#Batman villains headcanons

[undertheredhood]

any dc character: *confessing something about their past they kept hidden out of fear/shame*

their batfam bff who had already known for a while and is now desperately trying to hide that they knew the truth this entire time: “oh, wow! that is so crazy, i am so sorry you had to go through that.”

[incorrectbatfam]

Weirdest thing the batfam saw Bruce have in his belt that worked against a rogue

Joker: All out of weapons already, batsy? We didn't even get to the fun part.

Bruce: That's what you think.

Bruce: *pulls a nickel out of his belt*

Bruce: *walks to the batarang vending machine*

Bruce: *inserts the nickel and picks a batarang*

*batarang gets stuck*

Bruce, hitting the machine: Stupid thing always eats my money.

Joker:

The batkids:

Joker: Does this happen a lot?

Dick: The smoke pellet machine on Main Street is worse.

Bruce: *reaches into the slot and gets his arm stuck*

Bruce: Someone help me.

Damian: *sighs and pulls Bruce's arm out*

Bruce: Thanks, kiddo.

Bruce: *kisses the top of Damian's head*

Bruce: *turns around and stabs Joker with the batarang*

The batkids:

Duke: I just wanna know how he's getting it at 1940s prices.

[acid-ixx]

brutus: the only fucked up thing in the world is you

— masterlist !

let me pitch in another idea before i forget about it, but picture this: a oneshot (or mini-series) based off of "ma meilleure ennemie" where it's platonic yandere batfam x brutus! reader (inspired by jinx in arcane though) x yandere! conner kent. don't mind this at all, i'm trying to flesh out the reader's past in a shorter post 😭

you guys get the general gist. you get adopted by bruce wayne, neglected by the same father all throughout, hurt yet desperate to please your family. though instead of giving up and moving out; you take it in yourself to try to become a vigilante like them, without bruce's supervision you'd be out at night in your stupid costume and determine smile—

fighting crime with an (unsure) grin like your idol, nightwing, in gotham of all places.

in your measly trial of becoming a hero, you fuck up and nearly die at your first try by a criminal attempting to gun you down, if not for the familiar face of tim's best friend, a man you occasionally find yourself staring in awe at every time he visits.

you meet superboy face to face, he charms and saves you from nearly dying. it is him who helps and supports you with your journey, and for the first time in a while you feel seen.

not by your family, not by the vigilantes you idolize— but by the same hero seen as only a mere clone by most.

you quickly fall in love with him, he does so too. that's how your typical romance with the hero goes. it's through his willingness to always assure you that he's yours and that you'll never be alone with him that you dismiss the ache in your chest at another day being ignored by your family, by the flutter in your heart at how you met the one.

he kisses you like you mean the world, he holds your hand every time the doubt becomes too much, it's him who swipes your hair away from your sweaty forehead and tear-stained cheeks, just to let you nuzzle into his leather jacket; to feel and melt into warmth of his blazing chest.

and through it all, you're unaware of just how much he truly loves you from the start, how his heart beats for you and only you.

then one night, in a time where you're without your boyfriend who was in a mission in another dimension, is when you finally see them, your family, huddled together in one of the corners of the alleyway, struggling with a particular fight, that you decide it's high time that you disrupt the flow and help.

you try so, with one of your handmade weapons, but instead of it exploding successfully, out of reach in your family's perimeters, it inadvertently causes the buildings in the alleyway to collapse with its impact. it kills not only the criminals they're fighting, but countless of civilians in the process, and you're the perpetrator of it all.

... standing in front of the mess you made, blood on your makeshift combat boots. you always make a mess of things, that's why you don't belong, that's why you nearly died at your first night if not for your boyfriend saving you. and now, under the cast of the moonlight—

you're the villain in their eyes.

they don't even acknowledge how you share the same glinting orbs of the ghost that always stares at each and every one of them sullenly. they don't notice the familiar shadow your hair casts, or how you're shaking and silent all throughout the entire scene.

... as if it's the first time you bare witness to such a gruesome sight of gore and scattered flesh.

they don't see that, they don't see you, as always.

all they see is red.

red that stains at the crown of your head, all throughout the soles of your shoes.

bruce doesn't hesitate to beat you black and blue once he gets his hands on you, uncaring for the loud wails (he doesn't know you're crying for the people you killed...) and tiny whimpers that escape your throat, the others don't even pull him back, watching the scene unfold like they're mere bystanders rather than... heroes who could've saved you.

and just when you're about to make a run with one of the openings, he rips at your clumsily disguised mask and comes face to face with you, hoping that he finally sees his child.

but he doesn't flinch back, he doesn't even recognize you, let alone how young and naive you truly are to the cruelty of the world. he sees a monster, he doesn't hear you call him 'father' the meek apologies, or the sorry way your hand braces itself on the merciless impacts on your face.

only for your nose to crack and drip with blood either way, for your eyes to bruise into disgusting shades of purples, blues and yellows, until you're a mess of pierced, delicate skin and impalpable flesh.

