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streetlamp-amber · 7 months ago

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blanket fort for the soul

dick grayson x batmom!reader

word count: 2.2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: mention of death, family fluff <3 NOTES: dick grayson my little baby i love you so so much you deserve endless happiness and to be protected from all evil

You were just coming back from your lunch break with two of your coworkers when you received a call from Gotham Academy asking you to come pick up Dick as soon as possible. It didn’t take more than a minute after the call ended for you to inform your boss you were cutting your day of work short today, to grab your black trench coat and bag and to sit behind the wheel of your car, on your way to the private school.

Dick Grayson had entered your lives a month and a half ago, after Bruce took you on a date to Haley’s Circus where the young boy’s parents died tragically in front of your eyes. When you were informed that their child didn't have any family to care for him and would end up in the foster system, you didn't even have to try to convince your husband to begin the process to become his foster parents. It had been two weeks since Dick started living with you in the manor and though he was slowly warming up to Bruce, Alfred and you, he was still plagued with nightmares and a deep sadness about the loss of his family.

“What happened?” You asked the receptionist in a hurry once you arrived at the school. You didn't need to introduce yourself or mention to the woman behind the desk that you were Dick’s ward, perks of being married to Bruce Wayne.

“Ah, Mrs. Wayne!” The headmaster, a bald fifty-something white man with round glasses that you should probably try to remember his name, exclaimed as he appeared in the doorway leading to his office. “Please, follow me.”

You walked around the receptionist’s desk and entered the headmaster’s office, where a small boy with dark hair hung his head low. You could sense the sadness emanating from him the second you stepped in the room. You ignored the principal’s invitation to take a seat in the chair in front of his desk to instead crouch down in front of Dick.

“Dick, sweetie, are you okay?” You asked him worriedly. You rested your hands on his knees and lowered your head to try to catch his eyes.

The young boy shook his head ‘no’ before lunging onto you, wrapping his thin arms around your neck as he wept on your shoulder. You were surprised at first, Dick wasn’t comfortable enough with you and Bruce to do more than holding your hands when outside of the house, but you recovered from the shock in less than a second.

“Oh, bubs,” you whispered in a sigh, hugging him close to you and rubbing your right hand up and down his back in a comforting way as sobs shook his small body.

“He’s been like this since the beginning of the students’ lunch break,” the headmaster sympathetically informed you. “The lunch supervisors tried to comfort him but it was to no avail, so we called you.”

You turned your head to face the older man, noticing at the same time the plaque on his desk that read ‘Principal Richardson’. “You did the right thing,” you told him.

“Given the circumstances, it is more than alright if Mr. Grayson wants to go home for the afternoon,” Mr. Richardson offered.

“Do you want to go back to the manor?” You whispered the question in Dick’s ear and he nodded his head ‘yes’.

You rose up from your crouching position, Dick still hanging onto you tight like you were his lifeboat. Thank God he was a little frail since his parents’ death or you wouldn’t be able to carry the eight year old in your arms right now.

“Thank you, Mr. Richardson,” you thanked the principal and he accompanied you out of the school where one of the lunch supervisors waited at the door with Dick’s school bag and lunchbox.

You sat Dick down in his booster car seat – he was still a little too small to sit without one – and put his bags in the seat next to him before closing the door behind you.

“Please send our salutations to Mr. Wayne,” the principal told you and you shyly smiled, nodding your head one time as you sat down in the driver’s seat.

The ride back to the manor was quiet except for Dick’s sniffles as he continued crying. It broke your heart that you couldn’t just take all of his pain away. Both you and Bruce had lost your parents when you were kids, you understood the grief Dick was in just like you knew that only time will heal him.

Once you arrived home, Alfred came down the stairs to grab your bags while you carried Dick, who was back to latching onto you like a koala, in the house. You kicked off your high heels after walking through the front door and went straight to Dick’s room on the second floor.

“Let’s get you out of that uniform, how’s that sound bubs?” You softly asked him once in his bedroom.

“Okay,” Dick murmured, letting go of your neck to rub the tears away from his eyes and his cheeks.

You sat him down on his bed and turned to his drawer to pull out a pair of pyjamas. You then helped him change his clothes and once he was ready, with Zitka his elephant plushie tucked under his arm, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out of his room.

“Can we make hot cocoa, please?” He looked up at you with his big blue eyes, the colour eerily the same as Bruce’s, and you simply couldn’t say no to them. Not before, not now and definitely not ever.

“Of course, bubs,” you said, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

You both made your way to the kitchen, where Alfred was doing an inventory of the dry food in the cupboards.

“Mrs. Y/N, Master Dick, can I help you with something?” He politely asked you.

“Pretend like we’re not here Alfred,” you told the butler as you helped Dick sit on the kitchen island. “We’re making hot cocoa. Do you want some?”

“You know I would never refuse a cup of your famous hot cocoa, Mrs. Y/N,” Alfred lightheartedly said and the two of you broke down in small chuckles.

“Should we also leave some for Bruce when he gets home?” You asked Dick who was now eye levelled with you from where he was perched on the kitchen island.

The little boy nodded his head ‘yes’ and you set up everything you needed to make the warm beverage, along with four coffee mugs. Dick helped you and in a matter of ten minutes, your drinks were ready.

“Come with me,” you whispered to Dick as you helped him get down from the kitchen island counter. “I have an idea of how to pass time while we wait for the hot cocoa to cool down a little.”

Dick held your hand as you made your way to the living room with the television and the comfy couches (because of course Wayne Manor had more than one living room, including ones that were more formal for the balls and galas you hosted).

“You wanna know what my brother and I used to do when one of us was feeling down?” You looked down at the small boy. He nodded his head for you to continue. “We built the biggest blanket forts that could ever be built. But I think with all the materials we have here, we can build an even bigger one. Are you in?”

You were slowly succeeding at making Dick feel better after the little episode at lunch. Grief comes and goes in waves, and his loss was still very recent. You just wanted to be there for him when the pain hits him.

Dick nodded his head, a little more excitedly this time, and the two of you set off to start building a giant blanket fort using the couch mattresses, throw pillows and blankets stored in the room. You were hanging a blanket that would be the roof while Dick held up the mattresses when Alfred brought your cups of hot cocoa to the living room, the drinks now topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. You thanked the butler and he smiled at you before he went back to the kitchen to complete his inventory, sipping his beverage along the way.

“Are you comfortable in there?” You asked Dick after a moment from the entrance of the blanket fort. He had been in charge of placing the pillows and blankets inside while you made sure the structure was stable.

