#Arkhamverse fanfic

[lawful-evil-novelist]

For anyone wondering before Arkham Aftershock gets really underway: They did properly reconstruct Jon's face.

Gotham is a shithole but idk why they would ever just outright fucking leave a whole entire fucking gas mask and open fucking wounds on a man in their literal medical custody.

[intriq]

chapter 1 of my fic;

I’m sorry I’m the one you love

i went w this title cus it fits how i perceive AK jason feels towards being loved (he feels unworthy of it ur honor)

keep in mind this fic is.. gonna be both fluff filled AND angst filled (did you think i’d ever let you and jason always be happy? lmao no. ur getting the same treatment my ocs do)

In the eyes of the world, you didn’t matter. You were nothing more than a pest, a filthy rat scurrying around Gotham City. Even if you haven’t lived here your whole life, you still became a part of it’s problem. Not like you had any choice, considering you were but a child. Long since abandoned by your parents in a city you’ve since skipped and left, you find surviving in Gotham just as hard. But it’s tolerable. You know how to defend yourself, with bruises and healing knuckles to match. Gotham wasn’t an easy place to survive, much less for someone who barely knew how the city worked. All you knew is that danger was constantly lurking, in every corner and every street. You had no wariness of who the streets belonged to, of the rules etched into its architecture. All you knew of was survival.

Scavenging whenever you could, stashing the little food you could. Of course, because of you being essentially new to Gotham you weren’t aware of the rules. Or the territories and who owned what. All you knew was to run and fight to survive. Perhaps thats why he took a pittance to you. Seeing you do your hardest to survive, like him. He’s a scrawny kid, like you are. You’re both doing what you need to, in order to survive. The first time he’d seen you scrambling to steal food in the section of Crime Alley that he’d gotten in exchange for selling out his parents, Jason felt like you and him would get along. Defending this strip of land was lonely, granted him few allies considering no one wanted to even attempt to challenge him.

The first time you two talk, you worry he’ll attempt to take your hard-earned spoils like anyone else had. You’d clutched them closer to yourself, almost glaring and poised to strike like a snarling dog. The only difference being the lack of bared teeth. At the time, you were more like a wounded, cornered animal. You’d been injured because of a previous fight, pain flaring in what felt like all over whenever you attempted to move. So moving around was futile, the headache that accompanied it being the source of most of your discomfort.

It was cold, as cold as the alley you called home was dirty. It smelled and was located right outside some bar that smelled absolutely horrid. A putrid stench that lingered and seeped into the clothes of whoever hung around it. The stench clung to both you and him, mixing with the smell of car exhaust, trash, gasoline, and the other smells that clung to Gotham about as well as it’s crime rate.

But that’s fine. Jason’s been sitting still, inching closer to you every few hours. You’ve been defensive, and Jason doesn’t quite get why he is bothering at all to get you to trust him.

The first week he meets you it’s all he seems to do. When he’s finding himself food he can’t help but let his thoughts drift back to you, the only other scrappy kid that has bothered to stay around in what is essentially his turf for longer than usual. Jason’s come to learn most of what makes you tick, for the most part. Like how you refuse to move when he’s present or even looking at you, how you refuse to eat when he’s present. Jason doesn’t even get why he still bothers with you.

And you?

You don’t get it either. You don’t get why this kid just keeps coming back. You don’t bother talking back to him, just sitting there and nursing what hurts. The alley smells enough to make your head pound and hiding behind the dumpster when more rowdy drunken folk stumble outside for a variety of things. But you make it work, you suppose. And you don’t mind how the free food that comes with his company. You don’t get him sometimes, though. Don’t get his tenacity. Why he still bothers.

But maybe it’s because you also don’t understand looking forward to his short, fleeting visits. But perhaps it’s the idea that the moment your stupidly painful bruises and whatever else is wrong are healed and you can move, that he’d up and disappear. The silence between you both is as equally unsettling as it is comforting. The faint chatter of drunken patrons from the bar you rest near is just loud enough to have the same faint buzz of insects. And the air is warm and putrid, filled with the hideously disgusting odors that every city such as Gotham brings. Just any other sensible Gotham kid would give you a wide berth, but yet here he is.

Here this random scrawny street kid is, insistent on getting you to trust him. He used to talk to you, or try to. His words were always met with silence on your end. But perhaps he only continues to try after the first time he heard what sounded like a faint breathy laugh underneath that sigh you’d made to cover it up. You can’t even remember what he’d said that had been funny, but he does. It was a stupid joke, something about how this disgusting alley was at least a little warmer and better than the colder, draftier parts of the city and that the warmth was the only thing that made it worth staying in. Truth be told you’d rather be anywhere but here, even back with your parents even if they just might barely give a damn. But it was warm and never smelled. Maybe that’s why you laughed, because there was places better than this shit-hole of a city you now called home.

Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why he sticks around, you think. Jason thinks that’s why, too.

[awsmedude]

The problem with being someone who's planned out a bit of this fic (Arkham Weaver) but also gets cool ideas for scenes and moments between characters is that I sometimes come up with scenes I think would be really awesome but I don't know if I can make fit within my story nor align it with normal Arkhamverse canon. Like, I have an idea of an introduction to Kraven where he kills Bane after coming to the Arkhamverse on the hunt for Spider-Man, but the only place a scene like that would fit is sometime after Arkham City, and my plans for Kraven require him to be introduced much, much earlier than that. Harrumph.

[crossistent]

[ebodebo]

Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

—thinking about meeting the big bad arkham knight for the first time…consume at your own discretion.

current warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, dark themes, fem!reader, dubcon, p in v, angst, some biting (literally just one lol), jason being a little meanie, ooc bc it's hard for me to write him being overly mean, no aftercare, blindfolding, depictions of violence, orgasm delay & denial.

please heed the warnings before reading!

When the Dark Knight himself called on your help, you never imagined it would involve sitting on the edge of an abandoned shopping mall on Founder's Island, of all places, to keep an eye on a new vigilante whose name you didn't even know.

You had been sitting quietly on your perch for what felt like an eternity, your muscles ached slightly from remaining so still, but you knew that patience was key.

You glanced down at your watch waiting for the slightest signal from Babs—heart racing with anticipation, hoping for the moment she would finally give you the signal to proceed.

"You find out anything else about him, Babs? You speak through the intercom in your mask to Barbara, unable to deal with the dead silence any longer.

"Negative," she mechanically says.

"Does anyone know anything about this guy?" You question, eyes glazing over some military militia fililing in and out of the mall.

"His background is fairly limited, which is why you're there—to gather more intel," she says, tapping away at her computer. "Sources can't seem to agree on much more than his name," she briefly pauses, "The Arkham Knight."

"The Arkham Knight? Who calls themselves that? Must be a fuckin' lunatic," you remark, narrowing your eyes to get a better look at the figures.

"If only that were the case," Babs sighs. "He's shrewd and sharp. More importantly, he appears to have a vendetta, which makes him particularly dangerous. He seems to understand Bruce thoroughly—he's done his homework."

"Could it be an well-adversed escapee who made it into the city? Maybe Bruce left a bad taste in his mouth after being thrown in the asylum, so now he holds a grudge against him?" You prob, the uncertainty hanging in the air.

"Highly unlikely. No one within the asylum would have the capability to organize, let alone lead, such a massive assault," Babs states firmly, her conviction unwavering.

"Well, one things for sure, this 'Arkham Knight' may think he knows the ole' bat, but nobody really knows him," you say, making a conscious effort to ease some tension.

"His militia is heading to the north side," Babs states decisively. "Approach from the south side to avoid detection."

"Gotcha," you aver, using a grappel gun to maneuver yourself off the side of the building, and into the gritty dirt beneath you.

"Be careful. He's—he's dangerous. Stay alert," Babs warns, her voice wobbiling ever so slightly.

"I will. Over and out," you affirm, with a nod.

You make your way to the south side entrance, staying low and quiet to avoid the militia thugs patrolling the area.

As you approach the stairs leading to the generator that Babs disabled earlier, you climb up and squeeze into the vent, positioning yourself just under the entrance of the department store.

Peering through the grates, you spot several armed thugs escorting someone into the building.

Gripping the voice synthesizer strapped to your thigh, you bring it to your mouth and quietly issue a command.

"Got another three out by the front gate. Three more by the other. Need backup out here," you say, your voice altered to sound like a guard's.

"Affirmative," one of the men responds, signaling to his comrades where they need to go.

They acknowledge him and shuffle out.

"It's almost too easy," you think to yourself before dropping through the grates and sneaking down the maintenance corridor leading to the upper floors.

Bruce had already done the bulk of fixing the broken elevator.

All you need to do is press the panel behind the elevator door to reveal the large shaft below, where the fans, thanks to Bruce, are now stationary.

You ease your way down the elevator shaft silently with your grapple gun. You find your way down with ease, feeling a little overly cocky.

Turning to your side, you see two thugs that are sprinting over to you, weapons in hand.

"Shit," you curse, propelling yourself up to kick one of their weapons out of their hands, before swinging your foot across his face with much force, sending him to the ground.

The other is more stubborn.

He shoots at you, but he misses.

You kick the weapon from his hand, but he swings at your face, sending you back before he slams your body into the ground.

You use what strength you have to rock yourself up, slamming your head against his, catching him off guard, and sending him back off of you.

You haphazardly stand as he sprints back towards you. You swipe your leg across, tripping him and making him fall to the ground.

You hit him in the head with your grapple gun, so he'll pass out. You exhale deeply, catching your breath, eyes catching sight of a hazy figure to your side.

"Ah. Look what we have here. A stray bat," a modulated voice spoke.

You turn to face the person wearing a militaristic version of a bat suit. "Who the hell are you?" You gruff, spitting some blood out.

"Who the hell am I?" He retorts, sounding amused, before his voice turns cold and distorted. "No. Who the hell are you?"

"A fuckin' fairy," you dryly say, spitting more blood out.

He lets out a gravelly, mirthless chuckle. "Got jokes. Huh?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "I'm not a bat."

He hums, inching closer, his heavy boots making a metallic thud with each step. "It's in your best interest to not lie to me," he leers.

"I'm not," you hiss. "I'm just helping him."

He hums, low and ominous. "Didn't think the big bat needed help," he sneers. "Guess I was mistaken."

Before you could speak, a low voice echoed around the room. "Commander," a militia thug says, addressing the man you were speaking to, not sparing you a glance.

"What do you want?" The modulated voice grits, clearly agitated by his intrusion.

"Someone's hacked our communication system. Impersonated a guard," the militia thug says in a reverent tone.

The Knight lets out an irritated sigh, eyes darting to the militia thug. "Little late on the heads up," his tone cold and calculated as he gestures to you.

The military thug draws his gun up to point at your head.

