent playfully puckering her lips.

“I have a critical meeting with Dr. Crane, and it was supposed to be with the rest of the board until something got in the way. I'm running late, and if I don't get to that office in time—”

Harley raises her index finger, pressing against your lips to stop your words.

“That does sound like a pretty jumbo deal, dollface! From one doctor to another, rescheduling an administrative meeting is unnecessarily convoluted!”

She moves her hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face in multiple angles to glimpse your handiwork. A smile spreads across her lips, her tongue licking the front of her teeth. It makes you nervous, and she knows it.

“I mean, he said he ‘took care of it,’ but I don't know if that necessarily means it was rescheduled. The board could have discussed several possibilities, so I can't guarantee anything.”

You don't know what she's trying to prove.

“Something tells me your lover boy isn't inviting you for a simple coffee. No, with a mind as unpredictable as his, I bet you'll leave here with more than a headache. That is, if you leave at all, dollface.”

Her voice digs further into your mind, higher-pitched as she giggles to herself. You adjust the scarf to distract yourself, but she won't let this topic rest.

“Harley, as much as I appreciate what I assume is a concern, I know what I'm doing.”

“Sure you do, pudding. You think he's all sweet and charming, right? Doctor Jonathan Crane, who wears a nice suit and never gets his hands dirty? He probably compliments your work and swears to get back to your questions. I'll even bet he holds your hand a little too long when he shakes it, and you don't say anything because you want his hand on yours.”

She sees the blush rising to your cheeks and continues to torment you. You can't breathe clearly, not when your lungs burn like this.

“Oh, I bet you want him to do all sorts of things to you. When he holds your hand, do you imagine it somewhere else on your body? Do you think he'll have you by the waist while his other hand traces your neck? Will he squeeze your throat and bruise the pretty skin, rubbing his tongue up and down? Will you let him devour you as I did? I bet you'll have his handprints on your thighs for weeks, the dirty little secret that you keep to yourself?”

She plays with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around her fingers. You haven't been this close to her in years, and your proximity reminds you why. Getting close to villains is a quick path to insanity. You step away from the cell, regaining your focus. A pair of footsteps echo down the stairwell, slow and precise. When you turn, your coworker is impatiently waiting, a scowl etched onto his features as he stares between you and Harley Quinn. The blonde enthusiastically waves at him, earning a glare.

“Come along; we have lots to discuss and little time to waste. I thought I clarified that I wanted you in my office five minutes ago.”

You follow his figure, a knot in your stomach at his unusual mood. The doctor could be a pain when it came to protocols, but you two got along reasonably well. He gave you criteria to follow, and more often than not, he liked to debate your findings. You hoped this was a quick conversation, but then it didn't make sense that he instructed you to take a ferry for something he could have said on the phone.

“Yes, I had to drive through the rain and rush in traffic. I wasn't counting on the weather to be so awful or for Harley Quinn to pull me aside.”

He waits by the top of the stairwell for you, watching as your heels tap the concrete. It amazed him: the concept of walking on elevated stilts that could snap like a twig. You don't miss how he scans your legs or how the muscles in your calves tighten. He extends a hand, presenting the cordiality that made you admire him in the first place. You hesitate with trembling fingers, muttering a quiet “thanks” as he holds your palm. He's warm, and it gives you too much satisfaction. Instead of letting go, he merely continues walking, carefully trailing his fingers over your radial pulse. Each thrum of your heartbeat is now in his possession of knowledge, tipping him off on your anxiety. The door to his office is down a corridor, only accessible to visitors and himself.

“Had you considered wearing gloves, Doctor? You might want to invest in case the temperature drops. If you can't use your hands, I suppose the mind is sufficient, but exhausting yourself unnecessarily is no good to anyone.”

You sit in one of the two chairs, removing your scarf and placing it in your lap. Crane takes his place behind the desk and falls into the chair, folding his hands on the flat surface.

“Believe me, if I could grab a few extra layers, I would have. I was visiting a friend when you called, and since you requested I hurry, there was no point in going home to change. I've lived in Gotham for a long time, and a storm isn't enough to stop me from doing my job. Anyway, you said there was something you needed me to examine?”

He slides a manilla folder towards you, numerous papers spilling from the seam. You take the hint to inspect the documents, flipping through the pages and absorbing the content. MRI scans, coupled with test results and psychological jargon, cover the sheets. You wrinkle your nose in focus, recognizing the highlighted areas of the brain as the amygdala and the frontal lobe. The human brain structure separates information based on its importance, using the amygdala for the fear response and the frontal lobe for rational thought. If one of these locations is compromised, whether by neural chemicals or injuries, the body cannot regulate its reactions to stressful environments. You continue reading, wholly fascinated by the hypotheses listed. The last few pages are still being worked on, primarily blank except for messily written notes. While your train of thought is still understandable, you remove a pen from your coat pocket and begin scribbling. He stares in amusement, pride blooming at your coinciding wonder.

“Doctor Crane, this is beyond incredible! If you were to develop this drug, who knows what group might want it? Not to mention the possibility of designing a formula with the opposite goal of annihilating fear entirely!”

He doesn't bother to hide the smirk on his face as you supply him an ego boost. Initially, he worried you would have an adverse reaction given your good-natured spirit, but those doubts were put to rest by the sight of your smile. The longer he allows himself to relax, the more his eyes are drawn to your lips. Red was a beautiful color on you, contrasting the dim aura of this hospital. As you revel in this energized state, you do not anticipate the foreign sensation of his mouth against yours. Recognition dawns on you as the scent of his cologne lingers, and the papers fall to the ground. You cautiously lean into his touch, grasping his shoulders to bring him closer. The fabric of his shirt bunches as you dig your fingers into the material. He has no qualms with your proximity, but he recognizes the trepidation in your movements for what it is: the worry that you'll scare him away. It's ironic, and it tells him that the only way to disprove your doubt is to make sure you know that this encounter isn't based on the heat of the moment.