“Mhm,” he positively hummed in response.

“Alright, I’m gonna give you our cups of hot cocoa then I’m gonna come in with the laptop and we can watch whatever you want,” you told him.

“Okay,” Dick said, his mood lighter.

Once the two of you were settled in the fort with your mugs, you opened the living room laptop (because of course you and Bruce had more than two laptops) and put it down between the two of you.

“So, what are we watching?” You looked at the dark haired boy to your right, waiting for his answer.

He shrugged his shoulders while drinking more of your hot cocoa. Yeah, he was gonna be a ball full of energy until way past his bedtime, but he deserved something fun and comforting. If anything, Bruce could train with him to tire him out once he was back home from work.

“Remember those songs we were listening to on the drive back from Bruce’s office last week?” You tried to jog his memory up to when you blasted Abba’s greatest hits after his first visit to Wayne Tower. You kept stealing glances in the rear view mirror the whole ride, smiling every time you saw Dick bopping his head along to the music.

The little boy nodded his head.

“Well, they made a movie where the characters are on a Greek island and sing the songs the whole time. Wanna watch that?”

Dick shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

You grabbed the laptop and put it in your lap as you went on Netflix and searched for Mamma Mia!. Dick took the opportunity to scoot closer to you, his small body curling around your torso, and you smiled at the fact that he was more trusting and comfortable with you.

When Bruce arrived back home, he came to a stop in front of the living room with the television in it that he was only planning on passing by while he made his way towards the staircase to get to your shared bedroom. The room was disordered and more loud than it usually was at this time of the day, which is what got his attention away from his cellphone. He loosened his tie, feeling more relaxed now that his day of work as ‘Bruce Wayne, CEO’ was over, and approached the blanket fort in the middle of the room.

“What is going on in here?” He crouched down and peaked his head inside the fort.

“So when you’re near me darling, can’t you hear me? S.O.S.,” you sang instead of answering him, index finger pointing in your husband’s direction.

Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes. “You roped him into watching Mamma Mia?” He asked with a hint of a smile.

“I didn’t rope him in,” you scoffed over Pierce Brosnan’s horrible singing. “I suggested it and Dick agreed to watch it,” you sweetly grinned at Bruce.

Dick, who was still curled against you, one arm looped with yours while the other held tight onto his elephant plushie, nodded his head to back up your claim.

Bruce then noticed the two now empty mugs, clear traces of hot cocoa on them. “Did you make hot cocoa?” He perked up, now fully smiling.

“You got this little man to thank,” you pointed to Dick. “We made a cup for you, just heat it in the microwave then you can join us.”

“I’ll be right back,” Bruce said and jogged to the kitchen where a cup of your famous hot cocoa was indeed waiting for him. He was back in the living room two minutes later, shoes and blazer off, top buttons of his shirt undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, ready to relax with his family.

He handed you his cup of hot cocoa for you to hold while he made his way in the blanket fort and settled on your left since the laptop was still in your lap, hence putting you in the middle. Once next to you, Bruce pecked your lips to greet you and when Dick glanced up at him, the look in his eyes wondering if he would also receive some kind of greeting, your husband affectionately ruffled his dark hair before leaning over you to plant a kiss of the top of the little boy’s head.

Bruce then made himself comfortable, also cuddling onto you, and put his head on your shoulder, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips as he did so. You handed him his mug back and the three of you continued watching Mamma Mia!, much to your happiness.

Enveloped in the warmth of your two boys squishing you from both sides, you couldn’t fight off the smile that pulled on your lips. Laying under your blanket fort with your little family, it was moments like this one that made everything else worth it.

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relaxedstyles · 2 months ago

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proseandpsalms · 3 months ago

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It's so peaceful being a Christian who does not believe in the existence of the eternal hell.

Conventional Christians ask me why I believe that. They tell me that there isn't any point in being Christian if we won't be rewarded for my faith.

However, my faith is not validated by the eternal suffering of others and my God is not that small.

#christianity #religion #christian universalism #queer christian #christian

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artist-issues · 1 year ago

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“At least it's not ferociously attacking God quite as directly as Steven Universe did…”

Not that I’m surprised by this statement, but can you elaborate on this? Kinda intrigued by your thoughts on Steven Universe.

Okie dokie, you’re not the only one who has asked me about this, so I suppose I’ll poke the hornet’s nest. 😅 I haven’t talked about this before because I assumed that everyone who wanted to hear my kinds of opinions on stories wasn’t watching or interested in Steven Universe.

It’s like asking vegetarian if they enjoyed a turkey dinner. The turkey dinner was so obviously not made for vegetarians to enjoy, so why would the vegetarian even bother analyzing the turkey?

But I think if some people are asking me why I think Steven Universe is anti-God (of the Bible) its because maybe they don’t know what the turkey is. Not completely. (Maybe not you, because like you said, you’re not surprised by my comment.) So I’ll explain my thoughts on Steven Universe.

If you’re just following me because you liked some stuff I posted, but didn’t realize that I’m a Bible-believing Christian and don’t want to hear about it, unfollow me now. Because I’m going to talk about some hot button issues here and the trolls will come out.

Steven Universe is really well-done. The jokes are funny, the writing is believable, the characters have great chemistry, great design, the concept is fascinating, the slow build-up and reveal of the plot elements is great. But when you watch the throne room scene in the last episode of Season 5 “Change Your Mind,” it’s alarmingly clear how much the whole show is not just settling for defending and championing the LGBTQ+ worldview—it goes all the way to attacking what Christians believe, on the other side.

Anything that’s pro-LGBTQ+ is doing that by default, but this show goes out of its way to do that.

You have to understand: God created and designed us. Deeper than that; He created and designed romantic relationships, and invented marriage. He didn’t just create love—He is love. So when humans come along and do what we’ve always done since the fall, and say, “I’d rather define what Your thing is and how it works for myself, God,” it’s not only an incredible slap in the face, it’s an attack on God’s actual identity—and it’s destructive for us and the people around us. Like a fish insisting it can breathe oxygen.

But Steven Universe goes beyond that. It knows that the Christian worldview is it’s biggest opposition. It digs right down to the heart of the worldview-battle. LGBTQ+ worldview says, “I should get to love what I want and be who I am, because I’m me. Love is love. (By which I mean, any action or relationship I choose to call love is love, because I’m the one calling it that.)”