you want to die the harder you feel your bones crack under the pressure, you want to die, even when someone finally ripped him out of his clutches and you, and when you had released another one of your smoke bombs that was actually miscalculated toxic fumes, forcing your legs to carry you to your vehicle, adrenaline consuming your entire being despite the tears and the pain that wreck at your body.

ever since then, you've run away. to a world unknown, a city you couldn't recognize, broken heart, broken dreams, broken body. every part of you feels broken.

you couldn't even confront conner in fear that tim has already told him of your situation, you break up with him through a burner phone and change your entire appearance afterwards in fear of being recognized by the very same people who destroyed your life. you try to overcorrect by wearing the opposite of what your vigilante persona wore. you want a fresh new start, a new lease on life.

you still want to be a hero like them.

yet there's a small voice in your head telling you violent thoughts that turn into harsh screaming, criticism, insults, yells at your pathetic being.

they rip and mock at you, the voices of the damned in that wretched day became silhouettes, your tormentors who grate at your ears every time you try to sleep in your molded bed in some shitty apartment in a shitty new city. they tell you it's your fault — it is, god, everything is your fault...! — you're nothing but a worthless mistake if it meant the bat was willing enough to nearly break his moral code just to teach you a leasson.

but you're not only a mistake, but also a monster who killed people too.

suddenly, it's hatred that dictates your actions and not misdirected hope. suddenly, the line between self-hatred and the burning jealousy at how easy it was for bruce to forgive his other children's mistakes as compared to yours; it all blurs into one intangible urge to hurt once more.

the longer the voices went on, the longer you stared at the twisting shadows and were condemned to paralysis in a rotting bed to repeat that scene of carnage over and over again— the more your head feels like it's splitting apart at the seams and you forget what love, what forgiveness, what grace feels like.

suddenly, you're adopted by a villain in one of your nightly escapades.

he knows of your crimes, of your misery and struggles, and he wants to transform you into his perfect sidekick, an easily manipulated puppet in the ruse of his crimes: you let him, you've nothing worth losing for anyways.

no family, no lover, nothing worth fighting for.

you're trained mercilessly, you wear a new face that speaks of only violence and havoc brought upon the plains of every known existing thing. you learn what it's like to let go, to only cherish people who find a use in you, who reward you through your attempts. if it means causing blood and pain to the world for praise, in a man who's willing to not condemn you but ro applaud you instead.

and all throughout, you slowly start to forget about conner kent, superboy, your first love, your only one. either by the hidden shame that torments your thoughts of what your ex-boyfriend would've seen in you, or the genuine thrill of the chase from policemen ready to gun down the new threat, you.

you forget what his touch feels like, the ghost of his fingertips pressing against your waist, his featherlight kisses on your shoulders, the texture of his jacket that wraps around your body like a hug, his raven hair tangled on your fingers, and even the feel and taste of his tongue on your mouth.

every intimate moment with him is replaced by the thirst for vengeance, by the still growing need to satisfy your new mentor, just to satiate the looming parts in the back of your head wishing for a semblance of a family member loving you back.

everything was fine, it was normal and you felt the sense of twisted love and satisfaction. you could live in this moment forever, but even villains accustomed to chaos need a new change of pace—

or rather, to relive what has triggered them to become who they are now.

so it's only when you step foot in gotham, yet again, to bring true carnage into the wretched city, with enough of your protege's convincing despite the concealed fear in the corner of your eyes, that you begin to fuck up even once more.

a/n: this is shit like dumpster fire trash conpared to my other works, and it's really short too uhm, but i need to establish smth in my drabbles because i'm prone to forgetting things a lot, courtesy of my dissociative amnesia LMAO. idk half of what i wrote, i speedran it, added tags and pictures and i already forgot about what i wrote. but this is just the flow of it all so i might cringe at this once i reread it tomorrow and possibly even delete this thing if i hate it enough. hope u guys enjoy this before it might go in the dumpster 😭

[yanderemystic]

sofia falcone yandere headcanons pretty pls????

— Sofia’s traits: Manipulative, paranoid, possessive.

Sofia has suffered so much. Damaged bits sticking to her skin—biting anyone who deemed too close, except for you. Somehow, you were able to get her collected. Snuck into her heart when she needed someone the most; when trust was given the most, and now she can’t let go of you.

For a potential relationship with her, she uses those around you as a springboard. Everything is terrible all of a sudden; even if everything was great before, you and Sofia became even closer.

Sofia points out every mistreatment. Anything in the past to the current issues. The changes in behavior, canceled dates, and sudden constant avoidance. Sofia reassures you that it isn’t your fault. It’s them. You can’t trust them, at least not anymore. The two of you belong to each other savagely, requiring each other in more ways than them. 

Her favorite thing in the entire world is hearing you talk. Even in a room full of people, she could recognize yours best. When eating out, she hums toward you—acknowledging what you’re saying, but she ends up lost anyway. She enjoys your conversations, even if she isn’t very knowledgeable about the topic. Focusing on how your tongue moves, teeth whistling, and how your voice croons between sentences.

Opening about her past is gut-wrenching—the constant betrayals and the terrifying fear of abandonment scare her. But she works on it for you. Allowing you to visit her therapy sessions, she slowly opens up about her scars and how each one has a thick memory connected to it. Her eyes watch you closely when you touch them, fingers dragging along the rugged edges. She expects pain but gains an addicted love for your soft touch.