He kisses you harder, pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You gasp in surprise, allowing him additional access, as well as the ability to overpower you. Never had you thought that the absurd fantasy of him kissing you would come to fruition, and certainly not in his office over research data. This was supposed to be a dull day of filing paperwork and overhearing business, not the instance where your co-worker, technically your boss, would be sharing saliva. His lips travel to your cheek, then your jaw, trailing down your neck. He has to remove the scarf and unbutton your collar to reach the desired location. You tilt your head back, moaning as he grows closer to your carotid vein. Similar to your earlier encounter, he locates your pulse, biting and sucking the skin as your heart rate increases. You admittedly have no idea what you're doing, but you do know that the image of him making out with you is extremely hot.

Yet, rational is a demon that you cannot leave behind. You're a scientist through and through, which means taking time to analyze the effects of this situation is necessary. Gently, you press against his chest, halting his actions and putting space between you. He looks down at you quizzically, adjusting his glasses that had fallen from the bridge of his nose.

“We could keep going with this course of action, not that I would complain, but maybe we should consider what we're getting ourselves into. I mean, we work together, and if we pursue a relationship, that could cause an entire slew of issues. Let’s cool our jets and think about this objectively before getting too deep.”

You feel a new weight on your chest as you try to analyze his expression. Most days, you could guess his emotions based on small talk, if he even spoke to you. Unfortunately, he's again acting like a blank slate, unreadable as the silence grows longer. Somehow, this enigma of a human specimen has become a magnetic field, drawing you in despite your better judgment. It's not that you don't want to see where this night goes, but the idea of committing to him, especially in the workplace, sends a chill down your spine.

“I see what you are getting at, (Y/N). It's not a problem if you want to think this over. Honestly, I prefer my opinion, but I see no fault in mulling it over. We wouldn't be scientists if we didn't leave decisions up to logic, would we?”

He seems calm enough, and that takes some of the pressure off. You breathe out a sigh before stretching your neck, still a bit unsure of what to do. Another beat of awkward silence follows before you work up enough courage to face him. Blue eyes catch your thousand-yard stare and dart back to the ground.

“It's getting late. D-do you need anything else from me, Jonathan?”

He is not expecting you to refer to him by his first name despite the circumstances. The sound of your hesitancy is still cute, and he wasn't expecting his name to sound so good on your tongue.

“No, I have everything I need. Do you want me to drive you home? The weather is still raining cats and dogs. Not only that, but Gotham is dangerous already, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt.”

The offer seems adequate, and you know precisely the dangers lurking outside. If not for crime and insanity, you wouldn't have a job, but that doesn't mean you want to get caught up in legal shenanigans.

“I drove to the docking bay with my car, so assuming you drive, that would leave one of us without our respective vehicles…”

“You're partially correct. I take a taxi to get around town most of the time so that I won't abandon my car here. Then again, if I drove your car, I would still have to call a cab at one point or another.”

His analysis has you pondering the options until you decide to wing it. You've already made out with your boss, how much worse could it get?

“Screw it, I'll call you a taxi myself. If the weather gets too bad, you can stay at my place for the night.”

You pick up your scarf from the chair, throwing it around your neck in preparation for the cold air outside. The hallways are still empty, and for once, you're glad since the quiet gives you space to think. All that's left is to descend the stairs, pass security, and get the hell out of there. You place your hand in your pocket to grab your identification card but pause as your co-worker is two steps ahead of you, already swiping his badge across the checkpoint. That's right, he has a higher security clearance than you; no wonder he's always early to the office.

“There ya’ are pudding! How'd that meeting go—”

Harley Quinn wastes no time in asking questions as soon as she sees you approach. The doctor next to you gives her a scowl like last time, but the reason behind it is different. Before, he was irritated by her peppy attitude, and now it's jealousy. The blonde’s expression turns into a frown, but covers it with her usual distaste for nitpicky professionals. You would find their disagreement amusing if not for your fresh taste of humanity from the critical doctor, his shell still rough around the edges. You let your mind wander, barely recognizing the arm around your shoulder until you feel the support of his body against you.

These moments are the ones that make your heart race and your mind split. You know this guy, right? He has to be one of the good men in this rotten city. If not, what would you do anyway?

If you like this check the updating version on ao3: Click

[slashingdisneypasta]

DMD!Scarecrow (+ Glinda The Good Witch) x Seductress!Fae!Reader || Drabble

Plot: Glinda has you, her favourite spy, attempt to gather intel on the Scarecrow (her other Favourite)... but as it turns out, she doesn't particularly like how well her favourite pets play together. But they endeavour to show her- she doesn't own them.

Warnings: Sexual and dark themes. References to monster fucking (Scarecrow). Unedited.

You left the Scarecrow for last of Dorothy's old friends, per Glinda's request. She said he was crafty, and she suggested you make sure you're truly ready before speaking to him. That all your pretty little thoughts are in order and your pretty little head is straight. After all, even she found him frustrating at times, and it was no secret that she was actually fond of the monster the Scarecrow had become since Dorothy returned. He was a Favourite of Glinda's, in fact- just like you were.

So you assumed him to be tricky, but you didn't anticipate quite how tricky.