Biblical worldview says “No, wait, you shouldn’t base your decisions on you alone; what you want changes day to day, and you’re broken, so you can’t ever be satisfied based on what you want—the Bible says God made you for something, and you rejected that, and it broke you. You’re not how you’re meant to be: even what you want and what you think love is is twisted up and can hurt you and others. But if you submit to God He’ll help you, He’ll fix what’s broken and give you new life by making you how you were supposed to be: He’ll live in you and through you.”

Are we beginning to get the picture?

See, the whole thing with the opposing views between LGBTQ+ and Christian people is as old as time. It’s not a new debate. It’s Satan and Eve in the garden. She says, “This is not how God said things should be,” and Satan says, “Are you sure that’s what He said? He knows if you do this thing, you’ll be like Him. You’ll be god: you’ll get to decide ‘how things should be’ for yourself.”

He lied and said that disobedience would satisfy her. That she knew what her own heart needed better than the God that made it did. That the very act of being imperfect would make her godlike.

And then Steven Universe comes along and says “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hotdogs.”

And has a cast of created being characters who’s imperfections (Garnet’s forbidden “love,” Pearl’s obsession, Amethyst’s insecurity) are supposedly “the best thing about them; what makes them who they are.”

And has a main character who used to be a part of the god-like creator relationship, but used her power to come down to earth and completely change who she is into a fully different person.

And has a godlike Creator character who claims she “doesn’t need” her created beings (just like the God of the Bible) but they all have a little part of their creator in them so she has to repress their imperfections; she holds them all to a standard that’s impossible to reach called “perfection” and punishes them when they don’t meet it even though it hurts them to try; she expects them all to do what they were created by her for; she fixes them when they can’t meet her standard by shining her light through them and making them extensions of their Creator.

And has a main character who argues, fights back, tries to stop her, and is answered with lines that sound surprisingly like what LGBTQ+ people hear when Christians argue with them: “you’re only making things worse; you’re just deceiving yourself; even while you resist it your actual light can’t help shining through,” etc.

White Diamond just wants everything to be perfect. Like her. She just wants her created beings to “be themselves.” But what she means is, be how she created them to be.

And she’s the bad guy. She’s playing God in this show, and Rebecca Sugar is saying, “If God is telling us that can only be happy by being perfect, as He is perfect, and doing what He created us to do, then He’s wrong. Our imperfections are what make us special—unique—individuals—free—and there is nobody who has the right to take that freedom away from us, not even out creator!”

And you know what?

If God were like White Diamond, like Rebecca Sugar believes Him to be, Steven Universe would be right.

But He is NOT.

God is not a dictator who forces us to conform to a standard of perfection and then smashes us when we don’t meet it. He is a King who made us perfect to begin with, and we rejected him, because He allowed us to do that. He knew that true love was love that had to be chosen, and He wanted us to love Him by choice, so he gave us the option. But Rebecca Sugar doesn’t understand—there was never “Choose God or Choose Yourself.” There was only, “Choose God or Choose Nothing.” There was nothing except God. Then He created everything. There is no version of reality where you have something better than God, or even slightly less good but different, to pick. You’re not jumping from one ship into a smaller one, but at least it’s yours—you’re jumping from one ship into a void, and then complaining that there’s no other ship. That’s humans. That’s not God. / White Diamond didn’t make her creations perfect (Amethyst) and she didn’t make them for love. She made them for power. That’s not the God of the Bible.

Even when we did choose to try and love ourselves instead of God, and therefore warped our ability to perfectly love at all, He didn’t smash us. True, everything fell and was cursed, which is exactly what He warned us would happen if we chose it, but it was a natural consequence of breaking ourselves. And then He didn’t leave us that way. He didn’t give up on us. And He certainly didn’t just zap us, snap His fingers, quick-fix it and turn us all into robots who are extensions of Him, who say they love Him but only because it’s His voice puppeting us to say it.

No. He came to us, chose to give up His life at the exact point on the timeline when Romans, masters in the art of slow, humiliating, torturous death, would be the ones to carry out His crucifixion, and saved us Himself. Through the sacrifice of His own life. And even then, we still have a choice. We get to choose to accept that incredible self-sacrifice when we don’t deserve it, and be given new life and a relationship with the Creator who knows us and loves us better than we can love ourselves or receive love from others—OR we can just keep stubbornly insisting that our slavery to the opposite of what God wants is somehow freedom, and our twisted versions of love are genuine, and we’re not broken, and die like that. Die broken creatures who lived their whole lives stomping their feet and screaming “I’m not a creature, I’m a god!”

White Diamond sacrifices nothing, because Rebecca Sugar doesn’t know the God of the Bible. She just knows her idea of Him. She’s never actually gotten to know Him. If she had, she’d learn how silly and twisted her idea is.

Because you know what, yeah, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. But people aren’t pork chops. And hot dogs have flavor (not better than pork chops) but they are awful for you.

Christians aren’t perfect cuts of meat with no individuality or flavor. Just because we all know and love the same God doesn’t mean we have no personalities. It just means we don’t think so freaking much about what we are, or who we get to be, or what we like and want. Jeez, what a self-centered, narcissistic, self-obsessed way to live. She plays Steven like he’s this wonder-child, innocent and full of heart, who encourages his friends to love and keep trying. But honestly?

This is very pretty animation but it’s not real. Steven looks happy hugging Steven but self-love doesn’t ultimately get you that.

That’s all based on the premise that what he’s encouraging them to do is actually good, and will make them happy, and will help them love better. And it just won’t. Not in real life. That’s not how any of this works. Self-love is just self-obsession. And that is a sure-fire way to hurt you, and everyone around you.

You’ll never be free by choosing to run to a worse master. You’ll never be satisfied with your crappy attempts at loving yourself, because you were made to be loved flawlessly and forever by someone who is Love Himself.

And choosing to identify with your imperfections doesn’t make you uniquely you. It just makes you exactly like every other human being marching in the same line since the Fall.

White Diamond’s not relational. She’s up high and distant. That’s not God. He made you to be in relationship with Him. He loves you, totally and perfectly, and He proved it by sacrificing for You.

So yeah. That’s the problem with Steven Universe. Come get me, SU fans.