The Knight holds his hand up. "Don't bother. I'll take care of her," he exasperates. "If anyone else slips in these walls under your watch, I'll kill you."

The militia thug nods, dropping his gun to a resting position.

"Get out of my face," the Knight spits, striding the thug out of the room.

"You're him," you state with complete certainty. "The Arkham Knight."

"The one and only," his tone is smug and oozing confidence.

This doesn't make sense.

Bruce said he never comes to lower floors, especially with so little protection around him.

"What? Cat got your tongue," the Knight jests in a sarcastic, mocking tone, boots clunking as he inches closer.

"No. I'm—I'm just in awe of how ridiculous that suit looks," you sputter without realizing what you're saying, anxiety clawing up your spine as he steps in front of you.

He lets out a condescending laugh. "Was gonna go for black, but I didn't want Bruce to get all jealous," he drags out his words lazily, sarcasm apparent in his tone, before grabbing you by the arm.

You knew better than to try and fight him.

He had a whole militia on his side and you, a mere grapple gun.

He moved you through several corridors, passing several militia men strapped with weapons.

He had converted the once cheerful, bright mall into a military base with sandbags, barricades, and checkpoints around the area.

"Must have cost a fortune," you murmur under his tight grip as he leads you through another dark corridor.

"The cost is irrelevant. What matters is the results," his tone is dismissive and arrogant. "And soon Gotham will see the true value of my investment."

You nod weakly, turning to look forward as he leads you into a room heavily guarded by more militia members. Your eyes glaze around the room he pushed you into.

The room was sterile.

It had a bed to the side, maps, strategic plans scattered across the walls, and various gadgets.

If you had to guess, it was a bedroom.

Though it was devoid of any personal touches.

Seemingly serving only as a place of respite.

"What is this room?" You ask curiously, staying stationary as he closes the door behind him.

"Rest room," his voice is dry.

"Why so sterile?" You ask, feeling a surge of confidence.

He hesitates a moment, deciding how much to reveal. "This room...serves its purpose. It's a place to rest and recharge. Nothing more," he says in a guarded tone.

"Why'd you bring me here?" You question with caution.

"You're a liability," he rasped. "I should eliminate you for the sake of my mission."

As he spoke, he closed the distance between you, his face inches from yours.

"What?" Your eyes lock with his, bile rising up your throat. "You're just...going to kill me?"

"I might," he answers, cold and dark. "If you prove to be resourceful to me...perhaps I'll let you live."

You let out a shallow breath. "How do you mean?"

"How do I mean?" He dryly chuckles as he retorts your question. "How do you think I mean?" He questions, already slightly irritated.

He bends down next to you to pick up a loose piece of fabric. "Put the blindfold on," he says hastily, ripping off your mask.

You jerk your face to the side as he does so.

"Why?" You timidly question as he presses the fabric to your chest.

"Stop asking so many God-damn questions," his words were icy and clipped. "You want to leave?"

"Yes," you whisper.

"This is the price of your freedom," he asserted.

"Put it on."

You hesitate for a moment before taking the piece of fabric and placing it over your eyes, tying it tightly in the back. Then you stand there, fingertips playing the hem of your shirt to try and suppress your uneasiness.

All you hear is a faint hiss from what you assume is his mask as he pulls it off his face, revealing a simple black mask that covers the majority of his face except his eyes and mouth.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, inhaling a deep breath.

"What's wrong? Nervous?" He taunts, his voice unmodulated, gloved fingers coming up to trace down your jawline.

You pull away slightly, not expecting it.

"Ease up," he says, his hand coming back up to brush up on your skin.

You don't move under his touch this time, letting his hand explore your body.

"Never touched a woman before?" You sarcastically question, as his hands skim to the bottom of the shirt, easing it up a little.

"What business is that of yours?" He asks, his voice a little defensive.

"Need to know what I'm working with," you jokingly say.

He jerks you towards him by your hand. You squeal at his harsh touch. "Make no mistake. I am in control. I can kill you or have you killed with the snap of my fingers," he snarls.

"Do not test my patience."

You release a shaky breath at his sudden change.

"Nod, so I know you hear me," he adopted his signature authoritative tone.

You nodded fervently to not piss him off again.

"Good girl," he praises, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt again, pulling it over your head and throwing it on the ground.

The tension was palpable as you stood before him in your simple bra and pants.

You were at his mercy.

The thought didn't scare you as much as it should have. Instead, you found a strange thrill in the unexpected, a pleasure in the unknown.

He steps closer, the metallic clank of his boots giving away his position. You can feel his warm breath on your skin. The feeling made your chest tighten and palms clammy with disquiet.

You jumped a little as you felt his lips press into yours with a blazing kiss, though your lips moved with much haste against his, moving a mile a minute.

What the hell were you doing?

Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, but your body seemed to have a mind of its own.

This was a recon mission, and yet here you were, kissing the very same guy you were supposed to help take down.

The internal conflict was tearing you apart.

This was you bartering for your freedom, you try to rationalize.

But then, why were you so hot and bothered?

You couldn't help the knot that twisted in your stomach at the fiery exchange and the pool of wetness you're sure had gathered in your panties.

"Take your pants off," the words fall off his tongue in a mumble into your lips, almost as if it was an ask.

But you knew it was an order.

Your hands move quickly to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down rather quickly. Then, you step over them to push them to the side.

He hums a sound of satisfaction. "So obedient."

You release a sigh, notably unlike your previous ones out of apprehension.

This one was all pleasure; there was no mistake about that.

His lips press back to yours briefly but powerfully before his hands tug down your panties.

"Christ. Do you like this?" His tone is incredulous and skeptical as he sees some of your glistening arousal.

You don't answer, only swallow hard.

"Answer me," he commands, firm and detached.

"Yes," you swiftly say.

He huffs at your revelation, outwardly revolted though internally pleased. You feel his hands push you back until your legs hit the edge of a bed before forcing you to lay back.

You lay docile as you hear the soft hiss of seals releasing as he shed his suit. The creak of armor plating echoed around the room, followed by a rustle of fabric and wiring as the suit's inner layer was exposed.

His fingers skim your thighs, eliciting a whine from you as he maneuvers himself on top of your body. Without warning, his cock slides into your aching cunt.

He grunts at the contact as he slips himself deeper into you.

Your body jerks forward, mouth hanging wide open as he pumps himself in and out of you, gripping your thighs tightly.

He moves quickly and has no plans to slow down anytime soon, and you need to come.

So, you slowly move your fingers down to rub small circles around your clit, moaning loudly.

He scowls, leaning down to bite your shoulder in warning.

You hiss as his teeth sink into your flesh.

"Behave," he instructs, pulling your hand away from your aching clit.

He grips your leg so it lays flat against his chest, letting him hit a deeper angle that has him groaning.

"What would the Dark Knight have to say?" His tone is venomous as he continues. "Huh?" He urges. "His latest project getting fucked by me?" He grits, fingers digging deeper into the fat of your thigh.

"Should I make you ask him?"

"Ask him your fuckin' self," you grit out, trying to concentrate on the orgasm blooming in your lower stomach.

He lets out a harsh, menacing chuckle.

"Won't have time to ask when I kill him where he stands."

You lean your head back, mouth agape, feeling yourself on the cusp of relief.

"Don't come," his voice booms around the small room, clouding your ears.

"I can't—I can't hold it," you whine, squirming with desire.

"You can and you will," he spat, pumping into you faster��testing you.

You let out a strangled moan as you grip the sheets under you tight, feeling your nails dig into your palms through the fabric, attempting to think about anything other than your raging need to come.

He lets out an anguished groan.

You could tell he was painfully close—as were you.

While he comes, certainly feeling euphoric, you are left with the feeling of tightness and a looming release.

"Can I—please," you beseech.

A twisted smile you can't see overtakes his face hearing you beg.

"Go on then," he stoically says—like he's being generous.

Your fingers reach down to rub your clit with speed; it doesn't take much time until you're moaning loudly, and your arousal coats your fingers, even dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

Legs shaking, you pull your fingers away, trying to recuperate.

You aren't sure you've ever had a better orgasm in your life.

"Flip over. We aren't done here," he issued in a low tone, just as you were coming down from your high.

You paused briefly before weakly flipping your body over so your stomach lay flat on the bed.

He grips your hips upward, positioning you so your hands and knees are pressed into the mattress, making you hiss due to soreness.

Pulling you by your hips back, he positions his cock into your entrance, slipping inside you with ease again. You wail at the contact, still delicate—he doesn't care.

He pumps faster and faster with no regard to your sensitive state, fingers digging into your hips as he pushes you back onto him.

You're already starting to feel a tightness in your stomach, signaling your impending orgasm.

You won't last long with him drilling into you so rapidly, and the groans that fall from his lips have you panting and wailing.

Since he appears to like a beggar—you beg.

"Please. Can I—can I?" You plead, feeling your cunt start to tighten around his cock.

"Oh. You're not coming again," he spoke, his voice gravelly and breathy. "This one is just for me—just for me."

You let out a whine as you feel him come, cursing under his breath again as you are left with the feeling of tension and longing.

His breathing is labored as he shuffles to put his gear back on. You stay in the same position he left you in until he orders you to do otherwise.

"Get dressed," his voice is modulated again.

It's colder.

You slowly get off the bed, stand, and attempt to skim for your clothes with the stupid blindfold on.

He rips it off. "Leave. Now. Before you find I'm not so merciful the second time around," his tone was eerie.

You nod feebly, gripping your clothes and slipping them on impetuously, not even checking if they are inside out or facing the right way.

Turning on your heels, you head for the door you came in, looking over your shoulder when you hear his voice again.

"And remember, you owe me for not slaughtering you," his voice dripped with malice.

You turn back, forcefully pushing the door open as you walk with intention and speed toward the back exit.

He knew you wouldn't tell the Bat anything.

What could you tell him?

That the Arkham Knight fucked you so good you're going to be sore for the weeks to come.

You slip your mask on to alert Babs that you are leaving the area.

Her voice booms through the intercom in your mask.

"Find anything of interest?" She questions, none the wiser.

You continue to walk, half listening.

"You there?" She implores.

"Huh? Oh, no. Nothing worth noting," you suspire.

"Are you alright?" She asks with a concerned tone.

"Yeah. Just...tired. Talk later," you hurriedly say, cutting the line and making your way over to your vehicle a bit away from the facility.

The sex was transactional, you remind yourself.

Though, that reminder didn't stop the Arkham Knight's presence from lingering on your skin for days after the interaction, a haunting reminder of the forbidden thrill you'd shared.

Gotham's darkness had never felt so alive and so painfully tempting.

a/n: so, anyways...it's back lol

divider!