For example, you aren't quite sure... how you ended up in his lap.

Or why on earth, you were sitting there and allowing him to tell you about his work. You already knew all of this! Glinda knows about all of this! You want to know about the other stuff- the secret stuff he does when she's not looking at him. Thats what you were assigned to find out, to draw from him with your good looks and some choice words. But he spoke circles around you and made you dizzy, and when he took your hand in his and boldly guided you to take a seat on his lap you just did, stupidly. God, you were supposed to be good at this... you're beautiful, and enchanting, and charming. And you're smart enough to know how to use it. You skills had worked with the Lion and the Tin Man perfectly well after all, the Tin Man is in love with someone else! Why was the Scarecrow so different??

... hmph, you frown (Or pout) when he's not looking. Glinda will not be happy with you (With either of you- but especially you), if you fail... You have to turn this around.

And you know just how to do it. He thinks you're a dumb, silly girl?? You can use that.

"Scare?" You ask gently, melodically, finding a moment when he's not talking, and softly nudging his chin upwards with your pointer finger so he looks at you perched there oh-so-temptingly in his lap. His blue, painted-on eyes look bored for a moment, before the heated look in your eyes registers. Then a slow, wicked smirk spreads across his stitched-on lips. "I know all of this... " You whisper, a mischievous grin tugging at both corners of your pretty, glittery lips. "You know, I know all of this." Fingers gliding down his burlap shoulders to his chest, which is oddly warm, you give a sigh. "... lets just be honest with each other."

"Oh?" This captures his attention, as he straightens up and grins smugly down at you; intrigued. "How honest, little fae?"

"Fully. ... Glinda sent me." You admit to him, getting no responce- because he knew. Of course, he knew. Why wouldn't he? He's the smartest man in all of Oz. Before he can ask any questions, though, you quickly go on; covering your tracks again. "But its not what you think. Or- what you might think. She... she thinks we might get along. You and I. She thinks... "

The Scarecrow's eyes widen, as if his eyebrows that don't exist are shooting up in sincere surprise, and you resist the urge to smirk. Men are too easy. You just need to know... where to cut. And now you do.

"Glinda?? Playing match maker??" Scarecrow blinks, shocked and confused, and you give a dainty shrug.

"I don't blame you for being surprised, if your relationship with her is anything like mine is... " You make your eyes round and meaningful; If she kisses him the way she kisses you. Then sweetly pick a loose strand of hay off his shoulder. "Well. I think she's angling for a group thing... If you know what I mean. We're boring her separately, now, basically."

That snaps Scarecrow out of his baffled reverie, his eyes narrowing. "Boring her??" You can practically see the cogs turning in his saw-dust head; deeply offended and full of spite. How could anyone get tired of him?? He gets bored with everyone else. He is brilliant. As anger builds up in his lanky sack body, his gloved hands tighten on you. "... turn around." He finally mutters, frustration thick in his scratchy voice.

Carefully you turn your body around, wrapping your legs around him and manoeuvring your dress so it doesn't get tangled up. In your head, you hear a sugary yet annoyed voice whisper 'darling... what are you doing??'.

"Did you hear that, too?" Scarecrow asks, and you nod; heat in your eyes that mirrors the burn in his voice. "Good." Then he pulls you by your thighs in closer against his lap, so you're sat spread-out directly atop his bulge. Honestly, you're quite surprised. What's down there!??- "Maybe we're bored of her first, hm?"

... a slow smile spreads across your face at him. He's walking right into your trap; just like you thought. The only problem is that Glinda doesn't sound too happy about it, which is odd.

'... don't sleep with him, Y/N.' She sounds threatening, like she's warning you.

'I'm just looking out for you~... '

'... Hay, everywhere. And I mean everywhere. You don't want that, dear.'

"She seems quite damn insistent that we don't do this, doesn't she?" The Scarecrow says, ripping you from your thoughts and your worries; telling you that she's telling him off, too. He's getting the same thinly veiled, angry messages. His eyes now slip over you and a vulgar smirk spreads across his face- he's not just interested in you out of spite. He wants you. "I think she's being selfish, don't you?"

'This is not what I asked you to do, Y/N. Listen to me- '

"Yes." You whisper, slicing through her presence in your mind and gently dragging your arms over his shoulders; locking them around his neck; drawing your face in so near to his that you smell canvas hay and canvas. Your core is throbbing on top of him, hearing him talk.

Because- to be quite honest, you've grown frustrated by Glinda controlling your whole life. Keeping you for herself while she fucks anyone she wants, does whatever she pleases,.. and it looks like Scarecrow feels similarly; Tired of being manipulated by this glittery witch.

And this.

This seems like the perfect way to get back at her.

Screw your orders, tonight.

When your lips press experimentally against his very rough ones made of paint and embroidery, you feel a terrible flash of anger from Her, but she says nothing else. Before you can pull back again, the Scarecrow kisses you back; parting his lips, and forcing yours open too, and shoving an odd felt tongue into your mouth. Its not entirely pleasant, but not entirely unpleasant. The tongue is warm.

A choked, pleased sound slips out of you when the Scarecrow's gloved hand slips under your dressed and slips against your core, and he pulls away smirking at that pretty noise you made. "Oh... that Bitch has been selfish, indeed."

Wrapping your legs more securely around him and the back of the chair, you cosy yourself up against him. Chest to chest. "Lets teach her a lesson."

"I'm going to make you scream, Y/N. And I hope she hears it."