#Steven universe #su #Pearl #amethyst #garnet #Steven universe fans #change your mind #white Diamond #Christianity #Christian’s #asked #answered #thanks #rattling the cage #Rebecca sugar

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thesupercoolchronicles · 21 days ago

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Batman Begins by Kevin Tong

#batman #bruce wayne #comic books #comics #comics art #comic art #dc comics #dc universe #dc characters #batman begins #christian bale

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lionofchaeronea · 1 month ago

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Adoration of the Magi, tapestry by Edward Burne-Jones (with details by William Morris and Henry Dearle). Designed 1888, woven 1894. 258 cm (101.1 in) high x 384 cm (151.3 in) wide. Now at Manchester Metropolitan University, Manchester, England, UK.

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sedlex · 1 month ago

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#cunk on life #the christian cinematic universe #the wacky world of religion

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anitalenia · 8 months ago

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. 𝐎𝐇, 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋, 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝓘𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 . ♡ 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑑𝑢𝑒. 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 ��𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 ♡ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ dark knight!joker x fem!reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ suggestive content, mature content, reader is spoiled but not a brat, reader isn’t necessarily a good person, joker is lowkey your sugar daddy, inner turmoil and lowkey delusions, joker being manipulative ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ slight dark content, a lot of emotional turmoil with reader, lowkey brainwashed reader ♡

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ this is actually like my fav. Joker, I miss him 😞 hope you enjoy ♡ also, this isn’t my best merged gif but I haven’t done one since my wattpad days 😫 2017 era 🕺🏻 Sorry this has no smut in it, but this is my first joker fic so I wanted to do something tame. I’m not sure how I would approach writing smut for him 😭 he cray cray. I do like this idea though so I’ll probably expand on it somewhere down the line. ♡

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ♡ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍. This was a fact constantly paraded around your face everywhere you went in Gotham City. It was in the front pages of newspapers most often, written in big, black, bold letters that the bad man had struck again. Murder, ruination, destruction, robbery, devil — all synonymous with his name, all written in big, black, bold letters.

It would be written in the same newspapers, more often than not, that were shoved into dingy trash cans and sold at corner stores. A big gray photo of his mugshot plastered right onto the front page of the neatly rolled up papers thrown onto your porch every morning. His face was easily distinguishable and it always made you shiver when you saw it; soulless black eyes topped with a frazzled hair of green.

It was televised in the local breaking news segments almost every day on the hour, when you’d be sitting at your glass table drinking your morning coffee, wearing that grand red robe that was much more expensive than necessary. It was always the same story; the bad man has stolen millions from another major bank and has somehow gotten away with it, whatever will Gordon do?

The joker. His face, those beaming crimson lips, they were plastered on the tabloids and the front pages of magazines and painted across the wanted posters that hung on every light pole installed on every block in the grandest city of grime.

He was everywhere you seemed to be, watching, smiling, plotting. His scarred face a shadow in the back of your mind and his maniacal laugh an echo that lingered behind your every thought.

He was in every reflection and sprinkled around every corner; the yellow tape wrapped around the ruins of a building, the joker playing cards mockingly laid out in the street brushing past you in the soft breeze, the eery quiet after nightfall and the laugh dancing in the empty streets everyone pretends to not notice.

He was like a ghost, your own personal demon you couldn’t just brush to the side and ignore. His presence was constant and persistent even when he wasn’t there, gnawing at your sanity like a feral dog thin and hungry, the memory of his smile found in the cold corners of your house and his sourly sweet musk soaked into every pore of your polished home. His very existence haunted you, as you were sure he intended.

No matter the source the message was always profoundly clear to you; you could never escape him.

You belonged to him in his own possessively twisted way you could never rationalize with a sound mind. You were his and he loved to entertain that notion in front of you as often as he could. He had spared your life that night in a carefully orchestrated plot to ensnare you, wrap you in his shadow and keep you tucked away in the dark.

You were his.

Yes, That was a fact that blared in your mind as loud and as simple as big, black, bold letters.

You were his.

Today was a dreaded day for you for one fatal reason and one reason alone. Today was the first of November, a very dreaded day you had found yourself dreading to face during the whole length of October.

With every beginning of a new month he would take it upon himself to visit you, invite himself into your life once more and disrupt any kind of routine uniformity you had developed. He’d come just to remind you of who exactly you belonged to, of who exactly gave you this life to begin with.

Of course, you would see him sparingly throughout the month when he’d come check up on you unannounced — it was really just a ploy to make sure you were sat put and not planning anything devious behind his back. Those moments were short and brief, sporadic and sometimes only ever occurring thrice within a thirty day period. Those moments were manageable.

He was a busy man he’d always say, too busy to attend to you and your whims.

But now it was the first of the month, the beginning of the month. He reserved those days especially for you, to give you his undivided attention and to ensure you’re properly reminded of your place. Today, Joker was going to come to your door once more with the expectation of you catering to his delusion, with the intention of being with you in every sense of the word.

You had found yourself lingering in bed later than usual, being sure to keep the television off to avoid yet another news story on the man you were going to see later on in the evening anyway.

You had avoided going outside, avoided any newspapers or magazines, completely disrupting your normal ritual in order to remain sane at the expectation of what was to occur later on. You didn’t want to see his face, it only served as a heinous reminder of what your life had become; long fragmented strings orchestrated under his wicked, purple gloved fingers.

You had just sat in your living room for the majority of the afternoon in a sweet green dress with a glass of white wine, reading a thick, verbose book you had no real interest in finishing. It might’ve been a dictionary, but you couldn’t focus on the words anyway to know, your eyes just blindly running over blurs of black ink and dwindling for several long minutes on the same page.

Your fingers trembled and you couldn’t help but gnaw on your bottom lip until it was sore, your wine glass constantly refilled and your throat consistently dry.

A part of you hoped that if you drank enough wine you’d be too tipsy to properly remember your night with him; your efforts were pointless and had been for quite some time. Sadly, your tolerance had heightened many moons ago when you found yourself starting to drink more to abide the anxious time you sat waiting, waiting for him.

These were the tell tale signs of your foreboding nervousness, all attempts of futile idle work to distract yourself from looking at the clock overhead your television.

It was a big flat screen, your fancy television was, with the best surround sound and 4K picture any tv on the market could offer. It was unnecessary and cruelly gratuitous — another flashy thing thrown your away to appease you when all it did was take up space. But, you supposed, it’d be selfish to complain.

As with the tv almost everything in your household had been given to you unmerited by the Joker himself; the diamonds, the fancy silver, the lavish fabrics and the fine jewelry. It was all luxuries you used to admire, now they were nothing but blood money to you. They were all one in the same, all tainted with some sort of sin or another he had committed to get them for you in the first place. You really couldn’t stand to be surrounded by them, to be surrounded by the filth.

But, you supposed once more, it wasn’t necessarily unmerited.