[capr1pengu1n]

be advised, no restitution comes tonight

Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to attend a Halloween party, once Jonathan sees you in your outfit, he can't seem to keep his hands to himself

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem reader (no use of y/n), dom!Jonathan, roleplay, costumes, corruption kink, choking, spanking, fear play(ish), creampie

Words: 2.6k

Notes: Happy halloween! <3 Hope you all have a spooky day! <3

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

With a sigh, Jonathan adjusts the cloak that wraps around his dark ensemble, looking in the mirror with a critical eye. Halloween has always been his favourite holiday, and why wouldn't it be? The night where everyone in Gotham is after a thrill, a scare. And he'd be there to give it to them, pumping his fear gas into whatever nightclub room or cinema screening he fancied, watching on in glee as people screamed and sobbed at the intensity of their nightmarish visions. He'd laugh to himself, analysing their facial expressions, estimating their heart rate, placing small bets as to which person would crack first.

Ideally that's what he'd be doing now, but as he adjusted the ridiculous costume you'd made him wear, he had to place those thoughts away. Being invited to a party was not his idea of a good time, but he knew the optics, he knew he had to show his face, if only for an hour or two before he could slip away and start his own night of fun. And if some liquidized fear toxin just happened to make it's way into whatever stupidly expensive liquor Nygma would be sure to be drinking, then he supposes he'll just have to enjoy the show.

"Y'done yet?" He calls out to you, eyeing the bedroom door with slight annoyance. The sooner you both leave, the sooner he can get this whole socialisation over with. Muttering to himself, he checks his watch before the telltale creak of the door opening makes his eyes dart up.

You'd told him your idea of a couples costume, and he'd scoffed at first. It was only when you promised to watch some obscure french horror film with him that he finally relented and allowed you to order the costume in his measurements. But now he realises it was worth it, if only to see you looking so...delectable.

You grin as you walk up to him, long white dress trailing with each step. He watches your eyes go to the mask, and the slight blush that forms on your cheek as you take him in.

While he'd read the novel, he had never seen the film or stage adaptation of the Phantom of the Opera, only familiar with the mask that now adorns his sharp features. So he hadn't known what to expect when you said you were dressing as Christine. Immediately his hands go to trace the lace sleeves of the dress, bony digits caressing the pattern downwards.

"Jon...you look amazing." you say with a smile, the white mask coupled with the dark suit and cloak really making him appear more villainous. His stature means he looms over you as you speak, and the faintest trace of a smirk becomes etched on his face as he realises the effect he's having.

Not that his trousers hadn't gotten more tight the second he'd seen you, the picture of innocence in virginal white, your hair up and adorned with little gems. To tease you, he grabs your wrist and holds it up, pulling you closer and not letting you pull away.

"Don't you look like a little angel." he taunts, eyes dragging up and down you once again, settling on your cleavage shamelessly. Your breathing increases, slightly intentional on your part to make your chest rise and fall in an obvious way.

"Do I?" you ask, slightly coquettishly as you smile up at him. In return, the grip on your wrist tightens a little.

"You do darlin'...so innocent and corruptible."

At his words, you flush slightly as he bends down to run his nose gently along the side of your neck. The gesture makes your lips part, tilting your head and baring yourself to him as a sign of implicit submission. And he likes that.

"The Phantom wants the girl, doesn't he?" he asks, his voice slightly rougher as you nod in confirmation. "Can see why, but does she want him?"

"In the film she does...she's drawn to his mystery I think."

He hums in response, leaning down but stopping just before his lips graze your skin, content to watch the slight shiver the action elicits from you. "And what about you?"

"If it's you, then I'd follow you anywhere. Even in the depths of your lair beneath an opera house." you say breathlessly with a soft laugh, attempting to make light of the situation to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting just how turned on you've became by Jonathan doing barely anything.

He finally lets go of your wrist, but not before pushing you so your back hits the hallway wall. This time when he leans down, he does leave a soft kiss right on your pulse point, and the soft whimper that escapes your throat makes him grin.

"Jonathan...we have to go, we don't want to be late." You say, attempting to have some control over yourself. But he doesn't let you move, still crowding you against the wall.

"I have to get in character, don't I?" he teases, and you could curse his southern drawl for sounding too attractive in this moment as his breath tickles your ear. "I'm a very...passionate man after all, am I not? One that is hopelessly in love with the beautiful young opera singer."

His tone is almost mocking, but it doesn't stop you from biting your lip as his chest nearly presses against yours. Teeth gently graze your earlobe before he continues. "And my beautiful prey has stumbled into my lair so willingly, in such a temptin' outfit."

He punctuates his words by running his hands up your sides, thinking the fabric is too soft, too delicate for a man like him to be touching. But that is precisely what's turning him on, as he holds you in place. "Perhaps I should demonstrate to her the depths of my desires...show her what she's missin' out on in her pristine life."

His words act like a sharp knife, cutting through your worry of being punctual as he can observe your shoulders relaxing. To seal the deal, he brings his mouth to the side of your neck and bites down, leaving a mark. "So I can taint her."

With a shaky sigh, you nod, giving him the permission he was waiting for. His hands reach up to cup your tits, feeling the top of them roughly beneath his callous fingers. You arch your back a little, enjoying the touch despite the slight discomfort.

"Tell me my dear...are you scared of me?" he mutters, his voice taking on a dark edge as he gets into character, well, his version at least.

"Y-Yes." you say softly, playing up the innocent victim angle, just like you know he likes.

"You should be...these hands have ended the lives of many men who cross me, of men who think they can have you."

Despite the make believe aspect, your breath still catches and your hips still buck at his words, heat blossoming between your legs. Of course he catches this, moving his hands down to feel your hips, head dipping to kiss down your neck to your collarbones.

"And yet you come to me so willingly, such eager prey."

At his words, he traces his teeth down, not quite breaking the skin but giving you the threat that he could. You let out a deliciously desperate noise, almost tempted to beg but deciding against it. Jonathan always liked the thrill of the chase, of wearing you down and frightening you into submission. And you loved to give him that.

"What are you going to do to me?" you ask, proud of yourself for how convincing you made your apprehension sound.

"Oh angel..." he croons, pulling away to look at you, grasping your jaw for good measure. "Whatever I please."

At his words, he grips your wrist once more before pulling you into the bedroom. You stumble to match his pace as he takes a moment to look at you once more. It's almost clinical, the way he stares at you.

"I wonder what you'll look like beneath me." he says aloud, starting to circle you, relishing in the embarrassment that seems to radiate from you. You fight to keep still, fiddling with your sleeve before he settles behind you.

His hands go to the back of your dress, where you’d nearly cracked your back attempting to tie a cute little bow. Feeling the dress loosen, you know he’s undone it, before he reaches around to grip at your throat, pulling your back roughly against his chest. He doesn't move or relax his grip, simply humming and pressing his mouth to your jawline.

"You're tremblin' like a leaf." he says in a self-satisfied manner. "Maybe I should show y'the things I can make you feel."

Pressing his fingers in a little, the sensation of him choking you has a soft mewl escape your lips, eyelids fluttering shut. Your life is in his hands, both in the roleplay and in reality, and it causes your thighs to press together firmly.

"The pleasure that comes from fear, the endorphins your body releases when you’re unsure if you should run or submit.”

He hisses the last word into your ear, before bending you over the bed. You yelp softly, bracing your fall on your elbows as he quickly pushes the long white skirt up. As more of your skin is revealed, he lets out a guttural noise as he sees the matching white stockings and garter belts you’d put on underneath.

“Such a fuckin’ sight.” He says, snapping the elastic of the stocking against your skin to make you jump.

His constantly cold hands trace up to your panties, feeling the wet material beneath his fingertip. Smirking, he circles it methodically, your clit receiving a dull stimulation.

“Please…” you beg him softly, trying to grind down on his digit.

He wants nothing more than to drag this out, to make you beg and scream for him before he finally takes you. But he knows time is fleeting, and you both need to make an appearance soon. So he quickly pulls down your underwear, so they stay around your knees, before pushing a finger inside your sloppy sounding cunt.

“So wet…I knew you were secretly a dirty angel. Practically soaking through your nice underwear. All f’me.”

At his words he pushes a second one inside, stretching you out as he fucks you with a suprisingly gentle rhythm. Your thighs shake a little, and images of you screaming and writhing with his fear toxin in your system flash across his mind.

Pushing back against him, the rhythm of your hips moving forces him out of his daydream, and he deems you stretched enough to pull his fingers out, wiping them on your ass.

He fiddles with the zipper of his costume, before he gets an idea. Grabbing you, he forces you around the bed, so you’re still bent over, but are now facing the mirror you'd used earlier to admire yourself in your dress.

You gasp softly in embarrassment as you realise what he wants, but your eyes can’t tear themselves away from his face, how gorgeous the mask looks settled on his striking features. So captivated, you miss that he’s taken his cock out until he taps it against your asscheek, before pushing it against your soaked folds.

��Do you want me? Beg. Beg me to debase you, to corrupt you.”

“Please…” you say, needing him desperately as he grinds his cock along your cunt, never quite breaching. Holding his gaze in the mirror, you reiterate. “Please corrupt me.”

He grins, before pushing in, and your mouth parts into a slight 'o' shape as you’re filled. The ever so slight burning stretch only adds to the sensation, your hands gripping the sheets as he settles inside you as deep as he physically can get himself.

“Good…” he gets out through gritted teeth.

At your airy moan, he starts his even pace. The slick sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, and you have to look down to avoid the image of your own desperation in the mirror. A hand grabs at your hair and pulls, disrupting your carefully placed hairstyle.

“Look at yourself, watch as the monster everyone fears takes what he wants.”

You moan louder, watching your own expression in the reflection as you’re fucked. Luckily he doesn’t seem to mind when your gaze travels upwards, watching his facial expressions. His jaw set in a tight line, he looks at you with an almost sadistic expression. Like he unashamedly wants to break you.

His hand grabs at your hip, feeling the material beneath his grasp as he bunches it. With each thrust, the dress ripples and moves, and he looks up to see your breasts bouncing with each snap of his hips.

“How depraved you’re become, moanin' like a paid harlot on the Paris streets.” He groans, and you’d admire his dedication to the roleplay if your brains weren’t leaking out of your ears. “Such wanton desperation from a girl as delectable as you.”

You whine at his praise, unable to hold yourself up anymore so you let yourself fall into the pillows. The image causes Jonathan to speed up his thrusts, gripping one of your hands and moving it in a demand for you to self pleasure. Not needing to be told twice, you start to circle your clit, moaning out at the sensation.

“Good girl…need you to cum around me, show me how lustful and immodest I’ve made you.”

You nod, feeling the pleasure build and build. A sharp slap to the ass makes you jump, writhing in place. Sure that you’re makeup is most likely a mess now, you drag your cheek across the sheets to get a better look at the mirror, more specifically at your lover.