[purplelurkinghini]

Hate at first sight scriddler? Lol

Send me a reverse trope + ship and I’ll finally write something a drabble

He thought he could stomach the sight of Jonathan Crane’s sour face from behind the burlap sack. However, him having cut holes for his steely blue eyes did mean Edward Nygma was getting cut to the bone.

‘When they told me you were going underground,’ he began, his baritone voice bouncing off of the concrete walls, ‘I assumed it would be a basement.’

‘How did you find me?’ The Riddler, the man who claims to have all the answers, asked.

‘I have your calling card,’ he motioned as if he was about to pull out such a card from one of the patches on his matted coat. After producing nothing save for an awkward silence, he proceeded. ‘Your clues, Edward.’

‘I left no prints, no paper-trail, no clues,’ he got heated, spitting fire directly into the man’s masked face as if to set it on fire.

‘You always do,’ he threw his eyes at him like daggers. ‘You can’t help yourself. Especially when you’ve failed to fill your prescription.’

‘I’m not your patient anymore, Crane!’

‘Not Crane,’ he corrected him, a needle suddenly appearing between the suffocating space between them. ‘Scarecrow.’

The first time Edward met him, he addressed him as Crane and doctor. But that was back when Dr. Jonathan Crane was still legally sane and working at Arkham Asylum. It was back when he still had power over Edward, still had a hold on his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to get a hold of his patient’s mind back then. And he resented the doctor for it, for the sharpness of his eyes and how they sunk under his skin.

Now, as he is aquatinted with the Scarecrow for the first time, he sunk right back into those cold blue eyes and breathed in the burning flame that Dr. Crane had once ignited

‘You’re hiding in the dark like a rat, waiting for a bat to follow the breadcrumbs,’ Scarecrow spoke over the silence. ‘He’ll eat you alive, as he always does. Unless-’

‘Unless?’

‘We add poison at the end of the trail.’ The Scarecrow presented the syringe again. It was filled with distilated fear.

‘Are you making me an offer?’

‘No, Edward,’ he smiled behind the loose stitching, all chapped lips and yellowed teeth. ‘You’re asking me for help with your pest problem.’

Edward was ready to retch, to protest the man’s presumptions, when a shadow moved across his monitor: it was the pest passing a security camera.

‘I hate you.’

‘I know.’

[konohagakurekakashi]

Ohashii Drabble 🐖

Headcanon Update - Kakashi and Tonton

Crack piece written with the wayward thought of "If Kakashi likes to dress up the pack, then surely he would not be opposed to dressing his friends' familiars as well."

What first comes to mind when hearing 'oink' was Tokachi Butadon or Pork Shogayaki, rare dishes in Konohagakure; but a staple in the Fire Country Capital. Other than that, Kakashi has never paid pigs much attention…his heart and soul already captured in full by Pakkun's soft footpads. It was hard not to pay attention to Lady Tsunade however (her annoyed footsteps shook the sandy trenches of Sunagakure on a good day) so naturally one took notice of the tiny shadow that pattered at her heel. Tonton was plump and pink, the pearl collar not something you would expect a shinobi familiar to wear. In contrast to her appearance, she was surprisingly hardy and strong and her sense of smell (Kakashi was loathe to admit) on par with that of his ninken. Her devotion to her Master was admirable, and Kakashi would readily divulge to anyone who asked that he very much enjoyed watching the little pig nip at the heels of young Genin who dared to darken the Godaime's doorway with their complaints over yet /another/ babysitting mission. He….respected (?) the pig as an adept chakra user…he supposed, valued the many additional characteristics that she shared with the adorable, Inuzuka puppies he liked to pet whenever he took Pakkun and the boys to get looked over by Hana-chan. Perhaps respect was too strong a word for a pet, even for that of a Hokage's pet; but Kakashi has almost always given due regard for animals more naturally than his cohorts. Whatever the 'not-respect' was, it was enough of a compulsion for him to remember to purchase an extra, Tonton-sized vest when next he found himself in the shōtengai district, arm already laden with new vests and bandanas for the pack (their last sets well-worn and tattered as a result of one too many a tracking fang technique). Imagine the Godaime's surprise when her next Jōnin induced rant was interrupted mid-way by Kakashi plopping a tiny vest on her desk, shoulders already rising into a half shrug.

"Hai, hai…I get it. No more referring to my aggrieved colleagues by immature code names in official mission debriefs. The season's about to take a turn… maybe Pig-chan could use it?"

[vintage-selfshipper]

Crooner question. What kinda date would he set up with each rouge?

Ahh this is a great question!! Sorry this took a sec, but here it is!

The Riddler:

Now, Crooner/Frankie isn’t as “quizzically-inclined” as Eddie, but he’d try his best to appeal to his special interests.

He’d start by making a little guessing game of their favorite songs, and then give them the answers via a mixtape! (Idk what their favorite songs would be, if y’all have suggestions pls share)

Idk why, but I can see Riddler enjoying being wined and dined at a fancy restaurant? Especially with how flustered he gets with minimal flirtatious advances, that traditional date angle would be pretty fun to him.

When they get home, Crooner would attempt to play one of Eddie’s video games. He needs some assistance, and is more than happy to get help from the guy who literally designed it!

Like with the rest of his partners, Frankie definitely spends some time having Edward infodump about his favorite interests. Riddles, games, quizzes, toys, yada yada. Whatever he wants. And there’s something so special in having that time to learn from someone you love.

The Scarecrow:

The date has to be planned a bit in advance, due to Jonathan’s schedule. But Frankie doesn’t care! As long as time is spent together.