If you were really being honest with yourself he had spoiled you, or better put, he had fooled you. He had dangled all the riches and glamour you could’ve ever wanted over your starved, gaping mouth like a chunk of red meat.

You had been skin and bones before him, suffering, discarded to the side of the road like a diseased dog nobody wanted and he had used that to his full advantage, dangling that chunk of meat in front of your face as a faulty promise to ensnare you in his steel trap.

In your old life — that’s what you liked to call it anyway — before him, you were never able to dwell on superficial things like beauty or fashion. They had no place with you then, no substance, as your life was nothing but a dirty stain smeared in the smallest corner of Gotham that would easily tarnish such superficial things. It was a disastrous life held together by the withered scraps of a run down waitressing job.

You had been poor, incredibly so, hungry for the comfort and wealth you’d only ever see dripping off the fancy ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to in their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You were envious of them, angry, easily able to be coerced into any solution that could fix those feelings.

He had viewed your vulnerability as an opportunity, a moment he couldn’t let pass. He had manipulated you with the hollow promises of a magical land full of diamonds and rubies, one in which you’d never be hurt or forgotten about, one in which you’d get everything you ever desired and all your worries would bleed away, one in which you’d look even better than the ladies you’d serve gin and tonics to with their lavish fur coats and shoes.

You had salivated at the thought.

He knew you had been deprived for so long, deprived of love and care, of the warmth and intimacy only a real home could provide. You had missed that sense of belonging, of purpose, and he knew that in the way he selflessly fed to your greedy jaws of want — you wanted it all. He had shown up like a savior adorned in a purple cloak and green hair, coming to your aid. And despite the terrible rumors you had heard about him, the abominable things you’d seen, you had truly thought he was so for a while.

He had saw your famine, your insatiable appetite, and had raised you prosperity, an abundance of all the food, the money, you could ever want. If only you had seen that his promises were just carefully coated secrets to disguise his true intent, a bountiful paradise concealing the sinister hellscape underneath it.

It all seemed like a dream come true at the time. You had ate the scraps of luxury right out of his purple clothed palm and it wasn’t long before you had realized that you’d ate too much; you’d been spoiled by him, fooled by him, so familiar in the unconventional relationship you had found within him now to ever regret doing so.

You could never go back to your old life now and you knew it, he knew it. You could never go back to the dark, to the sick, to the cruelty of the real world outside of your selfishly curated paradise abundant with food, with money, more than you’d ever had in the accumulation of your whole existence. He had trained you well, fed you so much your teeth were rotten and your belly was full.

If only you had known that there was a price, a trick, before you ever agreed to his terms. If only you had read the fine print in the contract, for there was always a price to pay, a trick up their sleeve, when it came to the matters of a clown.

Yes, you were to be given everything you ever wanted, all the money, the clothes, the makeup, the jewelry, everything, but only in exchange for just one little thing.

Your devotion.

Your devotion to him and to him alone and to only ever him.

It seems meager of course, insignificant and small compared to what you were getting in return.

But no, no you see, because there was so much more to it as there always was to a slippery, two-sided promise. He wanted everything in return for giving you everything in the first place. He wanted your loyalty, your trust, your morals, your essence and your very soul. You were rich in the material sense while he was wealthy in a morbidly different fashion entirely.

He had saved you from the street, gave you food, gave you comfort, gave you a home, and just like a dog you had been blinded by his compassion, too blinded by the glitz and the glamour of his castle to notice the cracks in it’s foundation.

He had saved you, fed you, comforted you, clothed you, his loyal pet, bound to his side forever now with a diamond studded collar, your leash tied to the sinister intricacies of his pale hands.

Now, now you were his in all of your totality, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical bitch dressed up in blood-stained diamonds.

There was no saving you now. You were too far gone, too spoiled by him to ever give up your riches for sanity’s sake. He had filled you with that sense of belonging you desperately craved, your existence catered to him and his needs in exchange for a modicum of companionship.

As time went on you had come to loath your two story home and its white walls, its glass tables and expensive vases, its flower ridden garden and its white oak gazebo. It was too extravagant now, each shiny object digging a hole further in the hollow of your chest where your morals were supposed to be. Now it was all material, all superficial, all things given to appease you yet they only took up space.

But, you supposed for a third time, you could never give it up and go back to the way things were. Yes, you hated this house and its white washed walls that seemed to expand and swallow you whole, digesting your cowardice and greed, but you loved that it was all yours and no one else’s, you loved that he spoiled you and only you and you alone, that in a weird, twisted way you had his devotion just as he had yours.

You hated him and all his complexities yet you needed his company and praise. You were a poor, desolate creature lapping up any semblance of gold and care he spared you. Sometimes you’d wonder if there was better for you outside of your white-walled prison, but then he’d stroke your hair and call you a good girl and you’d wag your tail like it was all forgiven, like you were foolish for even thinking such a thought in the first place.

Yes, you were just as you said, a helplessly devoted, hypocritical, bitch.

You filled your wine glass up once more once the sky had settled into a sheer blue hue, the yellow tainted liquid filled to the edge of the glass as you looked at the clock pasted on the white wall over your fancy television with the fancy surround sound and the fancy 4K picture.

You took a heavy sip of dreaded excitement as the clock struck seven.

He’d be here any minute now.

“So, how ya been, honey? After all it’s been a month since the last time I saw you. I was starting to miss you, ya know. Miss ya real bad. Miss that pretty little smile on that pretty little face…” He drawled out slowly in that scratchy tone of his, his voice gritty and raw, fragmented.

You swallowed nervously as his fingers delicately traced over the skin of your cheek from where he stood in front of you, his black painted eyes looking up at you from the bridge of his nose.

He was hunched over in front of you in the stillness of your living room, amidst the white, both of you stood by the red couch yet he was taller than you as always, clad in his signature purple suit and gloves to match — they were soft on your cheek in the fleeting touch he spared them.

You looked back at him with a measly gaze, breath trembled with the subconscious fear you got whenever he was too close to you. His aura was palpable and dark, and with his irritable tendency to step into your personal space it seemed to swallow you whole and make you uncomfortable (not that he really cared). But you also guessed that if you belonged to him trivial things such as boundaries didn’t really apply.

On the other hand, you couldn’t deny that your body wantonly sought out his whenever it sensed him near — the flutter in your tummy, the tightness in your legs and the excited buzzing in your hands. It was an irritating betrayal to your logical mind, who knew wanting him was wrong yet was left wanting anyway.