The fact he hadn’t taken the costume off makes it even better, his cloak moving with every thrust. You’re a little surprised his mask has stayed on, but you thank whatever sex deity allowed it to remain in place for the image it gives you. This’ll be masturbation fodder for a good while, you’re sure of it.

“Gonna cum…” you manage to get out after a while longer, his cock thrusting into your g spot with cruel precision now. He growls behind you, slapping your ass again just to be cruel.

However the stinging pain tips you over the edge as you cum with a soft cry, clenching around him. You keep rubbing your clit, prolonging the pleasure for as long as possible. Hands falling back to the sheets, you feel Jonathan slightly reposition you, before he starts thrusting harder.

Clearly chasing his own release, he grips both of your hips and rams into you, and his breathing patterns lets you know it won’t be long. So you keep letting out pathetic sounding gasps and whines, arching your back for him. He groans, feeling his balls tighten.

“I’m gonna fill you up, make you keep my cum all throughout the stupid party.” He manages to get out, before he’s spilling inside of you. After a few more shallow thrusts, he stills, basking in the feeling of your walls wrapped around him.

Eventually he pulls out, quickly yanking your panties up snugly so his cum can’t leak out all the way. You whimper at the sensation, cold and uncomfortable, but at the same time so...right.

“There…nice and snug.” He condescends, patting your ass before pulling your dress back down. Helping you up, he turns you around and holds your cheek, looking down at you. “Was I convincing?”

You nod dumbly, still frazzled even as Jonathan looks at his watch. “Good, if we leave now we can still make it in time to see Nygma relive his childhood years after toasting his glass.”

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

[creepling]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ dating digger harkness headcanons

this is a very specific reader because i love the idea of this grimy hobo having a cute, smart girly partner that is the candy floss to his raccoon energy OKAYYY. also tcm shenanigans will be back shortly, i just had to give some love to a dc rogue like the old times<33

tags: feminine reader (wears dress, skirt, heels, mild makeup and has breasts and v) but gn pronouns. sugar daddy digger if you squint. reader is a jailbird. cuddling. pet name: birdie. smut under the cut - minors dni. polaroid nudes. (m) masturbation. thoughts of: oral (m receiving) and cowgirl.

If you were to ask Digger the first thing he noticed about you, his caveman mind would be objectifying. But your ass did look very flattering in your skirt and the smile you shot his way was the cherry on top. He likes them sweet and innocent, you like them rugged and dangerous. It was a match made in hell heaven.

After a few dates spent in dingy pubs and lover’s lanes, he was enamoured by you. He’s never had someone look at him the way you do. Eyes full of light, glistening at the sight of him. You always welcomed him with open arms, practically throwing yourself at him. He liked how easy you were to pick up, and the way you wrapped your limbs around him. How your soft skin blushes red against his scruffy neck. No matter the setting, you sat so close to him that you were more or less on his lap. He wraps his arms around you, or has a hand on your thigh, letting nearby acquaintances know you belong together. Digger thinks to himself, “I got so fucking lucky.”

His love languages are primarily gift-giving and physical touch. More times than you can count, Digger has fallen asleep on top of you. Either on the couch, while watching a movie or he found a way to snake between your legs while sleeping, he has a habit of using you like a pillow. You developed a kinship in moments like this where you play with his hair, massaging your fingers into the nape of his neck or twirling the strands that curtain his temples. You muse at his sleep-full hums, watching this rogue unwind under your touch, satisfied like a dog receiving pets. The gift-giving is when his rogue side is on high voltage. He wants to give you the world, shower you with jewels, let you wear the best of gear. “You want diamonds? Yeah, I’ll get you diamonds,” He’ll muse, mixing his pleasures with yours. When he robs a bank, the majority of his stolen dollars has been spent on you since you met him. Did your car get towed? He bought you a new one, along with the insurance. Need a new dress for the weekend? He’s got you sorted, along with heels and a bag to match. “Can’t have my bird in peasant clothes!” He protests, “Not with that cracken’ bod.” Queue the wink.

He loves showing you off, chuffed that he proved his doubters wrong that he could settle down and have a gorgeous significant other. “What they see in you, I don’t know . . .” They say, whether that be Deadshot, King Shark, heck even Amanda is amazed by it. He keeps candid polaroids of you in his pocket on the job, looking at them when he misses you. He squeezes the unicorn plushie you gifted him when he is stressed, anything to feel your presence when you’re half the world away. A shit-eating grin on his face when people tease him about his love for you, using it to embarrass him. “Awh, it’s puppy love,” Harley cooes, and Digger nods, all chuffed with himself.

Digger gave you the nickname “Birdie” because well . . . You’re a jailbird. He is in prison for heinous crimes, after all! Oh, is he touched-starved when you’re standing there, pretty face to the phone, separated by glass and talking in your voice that melts him like butter. His eyes are eating you up, desperate to have his hands on you. He’ll do all the suicide missions going to shred off the jail time, to get closer to the day his lips are kissing yours. Blackmailing Amanda to get you the best of the best, pay off college debt, holidays abroad, and spoil you when he cannot. “Oh, Birdie, when I get out of here I’m not letting you out of my sight, you’re stuck with me.” He groans, drunk on love. All you do is smile, sliding a pack of Polaroids under the screen when the guards aren’t looking. “Have these to tide you over in the meantime,” you tease. Digger rushes back to his cell, flipping through the photos. First were of you in dresses that were his favourites, the type of ones that are flowy and floral, framing you so delicately. They get more desirable as he flips them over, and his eyes lull in lust.

Digger loves the dirty photos you send him, it drives him fucking insane. It’s good to keep you fresh in his mind, but it borders on teasing just having you to look at. He didn’t have the brightest imagination, but this was good practice. Imagine how soft your thighs are under his callous hands, what your lips taste like with the lipgloss you have on. Your delicate hands trace his bulge, your touch replacing his heavy-handed grasp. Bucking into your hands as he sucks your breasts, teasing your nipples, muttering how perfect you are. His sweet little birdie, all belonging to him. Your eagerness proves your devotion. You take his infamous size so well, your spit coating his cock as your tongue swirls around his pulsing tip. As he wanks himself off, muffling his groans, he has the faintest memory of your cunt. How wet you always were for him, how eager you bounced on his cock. His eyes closed as he pumped his cock faster, edging to the echoes of past moans you chanted in his ear.

[ilovetheriddler]

The Different Riddlers on a date at an amusement Park. Mini fic Scenarios.

Oh boy! That's a lot of riddle loving menaces! These are all short little mini fic scenarios centered around the idea of an amusement park date!

Word Count: 2,160.

Contents: Kissing, mentions of puking briefly, highly suggestive themes but nothing too explicit.

Gotham.

Just where had Ed wandered off to? You weren't quite sure, and it was honestly making you a bit worried. You knew how much he had been looking forward to this date, planning it months in advance to be just perfect, so the idea that he'd just leave without a word confused you.

You attempted to call his phone a few times, only to be met with his voice mail, where on earth had he run off to? You tried looking through the crowd for him and were starting to lose hope of finding him until you felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you along with them. By the time your mind fully registered that it was Edward, you were already sitting down, with a bar being lowered in front of you.

"E-Edward?! Where were you?"

"Huh? Oh! I was looking for the ferris wheel! I couldn't find anything about where it would be located on their website, so I wanted to find it as soon as we got here."

You let out a slightly surprised yelp as you felt yourself moving. As you saw the ground getting further and further away from your feet, you realized that you were on the ferris wheel. He had wandered off, found it, and dragged you to it after that. You couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ed, you could have just told me that when we first got here! Why were you so excited for the ferris wheel anyway?"

"Well... I thought it would be a pleasant experience! You know? I find the circular motion to be the perfect mixture of soothing and exciting, plus I get to be close to you... so there's that as well..."

He threw one of his arms around your shoulders and pulled you slightly closer before his lips met yours in a sweet and prolonged kiss.

Batman: The Animated Series.

Edward had been extremely pleased when he found out that there was a small arcade within the amusement park, nothing super fancy, just some older arcade cabinet games, but he was thrilled and you thought it was really sweet how clearly overjoyed he was.

He was currently on his third game, having already acquired the top scores on the previous two. They were puzzle games, which explained why the small little acarde section was practically a ghost town. Not too many people going to an amusement park were really going to play older puzzle games. But these were exactly the type of things that Edward loved.

"My dear! Look at that, I've bested yet another person's score. My skills at this are truly unrivaled."

"I can see that, I'm glad that you're having fun... I was honestly a bit worried that you might not enjoy coming here..."

"Nonsense! This is the most amusement that I've had outside of my own riddles in a long time!"

You couldn't stop yourself from giggling as he pulled you to sit on his lap as he continued playing away on the acarde games. You felt your face heat up slightly as he started kissing your neck gently.

"E-Edward! We're in public!"

"Don't worry, my dear, I'm not going to go too far, just a few kisses here and there.... and besides, there's not exactly anyone else in this specific section. Now, is there?"

His soft and just slightly mischievous laugh rang out right next to your ear as he continued his kisses on your neck and trailed them down to your shoulder.

Arkhamverse.

You had honestly thought that Edward would turn down your idea for an amusement park date, so when he did actually agree to go, you were incredibly excited..... Keyword being were... You genuinely loved Edward so much, but being slung around in a bumper car as he repeatedly slammed into other cars with enough force to almost give you whiplash wasn't exactly what you had in mind!

But you couldn't lie, seeing Eddie with that Grin on his face, cackling to the point where several people were onlooking with deep concern, was truly all it took to make it worth it. At least he was enjoying himself.

"Ahaha! These Imbecilic fools are no match for my excellent driving skills!!"

"....Eddie, your license has been revoked on several different occasions...."

"Only because of the fact that the people of Gotham city can't handle my superiority, so they try to restrict me!"

You continued to be swung around like a rag doll for another thirty minutes until the staff had received enough complaints and forcefully removed the two of you from the park. Going as far as to Ban Edward for life as a precaution. He wasn't pleased about it, not at all.

A few days later, you'd walked into his lair and found him frantically constructing his own version of the bumper cars, specifically to use in one of his traps for the caped crusader. You noticed a man tied to a chair on the other side of the room, the same man that had thrown you both out and banned him.

"Eddie...? Why exactly do you have that guy tied up?"

"It's very simple, I needed a guinea pig to test out my latest project!"

You knew that it was better to pick and choose your battles with Edward, so while you did feel sorry for the poor amusement park worker, it was late and you didn't want to argue over it, so you just went back to bed.

Telltale.

Edward had been on the fence about whether he actually wanted to join you on your trip to the amusement park. He wasn't exactly a young fellow anymore, so walking around all day didn't sound too pleasant. However, he did suppose that he should spend some time with you doing something that you wanted since you've been such a good assistant when it came to his plans.