I can weirdly see Jonathan being a museum nerd? Get him that annual pass!! Crooner also enjoys them, but it’s a lot more fun when they’re together and can talk about the exhibit.

Even though he’d be down for whatever the museum has to offer, he has a preference for hands on exhibits. One of his favorite parts of these dates is just people watching and wondering “hmm what makes them absolutely terrified”

I can also see him being a bakery fan!! Jonathan may be cruel in his work but he isn’t heartless. His favorite baked goods are definitely apple cider donuts and ham and cheese croissants. Meanwhile, Crooner likes anything with chocolate he also enjoys cream-filled donuts because whore

As the date comes to a close and Crane has to go back to work, Crooner always makes sure to leave a little note or gift in his briefcase. Nothing too extravagant, but enough to give the doctor a happy sigh.

The Mad Hatter:

We all know from “Mad As A Hatter” that Jervis is a fan of extravagant dates, or at least the idea of one. And Frankie is up for that challenge!

He’d probably start with some form of breakfast in bed. Chamomile tea, an array of scones, bacon, fruit, and Crooner’s attempt at reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. And maybe a back rub thrown in.

Going back to “Mad As A Hatter,” I can see them both having fun in the park. Jervis was probably banned from Storybook Land, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have fun at any of the local parks! I have no clue why, but I can see him and Crooner roller skating… or attempting to.

After some more sightseeing, Jervis’ social battery would begin to run and they’d probably head back to spend the rest of their date at home. But that’s more okay! It gives them plenty of time to have fun, just with the two of them. Cue plenty of dance sessions to “The Lobster Quadrille,” “No Rain” (stole that headcanon from @bluefreakingskies) and “All Shook Up”!

Of course, they’d end the night with sharing new and old findings on their hyperfixations. I can see them in bed, pouring over different illustrated versions of Wonderland, with some calming music on the record player. A perfect way to soothe them into a wonderland of dreams.

The Penguin:

I gotta say this first and foremost, Crooner would be pissed at what Vreeland did to Penguin and he’d have to do quite a bit of trust building. But once he feels comfortable, date nights become practically every night. (Well, realistically, probably two or three nights a week. But you get what I mean!)

As you’ve suggested DNP, these two absolutely LOVE the idea of love coupons. Considering how often they have dates, they use the coupons as a way to plan. Outside of the normal coupons (like make dinner, full-body massage, slow dance), they also have ones related to their careers! Such as, feed the birds, serenade, shine Tommy guns, and make throat-coat tea.

Similarly to Riddler, Oswald loves to be wined and dined. Or rather, treating Crooner to a fancy meal. And unlike a certain socialite, he doesn’t mind how Ozzie eats. Which have you seen how he swallows fish?? Frankie is absolutely turned on by that

We know from “Birds Of A Feather” that Pengy loves the opera, so it’s no surprise that he takes Crooner to his favorite shows. And in turn, I can see him taking Oswald to different concerts. But where their interests collide is with musicals! Penguin enjoys the classics from Rodgers and Hammerstein and Gershwin, while Frankie loves ones with heavy leitmotifs and symbolism like with Sondheim.

I know you liked the idea of Crooner doing spa activities, and you won’t be disappointed with how his date nights end with Pengy! He makes sure that he’s utterly pampered to the max, usually involving a bubbly bath, fancy soaps, face masks, and massages for his sore hands/flippers. But don’t you worry, he absolutely returns the favor to his partner!

There’s probably some more info on how Crooner arranges dates (including some more private/nsfw information), but here’s the simple stuff. Hope you enjoy it!

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 15-- Scream

Truth be told, Unknown didn't really think this through. The closest thing he had to a plan was to tamper with the security cameras so that they showed a continuous loop of boring footage, break into the apartment, and take you away to Magenta with him. However, having spent so long within Mint Eye, he did not anticipate the annoying little quirks of outsider behavior that would ultimately throw a wrench into his plan.

For one thing, you aren't in the apartment when he gets there— you're somewhere else, out getting coffee with a friend or grocery shopping or maybe looking at antiques. He doesn't have his sophisticated tracking equipment with him at the apartment, only an app which informs him that you're somewhere within a closely confined cluster of vastly different stores— and, of course, nobody is keeping you on any kind of schedule, so you're free to roam around at your leisure after that. You're too trusting, so you might go anywhere next, and Unknown will have no way to bring you here, unless he wants to risk a phone call. That might be counterintuitive, though— you may not return to the apartment if you know he's here. You could be gone for hours. Not that he can really blame you— he’s been here twenty minutes, and already, he’s beginning to get restless.

Hopefully, that redhead will continue to believe that the loop of apartment footage being fed to him is completely genuine— Unknown isn't too worried about that, actually; you usually spend several hours a day laying on the bed, followed by several hours at the Savior's old desk, interspersed with a few quick trips to the kitchen. If he doesn't see you for hours on end, especially knowing that you went out today, Luciel will just assume that you went to go lay down directly after coming home and that he missed the moment when you walked through the living room. The more Unknown thinks about it, the more confident he is that he'll be able to pull this off— by the time that redhead seriously starts to worry, you and Unknown will already be long gone.

Finally, finally, the door to the apartment clicks open. Even in the dark, Unknown can tell that you're carrying several large canvas bags— grocery shopping, then. He's glad— you probably rushed home, right into his arms, even if you didn't know that was what you were doing. You have yet to notice him, even as you flick the light switch on— you've got headphones on, and you sway slightly to your music as you set your bags down on the floor and lock the door behind you. Unknown sits patiently on the couch for a few moments, waiting for you to notice him, but as you fiddle with the lock— too late for that, sweetheart— he grows increasingly frustrated.