She is constantly touching you. Despite her private demeanor, she's very clingy. Constantly having her arm interlocked with yours, keeping you skin-close. Her lips are always chasing yours, droning you in if you are too slow for her liking. Hands interlocked with an iron grasp, and deep hugs that are met with inhaled neck kisses. Her nails endlessly drag against your skin, chuckling when you get goosebumps. 

Loyalty is very important to her. Sofia expects you to keep her updated on your day, change of schedule, or your list of friends. Call her after work and before bed. Tell her all about the dates and what you did during the time she’s gone. If she suspects lies, a sense of breaching trust, she becomes demented.

She hates being violently jealous, but she needs you to realize strangers are parasites. If she senses they are a threat, she acts on it. Despises when people are too close to you, make you smile, or even laugh. The enormity of her possessiveness is dangerous. Sofia will test limits, leaving thick blotches of lipstick to show others, and if that isn’t enough, possibly a dead body will be shown of how crazy she is for you.

But, assuming time will only tell, it’s better to keep her distracted and collected—helping her with the urged warnings. Reassuring her and keeping promises. Nosing the area between your neck and shoulder, relishing your weighted body on top of hers. Your heart is what she craves. The sound of your lub-dub is a lullaby, keeping her very grounded. 

Once embarking as her romantic partner, Sofia will be sleeping with you permanently. Your apartment is now both yours, and sometimes you'll wake up with her beside you; originally going to bed without her. She sticks to your flesh—cold hands interlocking each other around your lower stomach, nails intending your flesh, squeezing when she feels you slightly move. She keeps you in bed with fleeting kisses until you have to absolutely leave.

Sofia adores how you smell. An odd adoration, but she can’t help it. Your smell helps her more than anything. Constantly complimenting you that you smell wonderful, even if you hadn’t showered. She’s not sure why she loves your scent so much, but it’s like an addiction. Your t-shirts, hoodies, even bras are shared—constantly pulling up your shirts, and inhaling. Goosebumps crawling underneath her skin, thrusting her heart faster, and just edging her to near ecstasy. Makes her nerves clench close, and bones go numb. 

So sorry this request came out late, I had some family emergency. Although, I had fun writing this! Requests are still open ♡

[cece693]

Painted Devotion

pairing: the joker x male reader tags: male reader is a hero, joker is infatuated with you, no joker used in mind, the thought is there

The moment the SWAT team hauls him away, you think this is finally over—until you hear that cackling laugh echo through the paddy wagon window.

A few days pass. You immerse yourself in your usual hero duties—cleaning up small-time heists, taking down petty thugs. But it doesn’t escape your notice that you almost miss the Joker’s particular brand of chaos. There was something in his eyes that day, a wild, obsessive affection that went beyond the typical villain-hero dynamic.

You’re patrolling a dingy back alley near the Bowery when it happens again. A security guard from the Gotham Museum of Contemporary Art is doubled over, reeling from a sudden gas attack. The faint green haze around him makes your stomach churn; you’d know that Joker toxin anywhere. Instantly, your heart pounds. He’s out. He’s free. Or worse—this is part of his elaborate scheme to bait you again.

You slip into the museum through a shattered stained-glass window. The corridors are dim, silent except for your footsteps. Then you see it: a large neon sign mounted on the marble statue of the museum’s founder. The sign reads: “You hardly come to see me. So I brought my exhibit to YOU!” in swirling, chaotic letters. Around the base of the statue are clown-faced mannequins, each posing with various “Joker merchandise”—fake bombs, painted roses, over-sized playing cards.

A voice croons from above: “Hero? Heeeero, come out, come out, wherever you are…”

The Joker drops down from a second-floor balcony, landing with a theatrical flourish. He’s practically bouncing on his toes, as though he’s been waiting for this moment all night.

“Oh, I knew you’d show,” he says, a desperate glee flickering across his painted face. “After all, you always do. But you sure are taking your sweet time.” He adjusts his lapels, letting out a comically offended huff.

You glance around, searching for hostages or bombs. But surprisingly, you see none. Just the Joker, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes crinkled in a mix of frustration and delight.

He points a gloved finger at you, wagging it like a scolding parent. “I heard you had a run-in with…oh, what’s-his-name…Candlefly? Firefly? Some lesser insect who tried to torch a warehouse? He barely even had to set a building ablaze, and poof, you came running! Meanwhile, your dear Joker?” He clutches his heart, feigning heartbreak. “I have to pull the entire Gotham Philharmonic into a fish tank, or blow up half the Arkham library just to get you to glance my way!”

Stepping closer, you notice he’s trembling, excitement layered with genuine distress. It’s disturbing how you can practically feel his longing crackling in the air.

“Haven’t you been getting my letters?” he whines. “I’ve poured out my heart on stationery that cost a fortune! And that last ‘little gift’… you didn’t even thank me.” He pouts, lip jutting out like a petulant child. “Don’t you know how to accept a token of affection, or do I need to teach you some manners?”