So despite this being meant as a sort of reward for you, he didn't miss a single opportunity to complain about his joint pain and about how hot out it was, as if he hadn't willingly chosen to wear an outfit with a lot of layers. Luckily, though you didn't mind, you were used to Edward's complaints and were just glad that he was spending time with you.

Much to both your and his own surprise, he genuinely enjoyed the log flume of all rides, He could sit down and relax, and occasionally being splashed by the water made the heat slightly more bearable. He ended up going on that same ride a few times in a row before the two of you decided to take a small break on a bench nearby.

"So um... Thank you so much, Edward. I honestly didn't think that you'd even want to come here with me..."

".... I didn't originally intend to. However, I decided that you deserved a bit of my presence... as a reward for your recent work...."

You leaned against his shoulder, which seemed to throw him off slightly, before he quickly regained his composure and chuckled at the sight. He threw his arm around your shoulders and pulled you to lean in a bit closer before pressing a quick kiss onto your forehead.

2022 Batman.

Edward could hardly believe it when you told him that you wanted to take him out on a date to an amusement park. He'd never been to one before, so he was extremely excited! Not only because of the fact that he always wanted to do things like this as a child but couldn't, but because he'd be doing it with you, it'd be an actual date!

He was originally fairly nervous about the idea of how some of the rides would be, but once you both got there, he found himself having quite a pleasant time! Until you got to the Rollercoasters, then it went from a pleasant time to an amazing time! You were both screaming quite loudly while on them, but it was different for both of you. Edward had this look in his eyes, a look of unbridled gleefulness. He looked ecstatic as you both rode the Rollercoaster. In fact, he insisted on riding it another ten times!

You couldn't help but wonder if the reason why he was enjoying it so much had anything to do with the adrenaline his brain was producing as a result? Perhaps it was giving him a feeling that was somewhat similar to how his actions as the riddler made him feel? There was no way to be sure. He was overjoyed as you both got off the ride again. Unfortunately, you had to run over to the nearest trash can, feeling horribly queasy after being forced to endure a rollercoaster eleven times in a row. Edward looked extremely concerned as he approached you and started rubbing your back, attempting to help you through your nausea.

"A-are you alright, my dear? W-was that too many times? I'm so sorry if I overdid it...."

"...It's fine, Eddie. I'm just happy to see that you're enjoying yourself.... but yeah, after the seventh time, it might have been a bit much...."

Zero Year.

You were extremely skeptical and a bit cautious of wherever Edward was dragging you off to, He hadn't seemed all that interested in the amusement park a few minutes ago... what could he have possibly seen or stumbled upon to suddenly shift his mood so drastically?

You were even more confused when he stopped in front of a currently shut down maze of mirrors. You felt chills run down your spine as you glanced over at him to question what exactly he was planning, only to see that mischievous look in his eyes... whatever it was wasn't good if he had that look in his eyes, you could at least say that for certain.

He wandered inside, and you followed behind him. Just what was he planning? After walking for a few minutes, you started to grow frustrated. Perhaps he simply did this to annoy and inconvenience you. You turned around to say something but stopped dead in your tracks as you saw him unbuttoning his suit jacket before tossing it on the ground.

"E-Edward? W-what on earth are you doing?!"

He slowly stepped closer to you, a sly grin plastered on his face as he leaned in closer to you.

"Oh, come on.... there's no one around, and I'd truly be a fool not to take advantage of all of these... mirrors, wouldn't I, my dear?"

"Excuse me?! I bring you to an amusement park, and your first idea is to have sex in a shutdown maze of mirrors?!"

He disregarded his shirt on top of his suit jacket before moving on to unbuckle his belt. His breath drifted across your ear as he lowered his voice to sultry whisper.

"Precisely.... Don't lie to me and say that you aren't the least bit aroused by the idea...?"

The bad thing is that he wasn't wrong.... and that bothered you more than anything else.

Unfortunately, the two of you ended up being banned for life once a worker who was cleaning up the area stumbled upon you two in the throes of passion. Edward seemed unbearably smug, though. Even as you were both thrown out.

Young Justice.

Edward was overjoyed by your invitation to go to the amusement park together, it would be your and his first ever official date, and he was confident that it would be perfect... alright, maybe not fully confident, somewhat confident... he wasn't actually confident, that was a lie, he was deeply worried about something screwing up the entire date.

So he kept his eyes open, watching the area with a keen eye, he'd let this date be ruined over his dead body! As the date contained on there seemingly wasn't any major issues... Until he realized that there was a tunnel of love here and that you really wanted to go on it with him.

He was ultimately unable to say no, so the two of you got on the ride, sat down in those stupid little boats, and started floating along the long, dimly lit corridor. Actually.... the atmosphere would be absolutely perfect for stealing a few kisses from you. Yes, it'd be perfect!

He put his previous concerns behind him as he grabbed you suddenly and slammed his lips against yours, an intense passion behind the kiss. It lasted a few seconds before he pulled away to catch his breath, only to then reconnect them again and again. It was everything he had hoped that it would be. However, then the ride stopped suddenly, and he was sent falling off the boat and into the water, soaking his clothes.

"Damn it!! C-can't those idiots run a ride correctly?!"

"Are you alright, Eddie? That was quite a sudden fall...."

You helped him back onto the boat, but now he felt that his pride was damaged slightly, so he just sat there and sulked in his drenched suit, his favorite suit!

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 3/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 1,484 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《TAGLIST》 (in replies because tags aren't working in the post for some reason)

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

I just want y’all to know that this chapter was written for you—I prefer the story ending at Chapter 2 😉

If you enjoy the read please kudos, comment, and reblog ❤️

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You catch the door before it clicks shut. You don’t want to leave him like this. You can’t leave him like this, so you inhale a deep breath and creep back inside, steeling yourself for rejection or another hateful outburst.

His weeping tapers off into sniffles and the occasional cough. You can feel his eyes following you as you pad over to his couch and grab the neatly folded throw blanket, casting a furtive glance towards his gun, which is still lying undisturbed where you left it, before returning to him. His eyes have fallen away from you—his head sagging between his slumped shoulders, chin touching his chest—and you hope he hasn’t gone away again to that terrible place in his mind. When you drape the blanket around his shoulders he flinches but gives no other protest, even pulling it more tightly around himself. He doesn’t order you to leave—doesn’t even acknowledge you’re there—so you kneel down in front of him, careful not to crowd him. He looks so defeated, so beaten down by the world; an abused child wrapped up in his security blanket for comfort after another unfair punishment. Your heart can’t help but break for him.  

You sit for a moment, listening to his soft sniffles and harsh breathing until you find the right words to say. Then you open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to the floor again, his tearful eyes hidden behind a curtain of sweat-damp black hair.

For what? Passing out? Getting strangled? Knocking me to the floor then screaming at me? But you keep those questions to yourself, asking him instead: “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER?”

He slowly shakes his bowed head, as if it’s filled with lead, as if those awful memories of his are weighing it down.

“Then why don’t you lie down? Maybe get some rest?” you suggest. “I can bring you some Ambien…”

Your voice trails off because he shoots you a wary look. But then his face softens and he nods before muttering, “No drugs.”

“No drugs,” you echo softly, your brain jumping to conclusions again about this brooding man of few words. Perhaps he’s a recovering addict or something. You push yourself to your feet then reach out a hand to help him up. He stares at it then his eyes fall away again. He’s really not a fan of eye contact.

“I don’t even know your name,” he says.

“It’s Y/N,” you offer eagerly. “What about you?”

There’s a pause, and for a moment you think he’s going to ignore you, but then he answers, “Jason,” in a barely audible voice, as if he’s ashamed to utter the word aloud.

Heavy silence swells around you and you’re acutely aware of your outstretched arm hanging awkwardly in the air. He wipes his bleeding cheek against his shoulder, smearing more blood onto his hoodie. You pull back your proffered hand and use it to push a lock of hair behind your ear as you fumble for something to say to fill the uncomfortable silence that stretches on. And suddenly you're back at dinner with John Preston Anderson III trying to make conversation while he scrolls on his phone, pretending you don’t exist. You have to swallow down a bubble of anger that threatens to erupt.

“I’m… sorry for whatever happened to you, Jason. I… can stay with you, if you want.” Suddenly your face is afire and you’re mortified that you just invited yourself to sleep over at his place only seconds after learning his name. “On your couch, I mean,” you clarify, blushing furiously, but his eyes never leave the floor. Thankfully.

He coughs then shakes his head again. “I already ruined your night.”

A bitter laugh bursts out of you at that without your permission, and his head jerks up, startled, bloodshot eyes snapping to yours. You clap both hands over your mouth as if you can shove the rude sound back inside you. Guilt grips your heart as you see the pained expression on his pale face. It’s not anger or hurt or annoyance, but rather that same look of fear that you witnessed earlier when he was cowering in the corner, as if your laughter frightened him. 

You rush to explain, to put him at ease. “I’m sorry, it’s just that… if you only knew the night I’ve had. Anyway, I’m glad we finally got to meet. It’s nice to put a name to the-the face.” You stutter that last part, realizing after the fact that it’s probably not very nice to bring up his unmistakably-scarred face like that, or complain about your night to the guy who got strangled, so you blurt out before your mind can catch up with your mouth: “It isn’t every night that I get to help a handsome stranger in distress.”

Your face somehow turns an even darker shade of crimson. How many times can you put your foot in your mouth in one conversation? But to your surprise and relief you’re rewarded with a little laugh from Jason, a sound that seems awkward and unnatural, as if he doesn’t get to laugh very often. Some of the color returns to his cheeks as he blushes the prettiest shade of pink. When the corners of his mouth quirk up into a timid smile you realize that he has absolutely gorgeous lips, despite the swelling. Full and soft, finely laced with small silvery scars—little arrows pointing to where they need to be kissed. Jesus Christ. Again, you literally just learned the guy’s name and now you want to kiss him. No, that’s a lie. You’ve wanted to kiss him since his rude ass scowled at you the first time. What is it with you and Ted Bundy types?

“I’ll have to pass out more often,” he says shyly, fingers plucking at the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His blue-green eyes find the floor again, as if his script is written there. “Turns out it’s a great way to meet beautiful women.”

Beautiful… beautiful… The word echoes in your mind like a heartbeat. No one has ever called you beautiful. Your chest comes alive with sudden warmth as butterflies take flight. You want to stay there with him for the rest of the night. To kiss him on his busted lips. To wrap him up in your arms. To protect him from whatever hurt him. Instead, you grab one of the discarded ice packs and hand it to him, heart still fluttering wildly in your chest. “Google says you should get some ice on that. Your throat, I mean.” Goddamnit. He just said you’re beautiful, and you reply by handing him an ice pack. How the hell are you so bad at flirting?