Unknown, after all, is not, by nature, a particularly patient person. "Surprise!" he shouts.

You practically jump out of your skin. Trembling, you turn around to face him— he should be bothered by the scream that you release. It may very well give him away, not only to that redhead but to the building's security, as well— but Unknown can't help but be amused. "Mmm," he hums, rising, "Hello to you, too."

"You’re the hacker, right?" Now that you’ve assessed him, you don’t seem half as scared as you were to begin with, but Unknown doesn't care. He has to take you back with him one way or another— whether you're laughing or crying, you're going to Magenta. He can't, in good conscience, leave you with those bastards. "You really scared me! Couldn’t you have given me some kind of warning? I know you have my number, since you hacked into my phone. Couldn't you have called or something?" You pause, apparently remembering your manners. "Sorry for screaming at you, man. I was just a little caught off guard is all. Can I offer you something to drink, now that you're here? I have water or tea... I could make coffee, too, if you wanted."

 "Come on, prince(ss). We're going now," Unknown tells you, as if you hadn't spoken. After all, he doesn't have time to bother with your question, or to sit around drinking tea with you— it’s only a matter of time before Luciel figures out the issue with the cameras, and Unknown would prefer to be gone by then.

[floragators]

From time to time I start thinking about Btas Scarecrow again and each time I start falling more in love with him and feel like a schoolgirl thinking about her crush.

Anyways thats enough of me being down bad for Btas Scarecrow. I think-

[king-manta-ray]

UPDATE!

Chapter 9 -Seasons- of Scarecrow has now been uploaded on AO3 :)

[orbweaverspidergirl]

The Four Times You meet Arkham Knight, and the One Time You meet Jason

summary: Your twin brother is dead, and he's not coming back. You know that, but when you see a man who acts just like Jason, you can't help but think of him.

tw: mentions of tranquilization (not on reader), guns, being knocked out, being threatened with a gun (not on reader), mentions of death, very brief mention of blood, reader feeling somewhat suicidal (not outwardly stated).

A/N: This is very angsty and I started crying towards the end of writing this. This is gender neutral! This is part 2 for the Jason Todd Twin Drabbles. Requests are open!

Tim Drake hurt you. He was a replacement for your brother, and yet, he didn’t mean to be. He was just a kid, just like you once were when starting out as Robin. He didn’t have good support, not from home, and especially not from Bruce. So, you became that for him, you took your grief and resentment, and you did your best to let it go. You would always love Jason, and you would always cry over him, but he’s dead, and you can’t change that. 

Once you started coming around for the kid, he was sweet. He rambled and was skittish, but you grew to love the boy called your brother. But he didn’t take the grief away from losing your twin. He never would. So sometimes, you would bring yourself out to a roof. His death would hit you the most after a patrol. Whenever you both finished the night, you would get something to eat. You would celebrate you both winning. You don’t celebrate anymore, so you would cry. You didn’t cry anywhere other than a roof, after a patrol. As a kid, no one saw you cry, only Jason. He was the only one allowed, and you kept it that way. Your mask was off, the green mantle you wore was in your hands, clinging on for dear life in the wind. 

That’s when you heard it over your loud sobs. Banging footsteps clashed on the roof’s surface, and you stood up. Your face drenched in tears and sweat from the fighting before. Before you was a man in a metal suit with the waist cinched in what looked like red camouflage. He wore heavy gear, and you looked up at him. He walked just like Jay did, and for a moment you imagine the random man as him. Tears flow from your eyes once more. 

“I’m, I’m so sorry.” You say, wiping the tears from your eyes. 

You feel him analyzing you, just like Tim does, and just like Bruce did all those years ago. “What for?” His voice is heavily modulated, you realize. It makes you suspicious, and you put your mask back on. 

“You just,” you take a heavy swallow, “You reminded me of my brother.” The words slip out of your mouth before you realize it. You shouldn’t have let that information be known, especially to a man that looks as dangerous as he sounds. 

“I’m sure your brother loves you.” You smile under the mask and let out a breathless laugh. 

“He did. He loved me very much.” You nod towards the man in respect. “Thank you?” You leave it in a question, waiting for his name.

“I’m no one. Not yet anyways.” Then, he’s gone, just like your brother. 

Eventually, you found out who “no one” was, and he was in fact, not a no one. “Arkham Knight” the new big bad of Gotham. Is Gotham the only place villains care to go too?? You sigh, as Batman flies to the bridge while you run, but Arkham Knight wasn’t your focus for right now, it was scarecrow. You see Gordon and his men in the distance, and you come to a stop.

While your father comes to a landing, you go up to the cop. He looks weary, and you could understand why. “Have you heard anything else, or is it still silent?” You ask the man, looking up at the building connected to the bridge. Batman walks behind you, listening on. 

“Nothing. We think there’s a skeleton crew in there, but they're not responding, and the facility is on lockdown.” You and the Bat share a look. 

“Green, I want you in there. Keep your guard up and be careful.” You nod towards your father, and your heart aches a little. He only started saying be careful when Jason died. He didn’t want to lose another kid, and even if you were mad at him for replacing your brother with Tim, you could never hate Bruce. You start a jog to the facility, and you bring out your tranquilizer gun, keeping a steady hold on it. You turn your head when you hear a loud “brr” sound in the distance. A helicopter flies in the air, and you furrow your eyebrows. 