You had been steadily convincing yourself it was just the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome, but you were not kidnapped and he was no captor�� well, in the literal sense of the word. But, maybe that’s exactly what this was; you doubted he’d ever let you leave him anyway. Unfortunately, you knew your affections weren’t as simple as black and white. Really, your feelings for him were a puzzling paradox locked in a spinning box better left unopened, lost somewhere in the dark abysses of your mind better left unexplored.

You inhaled a soft breath, blinking up at him as time, in your altered perception, seemed to stretch and bend into a warped mirage of endless minutes and infinite seconds as you found yourself lost in your own thoughts, the smell of him tickling your nose pleasantly.

He smelt of smoke and something sickly sweet, scents that reminded you of cane sugar and the residue of a house fire. His hair was stringy and green, slicked back away from his messily painted white face that seemed to bore into yours.

Your body was tense, back straight and chin up, your arms sternly at your sides as you were too perturbed to know what to do with them. You were awkward, more than usual, having not seem him in an uncharacteristically long time. You had forgotten what pleasantries you used to rely on when he was around, any automated responses you were comfortable with using lost in the fluffiness of the clouds where you’d never find them again.

You were clueless as to what to say, not wanting to give in to this odd domesticity he was portraying and actually be nice to him, but you also didn’t want to risk it and be rude either. He was an unpredictable creature at nature, confounding and bipolar so it took very little for his switch to flip completely. You’ve witnessed that first hand and it made you incredibly wary.

Joker hummed at you then, blank eyes staring at you expectantly when a few moments of silence passed following his question — you hadn’t really paid attention, his touch leaving you stunned and his fragrance leaving you questioning. He rolled his eyes at you, big hand curling into a fist and playfully knocking at your forehead.

You grimaced at the feeling, body jolting from his touch ever so subtly as his dark voice rasped in your ears once more.

“Uh, hello, anybody home? I asked you a question, it’d be rude not to answer it. You have better manners than that, my dear. Go on, tell me, I’m curious now…” You watched as his tongue quickly flickered out in that weird way it always did, his jaw clicking in the blink of an eye. It was a tick you had noticed fairly quickly after meeting him. He couldn’t help it but it disturbed you nonetheless, an ode to his insanity.

You swallowed the dryness in your throat, head feeling fuzzy as you blinked up at him.

He looked at you with straight lips and bored eyes, already expecting a response you were late saying.

“I-um, I’m sorry I was just distracted. I’m fine, thank you for asking. Nothing new has-has really gone on…” You cleared your throat, releasing a steady breath to calm your buzzing nerves. You looked up at him sheepishly, timidly, as he regarded you clinically, like a surgeon trying to dissect a lie.

You could understand his vexation; you yourself were gradually becoming irritated at your lack of attentiveness. Maybe it was because you hadn’t seen him in so long that was throwing you off balance… or maybe because he seemed much handsomer now than he did then. Maybe your loneliness was making him seem much more appealing than he ever was.

Whatever the case may be, you still felt delightfully anxious, a bubbly sick feeling in your tummy that was oddly giddy yet nervous, like you were talking to your crush for the first time. You hated that feeling but could do nothing to deter it.

He smacked his red painted lips, a low displeased hum sounding from the back of his throat, “Mm, distracted, you say? And what are these… distractions, hmm?” His voice was low and clipped, cocking his head at you as he leaned just a little bit closer to you. It was almost a dare to see if you’d avoid the question altogether, his shadow enveloping you in an ironically terrifying way the back of your mind cringed at.

You were unsure of what to say exactly, crippled under his dark gaze and frowned smile as he stared down at you heatedly. His eyes were always so intense and smoldering despite seemingly holding nothing at the same time, blank and emotionless beads sat in the emptiness of inky black pits.

Your lips parted but no words seemed to sound; you were lost entirely in the ebony abyss of his eyes, not sure what to say or how to respond as you were just spewing sentences you yourself barely understood. You were just too busy talking to appease him that you didn’t even listen to a word you said.

“Well, tik tok dearest I don’t have all night.” Joker said numbly, gravelly, staring at you almost irritably for your odd behavior.

Even he seemed to notice your sudden shyness and it was starting to irritate him; you never seemed to have this problem before nor did you ever seem so agreeable. He was greatly familiar with your rude quips and pessimistic sarcasm yet he hadn’t heard a single one out of your mouth tonight.

How odd, not that he was complaining. He preferred you compliant, malleable.

You gulped once more, your gaze flickering down to his flattened red lips then back up to his eyes, hopefully before he noticed the action.

You looked back at him, clearly nervous for no evident reason, “Well I was just thinking about the last time I saw you. It has been a while…” You managed to formulate a legible excuse, voice soft and almost dainty as you looked up at him doe eyed.

You licked your dry lips as you regarded his expression to your statement; it seemed your words flowed easily from the whispers of the heart, ones you weren’t especially keen on sharing yet seemed to share anyway. They just seemed to have spoken themselves before you could stop them… he was just too close, much too close, it was fogging up your ability to think rationally.

His eyes seemed to register your words, brow flicking subtly in interest like you’d caught him off guard — you most likely did as you yourself weren’t even prepared to hear what you just said either.

He stared over your face heatedly, eyes an inky black, prodding with amusement and curiosity yet he just seemed to stare at you. The air shifted then, warmer now, more suffocating, as you felt your heart start to race at the close proximity and eye contact.

You could feel yourself start to panic slightly at the unexpected moment of intimacy you hadn’t meant to initiate, but you were also curious as to what he would say… maybe he’d surprise you. As you said, he was conclusively unpredictable and erratic, always leaving you guessing. Maybe he’d say something a part of you wanted to hear.

He was tall and narrow in the white expanse of your living room, a dark purple blotch stained on cream colored sheets, so out of place and vaguely threatening it made the air feel thick and smothering. You were finding it hard to think clearly with him this close to you, smelling like he did with his proper purple suit and shiny black shoes.

He was more polished today than usual, not so unruly and scraggly as he usually was… you could even make out the muscle sculpted underneath the confines of his purple suit and the way it tailored to his size perfectly and complimentary.

Maybe he tried to look good for you. Maybe just this once.

You couldn’t dwell on that thought however at the sound of Joker’s voice snatching your attention once more.

He seemed to have found your response funny, letting out a wheezy laugh as his smile seemed to stretch across his scarred face for eons. You were too tense to laugh, watching as he did instead, standing idly by in confusion on what could’ve revoked that kind of response out of him (perhaps even slightly offended that he would dare laugh at your showcased vulnerability).