“Who am I to question Dr. Google?” he replies sarcastically with a smug little smirk on those beautiful lips, but still does as he’s told, accepting the ice pack then holding it against his red-ringed throat.

You gaze down at him as you grope for the perfect words to say that will turn this scene into one worthy of a romcom. You consider inviting him back to your place to share that bottle of merlot you’ve been dreaming about all night. But then remind yourself that the poor guy is traumatized, definitely in no shape for a romantic nightcap. You can’t help but find yourself wishing, as if you can will it into existence, that he’ll look up at you, that your eyes will meet, sparks will fly, and he’ll flirt with you again. Maybe even invite you to stay the night with him. But his eyes remain glued to the floor, and your heart drops in disappointment as your ridiculous delusions are dashed by his silence.

“I should… probably go, for real this time. It’s late.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure I can’t do anything for you before I go?” you ask, coming back down to earth from the high of his compliment and seeing him again as the guy who’d gotten cut and strangled then passed out cold on his floor rather than an object of your lust.

He shakes his head, then he glances up at you, those stunning blue-green eyes of his finally finding yours, sending a fresh flutter to your chest. “You’ve done more than enough. It was… really nice having someone to talk to. To… distract me from… other things.”

His kind words give you a boost of confidence. “Well If you ever want to talk again, you know where I live. Or if you need a babysitter.”

You smile at the puzzled look that crosses his face and nod towards his houseplant.

He laughs that adorable little laugh again. “I may take you up on that offer sometime. Goodnight Y/N. And… thanks again. For everything.”

“Take care of yourself, Jason.”

[finniestoncrane]

Arkham!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1.2k it's SHAVING AS A SIGN OF INTIMACY TIME listen this might be the beginning of several on this theme it's a kink i've loved for a while!! anyway, eddie has requested some assistance with shaving from reader, who he has decided he trusts enough to hold a razor to his tender skin *drool* also i'm not sorry for how autistic eddie is about his question mark shirt, he is literally me 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: little bit of humorous threats, shaving, flirting, suggestive towards the end

"Must be painful for you, having to ask for help."

"And it might be painful for you to suffer the consequences of your insolent tone."

You lifted your hand up, holding the handle of the very old fashioned razor blade between your fingers and dangling it in front of him.

"And it might be even more painful for you to suffer the consequences of your own shitty attitude if you don't behave."

With a playful smile, you pressed a finger below his chin, lifting it up, noting the smile that curled slightly on his lips, one he was trying to suppress in favour of remaining stoic in your presence.

"You know, Eddie, if you would take proper rests between working on your projects you wouldn't make so many mistakes."

The blade was close to him, not close enough that it made contact with him, but enough that he was lucky you pulled it back quickly enough when he lifted his head once more.

"I don't make mistakes! I have suffered a minor injury to three of my fingers, a consequence of poor tools. It's difficult to source higher quality material when you're a known and wanted entity."

You gently tilted his head back once more, nodding along to his rants, knowing by now when it would be a futile effort to argue with him. And by the time he had finished rambling, you were ready with the blade and the shaving cream, both in hand as you stared him down, patiently waiting for him to be quiet.

"Well? Are you going to get on with it?"

He barked the question at you, and you prepared yourself to begin, stopping short as he raised a hand.

"Hold on. I don't want you to make a mess of my shirt."

He shrugged the green, paint stained, short-sleeved shirt from his slender torso, leaving him in just a low cut, torn vest.

"You're very clumsy."

"Eddie. Clumsy enough that you're worried I'll ruin your already disgusting shirt, but not so clumsy that you'll trust me with a sharpened blade against your throat?"

For a moment, you had him stuck. He didn't have an argument, any words, you seemed to have caught him. But instead of replying, he simply sighed and waved you off.

"The texture of these fresh hairs on my face is far more annoying than any potential nicks, life-threatening or otherwise. This shirt is the only one I own, and it's to the exact fit I like it after the years of wear."

"Your priorities are interesting."

"I'm interesting."

That was his rebuttal, and he was satisfied with it. So you began your work, carefully placing your palm against his cheek. A soft touch, a careful carress, a gesture of reassurance. You cared for him, despite the playful teasing, the insistence on his part that you were only a disposable assitant. You went above and beyond, in awe of him, unable to resist the urge to worship him. You wouldn't let harm come to him by your hands, that's what the touch meant.

And the fact that he seemed to trust you, regardless of whether that was pushed onto him by the circumstances, meant the world in return.

As the razor made it's first pass over his skin, he seemed to raise himself up slightly, a natural reaction to the cool of the metal. So you laid your hand on his chest, pressing him back down and keeping it there. His heartbeat was steady, skin clammy against yours, a brush of soft hair coating his chest.

While you were't able to detect any change in Eddie's demeanour, he was worrying that you could. The moment you touched him he had felt his blood run cold. The threat, the imminent danger, the possibility that you could, at any moment, take his life. But the odd certainty that you wouldn't. It was all swirling through his mind, picking up flecks of the ill-timed arousal as it went.

Each teasing touch felt like it made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and under the foam on his upper lip. His body grew warmer, worked up in response to the intimacy, the delicate, tender way you handled both him and the potential weapon. And then it happened.

He squirmed slightly, hoping to adjust himself in a way that prevented his growing erection from becoming obvious. If he could keep your focus on his face, on the job at hand, then he might be able to calm himself down before he embarrassed himself. But the more you touched, the more aroused he became, hard against the front of his pants, and then, disaster occurring as his precum leaked out, staining a tiny mark on the front at his crotch.

Eddie's mind quickly flitted through the catalogue of quick excuses he could think of. He could play this off as a natural reaction. An expected response to someone touching him and being this close to him. Nothing to do with you or his deep attraction to you.

He could admit that the intimacy was exciting, allow a sliver of vulnerability to show as he confessed that it was one area that he wasn't all that experienced in.

Throw a curveball? Tell you that the danger was far more arousing that he imagined? That could backfire though, as he was well aware of how irritating he was, and inciting, or inviting, violence might not go as well for him as he hoped it might.

And finally, the ridiculous notion of proudly displaying the effect of your touch flashed through and was quickly stomped out. There was no way he would be able to play it off with any amount of confidence or charisma, and it would take a considerable amount indeed. But now it was in his head, the idea that you might be encouraged, enticed, by his arousal. Enough that it would strike a chord within you, making you as hot and needy as he was. That you might letyour hand trail down the front of his shirt, fingers skimming over the growing, throbbing bulge, offering, perhaps, to shave there too. To finish him off with a flourish. To hold him, touch him, until he-

"Edward?"

He snapped his head towards you, cheeks flushed and pupils wide as he came bck down to earth from his flight of fantasy.

"Edward, are you alright? You didn't answer..."

"I'm fine. my mind was elsewhere. You know how it is being a genius, or... you don't actually. But if you did, you'd know it was difficult to stop your brain from rattling through equations and plans and world changing ideas. So forgive me if I automatically reverted to paying attention to that instead of you."

Deciding to meet him with his own attitude, you tossed a towel towards him as you walked towards the sink, dropping the razor in as you spoke.

"Well, if that's a close enough shave you can wipe the foam off now. And maybe use the towel to clean yourself up further down too."

You had noticed. And you were teasing him.

And worse than that, the insolence, the cruel taunt that suggested you considered yourself good enough to stand toe to toe with him, he found that it only made him harder.

[i-am-not-the-riddler]

Butterflies?

Arkham Riddler x Reader: word count, 912. Okay but Eddie getting kinda flustered when you tend to his wounds.

⚠️CW: mention of blood, a little fluff, Eddie realising he’s a human being and not a robot

The sharp clatter of metal echoed through the dimly lit workshop as Edward worked intently on his latest project - a series of robots designed to carry out tasks with ruthless precision. His brow was furrowed in concentration, the soft glow of the monitors casting shadows across his face. You stood nearby, cataloging his latest notes, eyes glancing up occasionally as you tried to follow the intricate process of his genius.

He muttered to himself under his breath, words slipping into riddles as they often did when he was particularly focused. You’d grown used to it by now, the way his mind seemed to work on an entirely different plane from anyone else’s. It was part of what made him so fascinating—and so infuriating at times.

Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath from Edward, followed by a low curse. Your head snapped up, and you saw him clutching his left hand, blood already seeping between his fingers. The pliers he had been using lay discarded on the floor, a tiny smear of red marking where he had dropped it.

"Edward!" you exclaimed, rushing over to his side. "What happened?"

He grimaced, holding up his hand. "Just a... minor miscalculation," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Nothing I can’t handle."

You frowned, not buying his nonchalance for a second. The cut was deeper than he was letting on, a jagged gash running across the side of his palm. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, staining the metal surface beneath him.

"That’s not ‘minor,’ Ed," you said, your voice firm as you grabbed a clean cloth from the nearby table. "Sit down."

He looked as if he might protest, his pride clearly wounded as much as his hand, but there was something in your tone that made him pause. Reluctantly, he sat on the edge of the table, still holding his bleeding hand in front of him.

You carefully took his hand in yours, your fingers warm against his cold calloused skin. His blood smeared slightly against your palm, but you ignored it, focusing on the wound. “This is pretty deep,” you murmured, pressing the cloth against the cut to slow the bleeding. "You should’ve been more careful."

Edward scoffed, though it was half-hearted. “I’m always careful,” he grumbled, though the tightness in his voice gave away the sting of the injury. His eyes flicked down to where your hands were gently tending to his wound, his breathing slightly uneven.

A strange flutter stirred in his stomach, something unfamiliar and unwelcome. It wasn’t just the pain. It was… something else. The way your fingers brushed against his skin, the care in your touch. It made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. He frowned, trying to brush it off, attributing it to the adrenaline and discomfort.

You reached for a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze, your movements practiced and efficient. As you began to clean the wound, Edward winced, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on you, as if studying every small detail of your face—the furrow in your brow, the way you bit your lip in concentration.

"You don’t have to do this, you know," he said after a long pause, his voice softer than usual. "I could’ve handled it."

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. “Maybe. But you don’t have to do everything on your own, Eddie.” Your voice was gentle, almost too gentle for someone as sharp and calculated as him. "It’s okay to let someone help once in a while."

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your words. For someone who prided himself on solving every problem, it was strange to hear that. Stranger still that it came from you, his assistant, the one person he could always count on for efficiency, logic, and order. And yet here you were, tending to his wound with a softness that was unsettling in ways he couldn’t quite articulate.

The flutter in his stomach returned, stronger this time. His mind scrambled to rationalise it. Perhaps it was just the rush of adrenaline wearing off. Yes, that must be it. It had to be.