“What the hell...” You mumble, and you turn your gaze to your father and Gordon. You then see the large rockets on the side of the helicopter. “Shit!” You start to run away from the door, but instead of being shot, the area between you and the others are. The helicopter drives up to Batman as he walks up to it. You can barely hear anything, the helicopter wings blocking everything out, but over your comms you gather that same modulated voice saying don’t shoot her. 

You have no time to think over it when the helicopter flies up, and the big doors behind you open. You hear your father yell out your hero's name as two cars with extended guns on the roof point at you. You run out of the way, but once again the guns don’t shoot at you, they only target Batman. You quickly realize the bias, putting two and two together. Whoever this is doesn't want you, they want Batman. You use this chance of distraction to run into the facility. You set out your grappling hook, and it carries you up onto the ‘ACE Chemicals’ sign. 

“Green, are you in?” You hear Bruce speak through the comms. 

“Yes. I’m on the sign. The men below noticed me flying in, but other than that, they can’t find me.” You grapple onto the actual building. You land softly onto the concrete and make your way onto the side. A large drop is there, and you get shivers down your spine. You kick in one of the windows and then jump through. You scan the area, bringing out your tranquilizer gun, but the room is empty. 

“I’m in a room now, there are desks and a large whiteboard with notes, but other than that, it’s nothing important.” 

“Good, I’m making my way in now.”

“Heard.” You open the door, and eye the hallway. You feel eerie, and you worry that it's a trap. You let out a breath and continue walking down the hallway. You make your way downstairs, and it’s still empty. 

“I’m in the building.” 

“I’m on the second to last hallway. It’s empty, no one in sight.” You hear nothing else on the other end, so you continue your descent. It’s like this for a while, until you hear a man struggling behind a door. 

“HELP...! HELPP, PLEASE!” You kick open the door, your gun pointed out in front. You see Arkham Knight pointing a gun towards a man tied up in rope. 

Arkham Knight looks at you, and you shudder. “It’s about time you showed up. I began to worry.” His tone is mocking, and you scowl, putting your finger on the trigger. 

“What the hell are you talking about?!” You yell; confusion clear in your voice. 

He lets out a sardonic laugh. “C’mon baby bird, you really don’t know?” You frown. No one called you that other than Dick or Jay, and for a moment you hope. You hope that this man is really your brother, your Jason. 

“Jay?” You mumble, and you wait. You wait for him to give you a sign that it is him. That this is your brother. He rips off the helmet, and you drop your gun. It’s your brother, your sweet big brother. Your twin. He’s alive. You run to him, disregarding the tied-up man, and you hear Bruce speak over the comms, trying to reach you. You don’t listen to his voice, you only hold Jason tight, crying on his shoulder. 

“Shhh, I know baby bird, I know.” He holds you tight, just like he did when you were kids, and you cry even more. 

“Green! Green, are you with me?” Batman yells over comms. 

“Batman, I think it’s time I take my twin off your hands. I’ll take care of them far better than you ever did anyways.” You lift your head up from his shoulders. 

“Jay, what-” He hits the back of your neck, and your vision goes spotty. The last thing you see is your brother picking you up. 

When you wake up, you’re lying on a bed. You have new clothes on, and your suit is nowhere to be found. When you try to get up, you realize your legs are chained to the bed. You struggle against the chains, feeling betrayed by your brother. Not only that, but you feel wronged. Why would he do this? Why would he try to kill Bruce? Why would he kill innocent people? What happened to your brother? Why is he acting this way?

 “JASON!” You yell, anger clear in your voice. Immediately, the door swings open, and your twin brother walks in. He’s out of his suit, and you admire his new features even in your anger. He has a streak of white hair, and a J gouged in his cheek. He looks over at you, as he sits on the end of the bed. You scowl, “Jason, what the hell is this?” You lift up both your legs. 

He looks down at the chains, and smirks boyishly. It reminds you of when you were younger, and you turn your face away. This isn’t teenage boy Jay, this is Arkham Knight, and he certainly is not your brother. You feel stupid. You feel incredibly stupid for falling in his trap. He used your grief to make you weak, and it worked. You almost feel proud; he was always smarter than you. 

He reaches out to you, touching your face. “I missed you.” His voice is earnest, and that hurts you even more, because you know he means it. 

“Stop this, Jason. Please. Stop this.” You plead, you don’t know what for. Maybe you want him to stop trying to kill Bruce, maybe you want him to stop touching you, or maybe you want him to stop pretending. You don’t know, and that hurts you all the more. 

“No. I won’t stop. He let me die, Bruce fucking left me to die!” He yells, and you flinch back, crying. “Do you know how long I waited?! How long I wished for Batman to save me, to have my partner save me!” 

“We tried!” You scream back, tears flooding from your eyes. “We tried Jason. We searched for you for days, and we couldn’t find you.” You break down crying, and you hug yourself. “I never stopped. I didn’t believe anyone when they said you were dead, not until I saw what Joker sent, and even then. I never stopped.” He wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest. 

“I’m sorry...” His voice cracks, “Please don’t cry. You know I hate it when you cry.” And he did. He hated when you cried, so he would hold you. He would hold you, just like this. “I promise, I’ll make it better.” He whispers, and then he kisses your forehead. You see him get off the bed and walk out of the room. 

You don’t react, but you can’t help but feel the same when he died. You couldn’t do anything now, and you couldn’t do anything then. 

It takes you a day to break off the chains. Your fingers feel numb and bloody from holding them tight, and kicking them against the bed frame, but it works, and they break. You get the bed frame and shove it against the door. You know there’s cameras in the room, but you pay it no mind. By the time his goons get here, you’ll already be gone. 