Your brows furrow, keeping your guard up. “This isn’t how you show affe—”

He cuts you off with a playful stomp, then does an overdramatic twirl. “Oh, don’t you lecture me on love, hero! I try so hard. You ignore me, but you still find time for these losers instead of your dear Joker!” He narrows his eyes, voice wavering between mania and heartbreak. “It’s humiliating, you know.”

Despite the dangerous situation, you feel a twinge of pity. His feelings—warped though they are—seem undeniably genuine.

You stand your ground, trying to quell the swirl of sympathy. “Joker, people are getting hurt because of these stunts. Whatever…feelings you have, it doesn’t justify—”

“Feelings?” His manic grin twists into a desperate smile. “Oh, I have more than feelings, dear. I’m infatuated. Smitten. I want to see that lovely expression of shock on your face whenever I pop into your life. Isn’t that romantic?” He sighs dreamily, then cocks his head. “Don’t you like being wanted?”

Your jaw tightens. You can’t let him get under your skin. Instead, you try to see if he’s rigged the museum with explosives; it’d be typical Joker. You subtly shift your gaze, looking for signs.

He notices immediately. “Looking for bombs, are we?” he snickers. “No bombs this time. No guns. Just me.” A faltering grin paints his face. “I wanted to talk. Really talk. Because if I have to blow up another building to get your attention, well…” He shrugs, glancing away with an exaggerated wave of his hand. “I will, but I’d prefer not to. I want you all to myself, without those distractions.”

He slinks forward until there’s scarcely a foot between you. His gloved hand stretches out, almost daring to brush your chest.

“Is it really so hard to drop by Arkham for a chat? Maybe we could schedule a…date.” He laughs, though there’s desperation woven into his tone. “But no, you’re too busy chasing every nobody in Gotham. I suppose I’m just…unremarkable to you.”

He pouts again—really hamming it up—his voice taking on a whiny edge. “You don’t love me. You only show up out of obligation. It’s not fair.” You swallow hard. The tension is suffocating, a bizarre blend of comedic theatrics and real heartbreak. You have no illusions about his capacity for violence, but that undercurrent of raw longing is shaking your resolve.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you finally manage. “People are scared, Joker. They’re terrified. And you’re not giving me a choice but to respond.”

He giggles, shoulders bouncing. “Precisely! That’s the point, my dashing do-gooder! If the only way to see that handsome face of yours is to threaten the entire city, then so be it. I’ll do whatever it takes, because I— I— oh, you’ll laugh at me if I say it.”

He claps a hand over his face, peeking at you through splayed fingers. The sight would be comical if it weren’t so chilling. You stand there, arms tense at your sides, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

A moment later, he sighs heavily, dropping his hand. “But I have to say it: I love you, you stubborn, noble idiot! There! Now it’s out, for heaven’s sake. Laugh, scream, do what you want.” He throws his arms up, voice cracking with frustration. “But don’t you dare run off to fight some C-lister while I’m locked away again. I won’t stand for it, do you hear me? I won’t stand for it!”

As if on cue, the sirens outside begin wailing, bright red and blue lights swirling through the museum windows. The GCPD. They’ve arrived, no doubt alerted to the disturbance. Joker glances at the lights, then back at you, his expression torn between amusement and disappointment.

He exhales a broken laugh, lifting his hands in a theatrical surrender. “I guess our rendezvous is over.” He twists around, letting the cops see him, raising his arms as they enter. But even as the officers draw near, weapons trained, his attention remains locked on you.

Your mind spins with everything unsaid, everything you never dreamed you’d hear from the Clown Prince of Crime. He meets your gaze once more, a faint scowl on his lips.

���Next time,” he murmurs, “maybe you’ll come of your own accord.” He tilts his head, his voice turning whiny again. “Because I’m so sick of having to go through all. This. Trouble.”

The cops close in, cuffing his outstretched hands. Joker doesn’t protest; he simply grins—a delirious mixture of sadness and triumph. As they pull him away, he lets out a manic giggle, calling over his shoulder:

“I’ll be waiting, my sweet hero. I’ll keep sending gifts— and next time, you won’t ignore me, will you?”

The museum falls silent, the Joker’s cackle fading into the background as he’s led outside. Part of you is relieved it’s over. Another part knows it won’t ever truly be over—because for the Joker, you’re not just a heroic rival. You’re an obsession, a twisted muse, the one he can’t bear to be without… even if he has to destroy Gotham to make you come running.

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘THE VALLEY, [hard kinks! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Edward Nygma, Jerome Valeska, Jervis Tetch

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; hard and unusual kinks hcs with the gotham villain men

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE PORN like this is absolutely filthy and descriptive. Some of these are probably too creative and WAY out of character, but oh well. I need to practice my smut writing skills and what better way to do it then with some short scenarios of our boys ? HARD KINKS (all of them are too kinky for there own good) sadomasochistic sex warning for victor and jerome,,, and (sort of?) non-consensual hypnosis warning for jervis, somnophilia and bondage warning for ed. controlling and degrading behavior.