As you finished wrapping the bandage around his hand, your fingers brushed against his wrist, sending an unexpected jolt through him. He tensed slightly, trying to suppress the odd sensation that seemed to crawl up his arm.

"There," you said with a small smile, tying the bandage securely. "All done. Just try not to reopen it, okay?"

Edward looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slightly. The bandage was snug, the bleeding had stopped, but his focus wasn’t on the injury anymore. His eyes drifted back to you, lingering a little too long on the way you smiled at him, the way you stood just a little too close.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words coming out awkwardly, as if they didn’t quite fit in his mouth. Gratitude wasn’t something he was used to expressing, especially not in moments like this. Vulnerability was a puzzle he had never solved, one he hadn’t even wanted to.

You tilted your head, your smile softening. "You’re welcome, Ed. Now, let’s try to get through the rest of the day without any more accidents, okay?"

He nodded, his mind still reeling from the strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. As you turned back to your work, he let out a slow breath, rubbing his bandaged hand absently.

The flutter in his stomach hadn’t gone away.

[lawful-evil-novelist]

You remember how Kellerman just straight up speculates that Jon is just evil in his second to last interview tape? You think Jon ever listened to those tapes?

[drvoos]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie

ft jason todd

she/her pronouns used

i love you, i’m waiting for you

She could vividly remember the day Jason Todd died just entering his teenage years. Bruce had come to her — his large hand resting on her shoulder. The weight from his grip would forever linger. He was her best friend. Her protector, her robin. How he could be there one second, being the sun that kept her from the darkness, and the next, six feet under.

His funeral was even more bleak. The gray smog filled Gotham sky threatened rain. Appropriate for the mood. Dick stood by her the entire time, offering his comfort in the way of pulling her into his side to offer up a shoulder to cry on. As they lowered the casket into Jason’s final resting place, thick drops plopped onto her head, indicating it was time.

but my best enemy is you

Bruce Wayne approached Batgirl on the busy bridge in front of Ace Chemicals. GCPD cars lined the edges, yet they truly weren’t of any use.

“Any word from inside?” His gruff voice questioned, posting up next to Batgirl in front of Gordon.

“Nothing,” Gordon starts, gesturing with his head for the two bats to walk with him. “We think there’s a skeleton crew left in there but they’re not responding and the facilities locked down.”

“If they’re still alive we’ll find them.”

Batgirl hummed, leaving the boys in order to further examine the front of the building.

“They should be able to tell us what Scarecrows up to..”

Batman’s words were cut short as the loud hum of a helicopter exploded in the ears. The red bird raised above the ledge of the bridge, its bright light shining right onto the Bats. She narrowed her eyes. Inside, a man dressed similar to them, only more red and mechanical. While Batgirls suit was new technology, nothing on her body compared to his.

The helicopter glided to its right, before blasting the very tip of the bridge, ensuring that no one would get inside.

The Bats showed no fear, cautiously approaching while everyone else ran to cover. The light was blinding, bathing them both. For a moment she swore he was staring directly at her. He was shaking his head, as if he was fighting something. Then, he left.

flee from me, the worst is you and i

Batman had parted from her awhile ago. Too many workers that needed to be saved for them to constantly stick with eachother.

“Can I get some help here?” The worker begged sheepishly, a little bit nerved by the lurking shadow in the corner. Batgirl quickly opened the door, grimacing as she saw how the man was tied up.

“Thank god your he-,” The glass roof shattered on top of them, militia sliding down on ropes. Her eyes narrowed. When all of the men had spread into position, the guy from the helicopter slowly descended as well. Batgirl could only hope this was their last interaction. His heavy combat boots slammed against the floor, a humorous chuckle distorted by his mask.

“Keep your guns trained on her…If she even looks like she’s planning to leave that room, open fire.” He approached her as if he was a predator stalking his prey, tilting his head and eyeing her up and down. His armored hand pressed against the glass in front of her.

“…See you’ve taken the old man’s offer. Became his weapon.” Her breathing was shaky, biting her lip and nostrils flaring. Who the hell was this guy?

“Who are you.” She demanded, stepping closer to the glass. Her whitened eyes narrowing further.

The Arkham Knight gave one more distorted chuckle before retreating his hand off of the barrier.

“You’ll see soon enough.” With that, him and his men disappeared back into the night.

but if you keep searching for my voice

Batgirl held her breath as she clutched onto the ceiling, watching as militia and goons alike filled the room she was in. The Arkham Knight rushed in behind them, clearly angered at her disappearance.

“Raise the defense shield. Keep all access points covered.”

Whoever this guy was, he clearly wanted her for something. While the Arkham Knight was talking to someone through his coms, Batgirl was plotting. Scheming. There was about 14 militia in the room, however she didn’t know how many were armed. Deciding to take a risk, Batgirl pounced like a cat.

She dropped from the sky, crushing someone with her armored boots. She continued to pick the men nearest to her off. She was a blur of black, going on pure adrenaline. Finally, Batgirl turned her sights on the Knight. He easily dodged her punch my harshly grabbing her arm, however that gave her the perfect opportunity to clutch his neck. Only, he did the same. They were tangled together.

“Who…are you.”

She choked out as he applied more pressure onto her throat. He let out a small laugh.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

With all of his might he pushed her off of him before disappearing in a bank of smoke.

forget me, the worst is you and i

Batgirl rushed in, clutching the gushing wound on her side that had been inflicted by one of the many bombs sent at her. Her mask had been practically torn apart, leaving only half on her face. She keeled over while trying to hold the doorframe for support. In front of her was Jason. Her Jason. His mask was in a similar state as hers, glitching and cracked due to the heavy blows that had rained down upon him. Bruce was on top of her Jason with his fist drawn back. Batgirl could only imagine what her partner was about to do.

“Bruce.” She whimpered, her voice nothing but a whisper. She was sure her vocal cords were damaged a bit. The two boys turned to look at her, surprised by her sudden entrance. When her and Jason made eye contact the entire world slowed to a halt. The entire time…this entire chase…it was him. Bruce slowly lifted himself off of his former Robin, backing away to allow Jason some room.

“You did this to me…” He growled, reaching into his belt.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce’s voice was full of worry and truth. Batgirl knew he meant every word. Jason was quick to draw his gun, pointing it directly in Batman’s face. Batgirl hobbled a few feet closer, still hunched over.

“You left me to rot in that abandoned wing of Arkham…for over a year! With him!”

Bruce quickly held out his hand towards Jason.

“It’s not too late. We can fix this,” He gestured towards the crippled Batgirl behind him. “Together.”

For a while, Jason said nothing, only lowering his gun and his head. Bruce turned away, contacting Alfred to tell him the sad yet good news. He found Jason.

With the energy she had left, Batgirl limped over to where Jason laid on his side defeatedly. When he lifted his head, his mind was made up.

“My god…is he alright?” Alfred worried through the com.

“No. No he’s not.”

However when Bruce turned around, the two were gone.

This took surprisingly longer than I thought it would lol! It’s my first fic, so please mind any errors I’ve made. I’m still getting used to Tumblrs format (Wattpad girl). I tried not to use any names such as y/n or an oc name because personally I cannot stand fics that have that. I’m also in love with this song from Arcane and I thought it would fit perfectly. Anyways, thank you for reading! :)

[caesariawritesstuff]

Sorry if this is a boring or lame request but could you write something short with someone being nice to a younger Eddie? Your hcs for him made me feel bad for the rat man ☹️

Nice

Summary: Edward is having a bad day at work. Things would certainly look up if someone else were nice to him.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I quite like the idea of this fic being canon to the Cat&Mouse!Verse as an old one-shot for Origins!Ed. As always, I apologize this took me ages to get to. Please forgive me, anon!

Edward was running late.

His car had a flat tire. He’d spilled coffee on his brand new sweater. And to top it off, he heard that his rent was increasing next month.

To say Edward Nashton was having a bad day was an understatement.

Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he raced up the steps to the GCPD. The fall chill made him shiver, the leaves different shades of orange and yellow as the autumn weather settled in. Sweat beaded across his brow, and all the time he’d spent hunched underneath his car trying to change the tire for two hours, struggling to get the nuts and bolts off until his fingers blistered and bled, had left his back aching and sweat stains on his armpits. He could smell himself, no thanks to the fall sun beating down on him, and now he was growing even more flustered as he made his way into the GCPD, desperately trying to get to work.

Commissioner Loeb was going to kill him for being late.

Stupid brute, Edward thought as he looked around the lobby. It was currently being decorated for Halloween. Orange and black banners were strung up across the walls, including flying bats being attached to the ceilings. There was even a skeleton in the corner of the room. A little morbid, if you asked him. Not like he cared much about such a silly holiday. Halloween was a wase if time. Besides, most people didn’t even known it’s origins. The idiots. The least people could do was educate themselves. Frowning, he quickly took the elevator down to the Cybercrimes Division office. He needed to get inside and punch in for his shift. It was so unlike him to be late – he was always punctual, always on time. This was a first for him. Never had his morning been rife with such unfortunate events before. Well, the least he could do was get himself another cup of coffee and get himself settled in for the day.

As he made his way into his office, he flicked on the overhead light and stepped inside. The office was small, just for him, with a complete set up of computers and monitors he’d painstakingly put together for his own benefit. Perhaps it was against work policy, but he didn’t care much, either, as he worked better when things were to his own liking. He stripped off his jacket and draped it across the back of the chair, catching both a whiff of his body odor and the unfortunate dark stain across his new blue sweater. He reached up, brushing a finger across it, frowning. The popping of his tire jerked his car forward, making him splash the coffee onto himself; he’d have to scrub the stain out later tonight when he got home. Quickly, he turned on all of his equipment and got settled into his comfortable office chair. As soon as his laptop was on, he logged in and punched in for his shift, making a note for his reason at being late. But, Edward quickly got to work, losing himself in the monotony of codes and tech across his screen.

He was so lost in the work for hours, his fingers racing across the keyboard with lightning speed, his focus sharp and controlled – and a sudden knock at the door made him jump.

“Jumpy, Nashton?” an irritating voice drawled from the other side of the room.

Edward swiveled in his seat, his eyes narrowing at the intruder – one Detective James Armstrong. A hulking brute of a man, well into his forties, with a head of thinning blonde hair, revealing the beginnings of liver spots across his scalp. His dark, beady eyes reminded Edward too much of a shark, and when he smiled, he flashed teeth.

An uncomfortable tremor went down Edward’s spine. He’d never liked Armstrong – he was always a pain in the ass. Too full of himself, too much of an empty-headed jock, like most of the men at the GCPD were. There were very, very few people Edward respected in the precinct, and Armstrong was not one of them.

“Can I help you, detective?” Edward asked, raising a brow.

“I came by earlier looking for you,” Armstrong said, a shadow passing along his face, looking like he’d been put out. “You weren’t here. I’m surprised. Normally you’re on time. Late night?” He wiggled his brows in a suggestive manner.