You walk over the only window in the room. It’s large enough to get through, but the only problem is you have no gear to jump off with. The drop is far too high to not get hurt in some way, and so you rip the sheets off the bed. You hear banging on the door, and you sigh. You got too cocky and didn’t think it through that you needed a fucking way out of the window. 

You look out the window once more, and you feel tired. You feel like giving up. If you jump out of this window now, there’s a chance you’ll survive, and a higher chance you won’t. They’ve busted open the door, and in the distance, you see Arkham Knight first and foremost behind his men. Your heart breaks as your brother yells out your name, your real name, but you jump.

And you live. 

The world is white, and you advert your eyes from the searing color. You feel pain all across your body, and that’s how you know you survived. You hear a machine, and you realize it’s a heart monitor. You're on a white bed, with a blue gown on, and you sit up. You smile when you see Tim and Barbara. They both have fallen asleep leaning on each other. Behind the glass window, connected to the hallway, you see your dad and Jason talking. 

They haven’t noticed you yet, and you wish to keep it that way. Tim’s eyes start to flutter, and once he realizes you're up, he jumps out of the chair. “You’re awake!” He yells, wrapping his arms around you. 

You laugh, and you hug him back. “Hey Timmy, how are you?” He rolls his eyes and sits on the bed with you. 

“How am I? How are you? You almost died! Do you know how worried we all were?” You feel guilty, so you squeeze his shoulder. 

“I know and I’m sorry. But I’m here now, and so are you.” You hear Barbara roll her chair towards the bed. 

“That you are. We were worried sick.” She says, and you almost want to cry again. 

“I know.” You hug her, and she hugs you back.

“We missed you. I missed you.” She whispers in your ear, and you press a kiss to her head. You glance out the window, looking at the two men. 

“What’s up with that?” You ask. Barbara just sighs, and Tim looks away nervously. 

“Jason is... Back. However, him and Bruce have been going at it for days. Maybe they’ll stop once they realize you’re awake but...” She shrugs. You look at Jason, and he finally notices you. He starts to walk in the room with Bruce following right behind him. 

“Where’s Dick?” You ask. 

“He’s on his way.” Bruce says, then he goes to hug you, covering your whole body. You hug him back, squeezing the man. 

“How you feeling, old man?” Your tone is teasing, and he sighs. 

“Tired of being berated by my own kids.” You smirk and pat his shoulders. Then, you look at Jason, and without hesitation, you jump into his arms. He catches you; he always does. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, holding him tight. 

“I know baby bird, I know. I’m back, and I won’t be going anywhere else.”

[ashes-of-rozes]

making up for last time

drabble

Nightwing and Red Hood are on a mission. The mission quickly goes south and long story short they’re both restrained. Jason manages to get out but Dick insists on dealing with the bad people first. He can get out of these restraints. Probably.

A few minutes later, the commotion and gun fire subsideds and Jason’s bursting back in. He unhooks Dick’s chains, throws him over his shoulder (still bound at the wrists) and starts booking it.

“What’s the rush little wing?”

“Bomb.”

“Red Hood—“

Jason sets Dick down and goes over to the steadily ticking timer. “Jason,” Dick shouts, wiggling in his restraints, “What the fuck? Let’s just go!” “No! If this goes off, several people will die!”

20 seconds.

“I just need to …” Jason slides out his knife. “The wiring is too messy I can’t—“

12 seconds.

Jason stares down at the bomb. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s the Joker all over again.

“Jason!”

Dick’s voice snaps him out of it. Right. He knows this. He knows what to do.

6 seconds.

Dick finally manages to get free and scrambles towards his little brother.

3 seconds.

Jason cuts a wire.

Dick throws himself on top of the bomb.

Jason stares down at him, angry and worried, “Dickhead my knife is still— did you just throw yourself on a bomb to protect me?” Dick doesn’t answer. He’s trembling. Terrified. He doesn’t register it never went off. Or Jason’s voice. Or the knife deep into his abdomen.

Jason doesn’t really know what to do. He reaches out, gently poking Dick’s shoulder. Dick’s eyes snap open, pupils shrinking behind the white eyes of his mask, “…Jason?” The voice crack aches Jason to the very strands of his dna. “It’s me,” he nods, “You’re hurt. Our job is done. I’m taking you home.”

Jason doesn’t take him to Blüdahaven. Or Bruce’s. Jason takes him back to the shitty apartment in crime alley, treats the stab wound and wraps Dick up in a Nightwing blanket Damian left over.

He hasn’t said a word, barely flinched at all when Jason was dressing his wounds. Didn’t say anything when Jason pulled off the vigilante suit and slide him into pj’s. He just looks … scared. Like he got a dose of Scarecrow’s fear toxin.

Jason stays with him the entire night, ignoring Oracle and spam calls from Tim and Bruce.

“Dickiebird,” Jason finally asks when the sky is orange and the sun is waking up. Dick finally— finally— looks at him and all he says is, “Is this real?” And Jason doesn’t cry. Jason never cries. But the hesitation, the uncertainty in his older brothers voice makes it hard not to.

“It’s real. I’m real,” Jason confirms. “The bomb didn’t go off,” Dick asks. Jason wants to say he stopped it, but hesitates, “No, it didn’t. You saved ‘em.” Dick shakes his head, “And you?”

“You saved me too,” Jason smiles, “You always do.”

And Dick just … breaks down. And Jason’s awkward about it because he doesn’t understand why, so he just rubs Dick’s back and doesn’t threaten him when he hugs him. He can make one exception.

masterlist