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “Obey, like I’m your master babe.” The Valley by Miguel

He has a habit of leaving in the mornings. He’s a gangster, a crime lord. He loves his job…you think. But it’s hard. Especially seeing him go. Which is why when the two of you fuck, he makes it worth your while.

Yes, he’s shy. He despises indecency. He doesn’t fuck, he makes love. At least, that’s what he likes to think, so you let him.

But you know better. Oswald can’t control anything about himself. The man is impulsive and spoiled. And when he wants you to feel something, you feel it. For better or for worse.

Which is why when he’s awfully pent up and sexually frustrated, you reap the benefits of the king of gotham’s cock pistoning into you. He needs to feel wanted. He needs the two of you to feel loved. He thinks the two of you are sweetly and slowly fucking in his mind. But in reality?

His thick length is hammering into you, selfishly ignoring your pleas. No, he gets drunk on them. Even if he doesn’t want to admit how obscene he’s being.

You’ll feel his sticky tip align with your pussy. He means to enter you slowly, but before you know it, he’s letting himself go. Every inch of his cock is filling you up, taking you in. His eyes are rolling back as he feels you clench around him, and he tries to push all the more unsavory thoughts out of his head.

Thoughts of you tied up. Worshipping him. Unable to resist him. Thoughts of you riding his thighs, while he gives the order to shoot someone dead. The idea of you bending to him, being a good servant. Kissing his shoes, groveling and kneeling. Degrading you.

His fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and ass, clawing at any part of you he can grasp.

His mother taught him better, he reprimands himself. But how can he stay composed and loving when you look at him like he’s the only man in the world?

Oh, he wants to make you feel good, loved, and have this be an act of intimacy. It’s what he was raised to believe sex was for. But he also wants you on your knees, choking on his length, collared like a dog.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “I wanna fuck like we're filming in the valley.” The Valley by Miguel

Victor is always upfront with what he wants. And he’s been around the block one too many times. He’s fucked around quite a bit. He’s a ladies man, what can he say?

Which is why vanilla sex is entirely boring to him. Well, maybe not entirely. Not with you.

But theres something so special about mixing physical pain, his sole desire, with you, his other sole desire. It’s his lifes work, meeting the love of his life. What’s not to like?

Which is why he blunty suggests the idea. And boy is he glad he did.

A phone camera is pushed into your face while he records everything. The sloppy noises of your pretty pink mouth slipping and sliding around his cock.

It’s not just any homemade porno either, no. It’s a borderline snuff film.

He films himself slotting his cock into your swollen lips, one hand recording, another hand on a pistol pressed firmly against your head while you choke on his cock. The gun isn’t loaded of course, at least, you don’t think it is.

If the gun is loaded, you’re sure he’s playing a dangerous game with himself. Testing his own capabilities. He’s the best of the best, and his fingers are placed firmly on the trigger. If he loses control or focus for even a moment, you could never see the light of day again. Each time he cums is like a self-made test for himself, an ego trip. He’s excercising the greatest control not to accidentally pull the trigger and pop your top.

You’re spitting wildly, tears and saliva and cum mixing on your face. You’ve been sucking him off for what feels like hours, playing this game, and it’s still not enough. No, the man could live his whole life with your face inbetween his thighs. You have no clue what round you’re on.

“There you go…sweetness. Uh-huh…take it.” He’ll press the gun further into your temple, talking down to you slowly. It’s awfully demeaning.

He never shuts the fuck up during sex. This is no exception. His dry humor persists in every word, even as his gun comes into contact with your fucked out wet face, or a blade slices through your sweet soft thighs.

He’s doing close-up shots of every cut he makes on your skin. He marks the both of you, respectively. He keeps the videos in his pocket for later. Y’know, just in case you aren’t there, and he needs something to jack off to. He’s a manwhore, and he can admit it.

He’ll ask to show the videos to Wendell. Just so he knows Victor wasn’t lying about his girl being a total catch.

𝐸𝐷𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐷 𝑁𝑌𝐺𝑀𝐴

♫ “I wanna taste your sweat, force my fingers in your mouth.” The Valley by Miguel

Oh, Eddy. Ever the show man. Oddly enough, I think he has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive out of everyone on this list. In the words of CMS, "He loves donuts and getting laid." You're no exception babe.

Similarly, he isn't the kinkiest when he's at the GCPD. The poor baby is so vanilla; so eager to please. If you want a man to put your needs above his own? Look no further. Eddy is your guy. But similar to Ozzy, the man grapples with control. How can he resist when your small sleeping body looks so innocent? So willing?

You wake up to him pumping his dick deep into your hole, groping your breasts and ass, hips plowing harshly into your stretched cunt. He wants to apologize, for waking you. He feels bad of taking advantage of you. But it's your fault. The man is a little bit of a creep and has gone his whole life without pussy. What did you expect?

That being said...when he undergoes his transformation of sorts? It's like he has something to prove, to you and himself. Riddler baby is tired of hiding in the shadows, no, it's show time. If you thought the somnophilia was kinky, you've seen nothing yet.

Season 3-4 Ed is desperate to dominate you. Claim you in every way. Prove to himself that you're not going anywhere. It's a deep seated need to exert control, with a touch of dramatic flair.