“Flat tire,” Edward said, curtly. Not that it was any of Armstrong’s business, but the concept of Edward having the kind of “late night” Armstrong was implying made his stomach churn with uncomfortable knots.

“Huh,” Armstrong said. “Well, sucks for you. Now, can you log this into evidence for me? I need a full run through done on it.” He wandered further into the office, a laptop tucked underneath his armpit.

“Very well,” Edward said, because it’s not like he could say no. Armstrong set the laptop down at a spot nearby, and Edward bristled. The man was wearing far too much cologne, and it tickled Edward’s nose.

“Get it back to me ASAP, will you Nashton?” Armstrong asked. “I don’t really want to here late. Got a hot date tonight.”

“With your wife, I presume?” Edward asked. He wasn’t blind to the fact Armstrong didn’t wear his wedding ring.

Armstrong scoffed. “Yeah, right. The old broad hasn’t put out in years. Got a hot date with one of those girls at the strip club. Maybe I’ll slide you her name if she’s any good.”

“I’d prefer not,” Edward said with a click of his tongue.

He wasn’t interested in such things. Not that he didn’t have needs, but still, he could meet his own needs when they arose. Besides, he wasn’t interested in anything Armstrong had to offer, anyways. He wasn’t blind to the way the man talked about his wife, either, or how uncomfortable this kind of talk made him feel, made him bristle in his seat. Edward was certainly not interested in listening to Armstrong’s sexual exploits – not that he had any of his own, but still. He frowned. God, look at him? In his twenties and still a virgin. How pathetic.

“Well, let me know when you’re done, Nashton,” Armstrong said, though there was a bite in his voice this time. Edward waited until the brute left before turning back to his work. He was too busy, anyways, and this new piece of evidence only added more to his list of things to worry about. Good thing he was capable of multitasking and using his time wisely.

Edward continued with his work, keeping himself busy, even though his blistered fingers were already sore. Around one o’clock, his stomach growled, and he’d grown desperate for caffeine. He sighed, rubbing at his tired eyes, but left his cave to make his way to the nearby break room and grab a cup of coffee. He’d grab himself a cup, then return to his office and eat his lunch in the privacy and quiet of his own work, comforted by the machinery around him. His head throbbed, pain pounding behind his eyes; talking with Armstrong left him more shaken up then he wanted to be.

As he made his way into the breakroom, he took a look around at the white-tiled floor and plain gray walls. Off to the left was a counter with a microwave and coffee pot, and what appeared to be a freshly brewed pot, the smell of roasted beans enticing and pleasant in his nose. But it was the sudden incessant, loud voices that made him halt in his tracks, and made his hackles raise on end. His gaze slid to the right, towards a few tables and chairs where Armstrong and his cronies were sitting, several other officers whom he deemed to be just as hulking, idiotic brutes. His stomach twisted in knots, and he frowned, averting his eyes, determined to get his cup of coffee and leave before they could notice him.

“Nashton!” Armstrong cried. “Finally out of your cave, huh? How’s that evidence coming along that I sent your way?”

“Working on it as we speak,” Edward mumbled, ignoring the man’s burning stare as he made his way over to the coffee pot. He didn’t want to deal with Armstrong’s overbearing nature at any point now, or in the foreseeable future.

Edward was just finishing pouring himself a cup and setting the coffee pot down when a hand clasped across his back. The force was so hard that he jumped slightly – sloshing a splash of hot coffee all over his brand new sweater. Again.

“I mean it, Nashton,” Armstrong said. “I want it done by the end of the day. Got that date tonight, remember?” His breath reeked of cigarettes and old ham.

“How could I forget?” Edward muttered, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Get any action yourself lately, Nashton?” asked one of the other officers.

Edward didn’t spare him a glance, his cheeks heating to the millionth degree as redness crawled up his throat. He turned away, his eyes catching on a plate of cookies that had been left behind, with a note that said: Help Yourself! – Mary Beth. There was one sugar cookie left, in the shape of a pumpkin with orange icing. He paused; well, he supposed taking the last one wouldn’t hurt. But just as he was about to reach for it, Armstrong’s hand shot out, and he snatched up the last one, holding it tight between his grubby fingers.

“I’ll be waiting,” Armstrong said, chomping down, spewing brightly colored crumbs from his mouth. The absolute slob.

Edward frowned, disappointment settling in his belly. It was rare when he indulged himself in the small things, and now he remembered why. Other people always took first, and continued to take and take, never having their fill. And by the look of all the crumbs in front of the other officers at the table, he was certain they’d eaten almost the entire plate and left nothing behind for anyone else.

Turning on his heels, he left the breakroom, coffee in hand, grinding his teeth together in frustration. This day only seemed to grow worse and worse, and his irritation was at an all-time high. As he walked back down the halls, he passed by Mary Beth Johnson, an older woman well into her fifties, with a head of short graying hair and purple glasses that hung on the bridge of her nose. She was one of the filing clerks for the GCPD, and Edward supposed she was nice enough; he’d never had a problem with her before.

She offered him a kind smile, coming to a halt. “Hello, Mr. Nashton. Did you get a chance to try some of the cookies I brought in?”

“Not exactly,” Edward murmured. As if on cue, Armstrong and his cronies sauntered out of the breakroom together, laughing and talking about some rather lewd things that made Edward bristle, and uncomfortable knots twisted in his stomach.

“Oh. I see,” Mary Beth said, seemingly catching on to what he was saying. Her pink-coated lips turned downward in a disapproving frown. “Well, have a good day, Mr. Nashton.”

“You as well,” Edward sighed.

He returned to his office shortly after, getting back to work. For the next few hours, he kept himself occupied, performing and completing his tasks well beyond his skill level and with the utmost precision. He finished running the program on the laptop Armstrong gave him, and by the end of the day, the brute still hadn’t come to collect it himself. Sighing, Edwad decided to deliver it to Armstrong himself; he planned on staying late anyways to make up for the two hours he missed this morning. He made his way to the Narcotics Division floor, where Armstrong worked, and quickly found his office – but it was empty. Groaning under his breath, Edward set the laptop down on the man’s desk and wrote him a quick note on a nearby sticky pad. Well, hopefully now Armstrong wouldn’t complain about him being “late”.

Edward quickly returned to his own office, but as he approached, his steps came to a slow as he realized the door was open a crack, not at all how he’d left it. The hairs on the back of his neck rose on end as he neared, before pushing the door open and stepping inside, but he saw nothing disturbed – until his gaze came to land on something resting near his keyboard. He wandered over, before he suddenly felt a strange lightness fill him when he realized what it was – because it was a small package of Halloween themed sugar cookies, wrapped in plastic with a neat little orange bow. Attached was a note: Happy Halloween, Mr. Nashton – Mary Beth.

Edward smiled. Perhaps not everyone here at the GCPD was an idiot, after all.

[adhdnursegoat]

Cat & Mouse stim board for @caesariawritesstuff 💜💜💜

sources: x x x x x x

[gent-art]

Insomniac Spider-Man V Arkham Zsasz

(Fanart of Insomniac Spider-Man V Arkham Asylum’s Rogues Gallery p2/??)

(The gist/ fanfic of how we got to the art above)

The battle reaches its conclusion as Spider-Man defeats Bane, leaving him webbed up and unconscious. Bane’s last word, “Bruja,” lingers in Peter’s mind, a cryptic utterance that haunts him as he learns more about Dr. Young and her possible connection to all this. After a brief conversation with the tired Commissioner Gordon, Spider-Man begins to piece together a troubling connection between Dr. Young, her research, and the Joker. Gordon assures him he’ll handle transporting Bane back to Blackgate, allowing Spider-Man to pursue answers.

Before swinging off toward the north wing of Arkham Asylum, Peter glances one final, solemn look at Bane, a flicker of curiosity crossing his mind as he wonders what could drive someone to such a dark path.

Through conversations with Oracle (Barbara Gordon) and Alfred Pennyworth, Spider-Man begins to understand Arkham’s labyrinthine chaos—and the skepticism his presence brings. They keep him at arm’s length, wary of his intentions, curious about Batman’s absence, and unsure why their systems had granted him access with Batman not being connected.

Barbara, initially cautious, starts to warm up to Peter after his efforts to save her father and subdue Bane. As he navigates Arkham’s wings and sewers to track down Dr. Young, Oracle provides guidance, small talk punctuating their exchanges. The asylum echoes with screams and the clanging of metal, amplifying the foreboding atmosphere.

When Barbara questions why Spider-Man, an outsider, would involve himself in Arkham’s horrors, he responds:

“Yeah, this place gives me the creeps. Each minute i’m here, I can feel this place itching at me and trying to claw at my head. Way creepeier than Ravencroft… But if people need my help, I have to be here. It seems now if I were to turn away now, alot of people can either get hurt or worse. With great power comes great responsibility. I don’t know how your guy did it, but I’ll do my best to keep this from spiraling out of control.”

His words resonate with Barbara and Alfred. Beneath the humor and quips, they see Peter’s resolve—a softer, unique kind of heroism. Words that are as powerfuls as Batman with a softness to it that make it unique to Pete.

Spider-Man’s journey takes him to Arkham Mansion, where armored goons guard Dr. Young’s research. Oracle reveals her troubling connection to “Jack White,” one of the Joker’s aliases. Determined, Peter disarms the guards and frees hostages while Joker taunts him. Unlike Batman, who might let the Joker ramble, Spider-Man fires back with his trademark wit.

The goons laugh at Spider-Man’s retorts, fueling Joker’s frustration. Harley Quinn’s attempts to soothe him only add to the chaos. Beneath the banter, Peter’s anger grows as Joker delights in tormenting his victims, making their suffering into a game.

Discovering Dr. Young’s research notes, Spider-Man resolves to destroy them, ensuring they can’t be used for further harm. His resolve to stop the Joker strengthens, even as his path to Dr. Young is interrupted by Scarecrow’s fear toxin.

His This second encounter with the gas drags Peter into a vivid hallucination, reliving the night Uncle Ben died. He walks home after his wrestling match, only to find police cars and flashing lights surrounding his Queens home. Aunt May’s anguished cries echo in his mind as a cold numbness washes over him. For a fleeting moment, the desire for vengeance consumes him.

Fighting through the hallucinations and masked thugs, Peter escapes Scarecrow’s grip, finding himself atop the asylum’s bell tower. With renewed determination, he navigates the hospital as Oracle informs him that Victor Zsasz has taken Dr. Young hostage in the warden’s office and library.

Zsasz, desperate to protect himself from Spider-Man, holds Dr. Young as leverage. Peter, undeterred, devises a plan to take him down, ready to confront another of Arkham’s twisted denizens.