But, you also knew trying to make sense of the Joker’s actions was entirely asinine. His whole being, his whole existence, was made to be senseless and absurd. You’d have to be his crazy to understand his crazy, a level you weren’t quite ready for.

He finally looked at you after his giggles transpired, regarding you with amused eyes and a wide smile.

“Ahh, so what you’re really saying is, you missed me?” He grinned, cocking his head at you animatedly, his yellow stained teeth bright in the dark expanse of his mouth.

You didn’t reply, too stunned he would say such a thing and too frightened by the pumping in your chest and the words caught in your throat. He was bold, brave even, for saying such a heavy thing so simply. You eyed him astounded, opting with your shaky silence as a reply instead.

Joker scoffed at you, rolling his eyes dramatically once more, “Well go on, tell me. Tell me you missed me, say it. It’s not good to, uh, lie to ourselves, is it? Honesty is, and always will be, the best policy.” He grinned sarcastically, his warm hands flinging around his face in a dramatic gesture to emphasize his words, his arms long and not too muscular, adequately thin and yet still capable.

He chuckled darkly, handsomely, now eyeing you in a twisted fashion much different than you did; he wanted to hear you say it, tell him, confess to him, submit to him. And it gave him no greater pleasure than breaking you down to crumbs in his palms… his to use as he pleases and his to do whatever with as he pleases.

But, on this specific matter, he just wanted to hear you say it. He was fully aware of how much of a struggle it would be for you to do so, finding sadistic pleasure in your obvious discomfort.

You gulped again as agnostic revelations pulled at your weak heart once more… had you missed him? Maybe you did, but maybe only in the sense that isolation made you desperate for any form of contact, maybe only in the sense that loneliness made you crave connection. Sure, you’d say you missed him, you’d say you missed him the same way seclusion made you miss anybody, the same way an uprooted flower would miss its green pastures.

However, had you missed him specifically? To be honest, you didn’t want to dig too hard for the answer, entirely too afraid you’d unearth the truth you purposefully buried deep in the dirt a long time ago. Your mind was fragile enough already, deteriorating slowly and gradually the longer you denied and embraced your oddly infatuated companionship with the man in front of you.

You were sure that if you epiphanized to any serious truths you werent sure you wanted to admit your mind would atrophy into a numb, lifeless thing hanging onto the remembrance of Jokers smiling face, left rotting with the harsh witness marks of his perverse adoration.

You blinked at him, mouth going dry and fingertips pulsing as you mumbled out what you only could, “Maybe I did…”

Yes, still the truth — enough so as to satisfy him — but not the whole truth you wouldn’t dare say out loud, not even in the uncertainty of your mind where Joker lurked in the darkest and brightest corners of, easily susceptible to your every thought and feeling.

You couldn’t take that risk of him knowing you inside and out. You needed at least something to yourself, something not shared with him even if it was your own darkest thoughts and desires.

Joker hummed delightfully at your response, giddy at your honesty and the way it made his stomach flutter with black-winged bats.

His eyes closed shut and he seemed to burst into a fit of elated giggles that had his foot stomping on the ground. He covered his mouth with his hand and laughed, laughed so much it disturbed you yet you found yourself blushing anyway.

How pathetic could you be? So enamored with the same man you loathed entirely.

Joker seemed to gather his wits after a moment, a grin still on his white face as he approached you once more, but this time much, much closer than before.

“Oh, oh isn’t that just sweet. You missed me, did you? That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He almost growled possessively, his limber arms quickly wrapping around the lower curve of your waist, hastily pulling you into his sturdy chest with a delectable purring noise that shook through his ribs and reverberated onto the palms of your hands.

Your own breath escaped you in a gasp as your hands smacked into him, breathless and shocked at the sudden contact and closeness. You were quite unprepared for this, your heart racing in your ears and your breaths warm and heavy from such close contact after not having any for so long.

As soon as you touched him and he touched you it felt like something inside of you burst, flooded your internal systems with a need so violent you couldn’t pull away no matter how much your frail mind told you to do so.

You welcomed the embrace naturally, disregarding any logical thought as a soft exhale left your shaky lips. Over time you had learned to smother out your inner sagacity until it was just a dull ache in the back of your skull you could easily ignore.

You welcomed the warmth of his chest and the feel of his foreign embrace, enjoyed it even after a month of not a single touch or sound from another human. You really were so brainwashed beyond your own understanding. You sought him out yet desperately wanted to resist him; you wanted him to hold you and appease you yet you wanted him to leave, leave forever and never come back.

Still, you found yourself melting into him against your volition with a stuttering breath, muscles tense as you still considered letting go but knowing you weren’t going to. You felt comforted and safe in the absence of space between your bodies, something contradictory and confusing as he was very, very dangerous and most likely bound to hurt you with any wrong move you made in your shared future.

You were still sane enough to acknowledge at least that…

Again, you smothered that flame of rationality burning in the back of your head and didn’t bother denying him, mind going blank and empty as your manicured fingers tightened around the folds of his jacket. You exhaled with a soft tremble on your breath, slowly looked up at him with parted lips and darkened eyes.

He looked down at you all the same, eyes delectable and merry yet with carefully concealed undertones of something darker, something evil that resounded brightly in the darkness of his eyes. Maybe a flame of his own he was embracing rather than ignoring, something more sinisterly amatory you didn’t dare question any further as he went to lay his down on your shoulder.

“Ahhh, you smell sweet. Deliciously sweet. You wear perfume just for me? Aren’t you a doll.” He chuckled huskily at his own statement, voice muffled and gravelly like stones on rough pavement. He set his head into the crook of your neck, his cold cheek resting on the warmth of your shoulder.

His two hands were snug around your midsection, fingers digging into your skin sharply like you would dare push him away and run out the door. He couldn’t ever let that happen. He needed you here, with him, could never imagine you running away unless you wanted the city to drown in its own blood.

He’d find you of course. He’d always find you even if it meant burning the whole world to do it.

You swallowed thickly as his fingers tightened on you, looking at the plain wall behind him as your hands dug into the velvety fabric of his coat.

This position was oddly intimate yet very much appreciated. He was always a touchy man, never bothered keeping his hands to himself but they were mostly just meaningless touches, touches meant to annoy and distract you, not sweet embraces meant to console you and romance you.

You felt his warm breath caress your neck as a beat of silence passed, buzzing in your ears with the sound of your breaths. It was ticklish and gentle, a pleasant low hum sounding soon after.