Which is why, from time to time, especially on special occasions, you'll wake up from being drugged, ball-gagged in a warehouse, tied to a chair, moaning around a vibrator overstimulated against your cunny. He'll watch the whole show, pleased with his handiwork.

Might even turn it into a game. How many riddles can you answer? Maybe if you get one right, he'll let you cum. And if you don't get one right, prepare to be in for a long, long night.

Ed's pushing his thick long fingers into your tight little pussy, watching your cream spread along his fingertips. He'll force his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself. Making you taste what he's doing to you.

He's giggling while he does so, smile wide while you gag around him. Oh, this will be fun.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “lips, tits, clit, sit.” The Valley by Miguel

Would it be too brave to go on record to say the mans a virgin? I'm sorry, but he didn't get any pussy in that carnival.

Which is why he's incredibly sex starved. The man is feral. Hungry. He fucks you like a dog in heat half the time. You're his own personal pocket pussy, who will love him no matter what.

So when he tells you to do something, you better do it.

For instance, when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit. No hovering. No, he wants the entirety of your weight in his mouth so he can tongue fuck you into oblivion.

He's wildly gripping at you, laughing like a mad man as he keeps you in place firmly. He's digging into your cunt with his tongue like a man whose getting his first lick of pussy. He's slapping your ass, letting you ride his face like a cowgirl.

He'll slap your sopping cunt. He'll spit in your mouth, on your face, on your pussy. He loves everything feral and sloppy. And for his own good, the man can't shut up. He loves some good dirty talk.

"Hah! There you go, doll. You want it raw? You do, don'tcha? Naughty, naughty girl." Excuse his breeding kink. "Should just pump you right up with my cum. Get you all messy. Cream-pie you riiiiiiight here," He cackles, hand hovering over you're lower stomach.

He likes seeing your face contort in pleasure and pain when your thighs scratch the staples on his face.

Oh, he's a biter. Your thighs might be bleeding by the time he's done, biting hard enough to break skin. You'll yelp in pain and it will spur him on, like you're his own personal show to watch.

God, please hit him back. Slap him. Push him around. He adores it- the two of you fucking like wild animals, clawing and at each others throats, all the while his girthy length his pounding into your sweet tight hole.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “Tell me that you love it darling." The Valley by Miguel

Jervis has a very deep seated need to have you close to him. To have you bonded with him. He's obsessive, clingy, stalkerish. And he loves a good old fashioned Victorian flirtation. But god, he gets tired of waiting.

He's a gentlemen through and through. But even gentlemen have needs. And when he sees you in that light blue dress he bought you, pussy peaking out through the short skirt? Or how you lick your lips when the tea he makes you dribbles down?

He'll have to take what he wants eventually.

He knows you'll say yes. Even though the two of you have never talked about sex. No, you're his Alice. His willing little girl. Why would you ever say no to him? And he's right. He could ask, and you would probably say yes.

But, just for a precaution...Can't have you running off like the white rabbit, can he?

It will be late night after the two of you have tea. And he'll pull out his pocket watch. And before you know it, you'll be pinned on top a table, dress pooling between your legs, pulling on his hair against your will.

It's a sight he will never sick of. His sticky ropes of cum dripping, tainting the dress he'd bought you. It trickles down from your spine. You'll be too fucked out to walk the next day, and you won't even remember why.

He takes you, ignoring your pleas and whines of overstimulation. He'll continue to stuff his cock inside you until he feels pity for you.

Hypnotizing you while he's balls-deep inside of you, messily thrusting as he tries to concentrate. "You love this. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love this." His words scramble as he comes undone himself, letting your mind wash over and speak the words against your will.

If somehow you piece two and two together, the cum stains on your dress- and the feeling of being stretched out the next morning...assure him he doesn't have to hypnotize you.

Or let him keep it up. It's more fun for him this way.

[gothamite-rambler]

Nyssa: The sister that makes Talia seem sane

Nyssa (an hour into her ranting): Cats and dogs will live together, babies will cry, towers will fall!

Talia: Nyssa.

Nyssa: The humans will consume each other, and the world bleeds—

Talia (sighing, annoyed): Nyssa.

Nyssa: Yes, it bleeds off the edge of this flat earth—

Talia: NYSSA!

Nyssa (irritated): Whaaat?

Talia: I’m not letting you babysit Damian, and not a damn thing you say will cause the apocalypse if I don’t!

Bruce (defending Talia): And the world isn’t flat. I can’t believe I’m on Talia’s side right now.

Talia: I’m surprised, too. Nyssa, stop talking about nonsense theories and leave!

Nyssa: Fools! Only fools believe the world is round. It’s flat! Hidden by a dome force field!

Talia (pointing to the door): Get out.

Nyssa (continuing): The snow giants keep it guarded!

Talia: Get your ass out before you poison my child's mind!

Talia grabbed her ranting sister by the hair and dragged her out of the room.

Nyssa (whining): Hemar, you never let me talk!

As the bickering sisters left, Bruce turned to Ra's, who silently sipped tea while observing the entire exchange. Damian sat nearby, busy coloring a picture he had just drawn, paying his crazy aunt no mind.

Bruce: Huh, Talia is—

Ra's: The saner of the two, yes. I cannot fathom where Nyssa got that level of insanity from.

Ra's suddenly broke into a wheezing fit that lasted ten seconds, a lingering side effect of the Lazarus Pit. Bruce instinctively pulled his son closer, ensuring he was protected.

Bruce (sarcastically): It’s a mystery, I’ll tell you that much.

*hemar is arabic for donkey*

[laxxarian]

They were in the basement with Jack Fenton having a grave announcement.

It was about the family going to Gotham cuz Jack, as much as he hates it, has to go to a gala since his cousin invited him and his family. He was also threatened that if he were to decline, his cousin would burst through the Fenton Works and live there for three days so Jack decided that it's better to go to the gala and deal with his cousin for one night rather than three.

Who's the cousin you may ask? Bruce Wayne.

[aeturnum-mendacacium]

the entire rouge galary carries antitodes for the fear toxin and some anti jokers spray (if it exists) or some shit, but not for themselves, it's for batman cause they AIN'T gonna deal with the BAT who would literally batshit crazy at that moment. like imagine it's a normal fight everything is going normal, and then batman appears but with a smile on his face, or maybe a different demeanor that makes it looks like he had inhaled fear toxin, and the entire thing just shifts, everyone and I mean EVERYONE, has a vial in their hand and are dodging instead of attacking, trying to talk him down.

Bruce was just high on Ibuprofen and let out a smile cause nightwing cracked a joke. He is extremely confused

The rouges are all extremely serious

[d3athmaskd1v1n3]

Could you write about yan Jonathan Crane where a while after he kidnaps reader they kinda just give him a hug out of nowhere due to just needing some human interaction after so long? I need to hug this weird old man fr fr

Stockholm Syndrome

Thanks for the request! I had fun writing this one, even if it is a bit lonely. (CW: Kidnapping, manipulation, isolation, unhealthy relationships)

Jonathan was busy with work again... for somebody who kidnapped you because of his strange obsession with you, it's odd that he leaves you on your own for most of the day.

You sit down on an armchair in the living room, your gaze fixed on the large bookshelf across from you. It's become your new hobby, of sorts. Seeing which books you've read before, or maybe have heard about. Of course, after doing it so many times, it's become boring, but there's not much else to do. Jonathan has asked you don't go through his things, and you don't want to upset him.

It's odd... at first you were terrified of him. Who wouldn't be scared of their kidnapper? But after a while, after having nobody to talk to besides Mr. Crane... it made you look forward to talking to him. It made you look forward to his affection.

You hear the door open, and you perk up immediately. It's like a Pavlovian response. You hear the door open and you instantly feel happier knowing that Jonathan will finally be able to spend some time with you.

You get up, making your way to the front door to greet him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

"You're home!" You beam, barely able to contain the joy and relief you felt.

Jonathan pauses for a moment before chuckling and returning your embrace.

"My my, I surely didn't expect this. Were you that lonely while I was gone?"

You pull away, that smile still plastered on your face.

"Seriously lonely. So, how was your day? Can I talk to you while you make dinner?"

"Slow down, (Y/N). You're talking a mile a minute. I'll make some tea, then we can talk about my day. I need some caffeine."

Your smile falls a little, but you nod, watching him as he makes his way to the kitchen. You follow like a clingy dog following its owner.

Jonathan takes note of your behavior, watching you as he readied the kettle.

"... You're adorable, (Y/N). Just a month ago, you avoided me like the plague every time I tried to talk to you."

"Well, what can I say? I don't fear you anymore."

"Don't fear me, or are you just that starved of attention?"

He lets the question linger, as he finishes making you both tea.

"Come now, (Y/N). I've decided I'll indulge you by spending the rest of the afternoon with you. Would you like to watch some television? It's been a while since you've had any form of entertainment."

"I thought you didn't want me to touch your stuff, even when you were home."

"I admit, I think I may have been too strict with you. You've proven yourself to be trustworthy enough to not try to run away, so I think you've earned it. Although, I am tempted to keep you bored and lonely without me if it means you'll continue to be so adorably clingy."

"... is it alright if we can cuddle while we watch TV?" You ask, much to Jonathan's amusement.

[mrmanbat]

In honor of me officially becoming old and gen beta being born in about a month, you get to get my brainrot Batman headcannons.

Tim- I have the least hope for Tim. He’s worse than me. I like to think he’d be at a WE meeting and would accidentally say something like “L- get radioed” without even noticing.

Steph- doesn’t hold back. She says “chat” so often that Jason has started to think she’s talking to her imaginary friend “Chat.” She’s almost as bad as Tim but is able to hold back in professional settings.

Duke- is aware of it- uses it very sparingly unless Tim and/or Steph are making fun of someone, at that point he joins and will shred someone *cough* Jason *cough* to shreds.

Damian- finds it annoying and dumb most of the time HOWEVER I can totally see him using gen-z slang, especially in school. I can also see him taking a shit on the riddler by calling him the anti rizzler.

Cass- only uses it on criminals she’s already detained. Especially if she did without making a noise. She finds it hilarious when a criminal gets taken down in less then five seconds by a black blur with faint Chappell Roan music in the background only for the the black form to whisper “queen never cry” before disappearing again.

Jason- has no clue what it is or why his siblings are yelling “you’ve gyatt to go” and “- 10 aura” across roof tops whenever they see him on patrol.

[one-real-wrimonkey]

Every fanfic has Gotham as dark and cloudy, and understandably so, but where’s my beloved 1960’s Batman TV show Gotham.

A mostly normal metropolitan city with towering skyscrapers and the occasional villain HQ set up by a themed ‘legitimate business’. Visiting emissaries, movie sets, a thriving industrial district, normal diners, lots of random events and places for showy crimes.

Why isn’t Mad Hatter working out of a hat shop? Where’s Jokers hideout behind an ice cream parlour? Penguins high end umberella shop? Louie the Lilac?

Where’s the pizzazz?

You can’t tell me the batfam wouldn’t fit into 60s Gotham.

[incorrectbatfam]

Joker auditions for Insane Clown Posse and gets rejected for too much insane and not enough clown

[acid-ixx]

nah i'm tweaking and i want to post multiple thoughts at once but i can't due to time constraints so choose what any one of you wants to hear my rambles about. since i have so much junk in my drafts, teehee.

no such thing as all of the above y'all hehe. i have so much to say about each and every one of it it's honestly fun to think of so many possibilities with all the characters + the angst and the doom i inflict on the reader is my favorite part of it all.

[batman-dc-imagines]

Hi!!!! May I please request the J squad (Gotham) separately with a reader who works at the police office and is kinda like their inside mole? Like they let them know plans to catch them and are also always willing to help them escape and stuff? THANK YOU ❤️

A/N: All jobs are associated with the GCPD. Slite nsfw on Jerome's end.

Gotham!Jerome Valeska

Job: Police Officer

Oh you little tattletale.

He’s not too surprised by your efforts in trying to keep him from getting caught.

Hell practically half if not most of his followers are or used to be coppers before joining him.

You’re no exception.

Expect to get anonymous calls from him talking and asking about anything other than any more information on Gordon being on his tail or big plans the precinct has been working toward.

For example, one day he called you while on shift to just say, “When are ya gettin’ off cop doody?”.

He has a printed and digital copy of your work schedule.

As we see in Season 4,he has complete control over Arkhams guards and prisoners, even saying that he wants to make a show of his escape, further displaying the extent of his 'showman complex'.

 For the sake of the prompt, if he had any minor inconveniences with his little escape he wouldn’t turn down you assisting him in his plans.

Though do keep in mind his showman complex and that unless you want to be discovered as a traitor, you’ll need to discuss with him a plan where you won’t be seen as an accomplice.

He’ll leave little gifts for you on your desk mostly to show his appreciation for all that you’ve done for him.

How he gets them there, you’re not too sure.

If you don't care for his gifts, he'll offer other ways to show his appreciation. (I'm winking under the eyepatch)

Gotham!Jervis Tetch

Job: Doctor

“Twinkle, twinkle, pretty doctor, how I long to unlock her. In this asylum, you shine with smite, but in my heart, you are my light.” (Yes, this is similar to him and Lee’s interaction.)

When he got sent to Arkham, there wasn’t much he was looking forward to.

Except getting back out on Gotham streets and getting revenge on James Gordon.

But when he meets you? Now there’s something to look forward to.

Once he realizes you’re on his side and help him escape the first time, expect to hear from him often.

Quite often in fact.

When he gets sent to Arkham a second time, doctor visits and check ups are a lot more fun now.

It’s like two kids in kindergarten, passing secret notes to one another while the teacher isn’t looking.

Some being about a plan for his escape while others are all laughs and giggles.

He is a gentleman when it comes to showing his gratitude for your assistance.

That is if he likes you of course.

Gotham!Jonathan Crane

Job: Forensic science technician

When you first met, Jonathan didn’t trust you.

In fact he hated you.

Anyone associated with the GCPD and Jim Gordon, he hated.

He blamed you all for the death of his father.

It took a bit of time and patience for him to fully trust you.

Even when you started becoming a full time mole for him, he still kept you at an arms length.

No matter how often you’d update him on the GCPD and their plans, or Jim Gordon’s whereabouts, he’d just give a vague form of acknowledgment or confirmation in your words.

The only reason he started to put his whole trust in you was when you started showing interest in his experiments.

Especially his toxin.

He starts enjoying your company more when you start helping him perfect his toxin.

You both find out it comes in handy that you’re able to get information on your former colleagues' fears without any suspicion.

He’s able to find weak points in practically every police officer in the precinct.

He starts showing his gratitude for your help later on.

Though he does tend to act vague about it.

[sketchp00ch]

Riddler Headcanon:

He’s the type of guy best friend who gives the most brutally honest advice to any girl best friend he has.

ESPECIALLY if it’s Harley.

“HE’S NOT THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE!! HE’S LITERALLY JUST A GUY!! HIT HIM WITH YOUR CAR—!!!”