You couldn’t help the goosebumps that rose on your skin from the purposeless action, your eyelids fluttering at the pleasant sensation as he breathed once more.

You were completely shrouded in him now; his sickly sweet scent, his hair tickling your jaw, his strong arms wrapped around you, his raggedy breaths soothing the skin of your neck. It was all overwhelming and all encompassing on your senses. All you could feel was him, see him, smell him… it was making your mind drown in its own deranged splendor as thoughts of wisdom and logic seemed to wither away into ash and smoke.

A cruel metaphor simply portrayed for how similar it was to your own real life. Shrouded by him. Controlled by him. All him and only him.

You could feel your sanity literally slipping away from you the longer you tried to rationalize the hunger biting at your stomach. You could feel it sliding down your body and melting at your heels like you were in the dawn of a new age, shedding old skin and starting anew; a catharsis of your own lunacy as you found yourself craving him to be closer, to hold you tighter, to meld himself as one with you so you’d never have to be alone again.

Another beat of silence passed before you spoke once more, something your mind didn’t want to register but your heart seemed eager to scream.

“I wanted to look good for you.” You mumbled quietly in the small space between his ear and your pink painted lips, eyes flickering down to his green hair then back to the wall as the whiteness of it seemed to blur around you so all you could focus on was him, your savior, your capturer, your most abominable admirer; your nightmare living in a daydream.

You don’t know what made you say it, what made you whisper it into the absence of noise, but maybe it was the way he held you against him like he didn’t want to let you go. Maybe it was the way he hummed lowly on the skin of your shoulder pleasantly and soundly, content to stand with you in the center of your white living room and be the only source of comfort and color you could ever have again.

Perhaps it was the sense of belonging you always craved and now felt in the warm crevice between his arms that made you confess it, of that same sense of purpose he had promised you all those months ago.

“Did you now? For me? Well aren’t you a darling.” Joker hissed the word into your cheek, wet lips rubbing against your skin as he picked his head back up upon hearing your voice.

Your eyes closed momentarily at the feel of his lips on you, a burst of tingly sparks pulsing through your entire left side as neediness crept into your palms. You held him tighter when he seperated his head from you, not wanting him to go now, wishing for him to stay, to keep holding you and to never release you into the cavern of cold that was your soulless living room.

His hands stayed where they were much to your enjoyment, his broad chest still pressed against yours as he looked down at you with a dead yet pleasantly satisfied expression. You had been with him long enough to identify the subtle cues in his rather stagnant facial quirks.

He smacked his red lips, releasing a gravelly hum once more as he cocked his head at you. Observing the way you looked up at him with so much… devotion.

It was written all over your face in bold black marker, eyes glistening with vehement devotement that made a wheezy chuckle bubble in his scratchy throat.

He felt ecstatic, warm fuzzy feelings he didn’t know the word for swirling around in his empty stomach and clearing away any cob web stuck to his dark heart.

Yes, yes you were his and you’d always be his no matter what you had to say on the matter. He had decided it a long time ago and will enforce it for the rest of the many lives you’ll suffer through together.

Your head felt fuzzy, eyes heavy and breaths low and lagged as you stared up at him earnestly. You could feel the arousal pulling at your gut, the admiration stirring in your heart as you looked up at him. He was handsome, so handsome even with the scars, even with the paint, even with the villainous degeneracy hidden under the scarred flesh.

You had him, you had him almost as entirely as he had you and you knew it, he knew it… but you could never say it out loud because you fear the repercussions if you ever did. If you ever completely, entirely, unconditionally gave yourself to him in every sense of the word. But, to your dismay, or to your satisfaction, you already did in a lot of ways.

However, admitting it, fundamentally giving yourself to him, you knew that would be the last straw for your dwindling sanity. You were already so severely fragmented, stained with so many cracks and blemishes that just a simple touch would shatter you.

Your mind was all you had left, all that was left of value. Everything else belonged to him. Your soul, your body, your life. But it was really hard to focus on such noble things when he was this close to you; a handsome, devious, shadow glooming over your light and dimming it completely, smelling the way he did and looking at you the way he did with this peculiar act of tenderness.

It did nothing but aid your arousal further, his hard yet gentle touches and intense yet glittering eyes.

Joker regarded you intensely, his own morbid admiration for you leaking through his palms as his left hand started to glide up the curves of your body slowly and meticulously.

He slid it around your waist, his eyes following the motion to gawk at every dip and curve he touched that was masked by your pale green dress. His finger tips pressed into your skin, into your stomach as his palm stretched upwards, feeling you like it was the for the first time, like it was solely done to tease you.

The tingling sensation pulsing through your thighs, tingling pleasurably on your skin underneath his eager hand, it all made your breaths quicken and pulse jump. You stared at him lustfully now, submitting to your own delusion as you found yourself wanting him. Strongly.

Eventually his hand made it to the valley of your breasts but he made no extra moves to touch them directly as he would in the past. He was abnormally patient, not so frantic with his touches almost like he was calculating them, so unlike his usual nature.

His eyes looked at the areas of your chest he didn’t touch though, heavy and dark, stirring with a lust of his own just as intense and passionate as yours as his thumb grazed the skin of your left breast.

Your breath stopped for a moment, eyes boring into his face even though he didn’t look back at you, eager to see what he’d do next. There was a small, very minuscule part of your brain utterly disgusted with yourself for wanting his bloodstained hands on you in the first place.

You did not listen to it, core hot and clenching around nothing as you stared at him, hyper aware of his hand smoothly sliding up your neck now.

A very vulnerable place, exposed to the unforgiving grip of his palm if he so chose to squeeze the life out of you. You didn’t stop him even as that thought crossed your mind, too hypnotized by his essence and touch to deny yourself the luxury of feeling it.

He looked at your face then, black, hungry eyes flickering up to yours as his fingers wrapped around your jaw and pressed harshly into the fat of your cheeks.

You inhaled sharply at the sting, letting out a hiss as your cheeks dug into your teeth.

Still, you found pleasure in the brutality of his touch, fingers digging into his coat so hard the tips of them burned as you stared back boldly into his starved, manic eyes ablaze with something dangerous and predatory.

You felt something similar sitting heavy in the pit of your gut, something untamed and primal that needed him inside you as importantly as you needed food to eat. It was fierce and wild, striking roughly under your skin like whips and rattling like chains for a taste of what only he could give you.

He forced your head back with a gentle push on your cheeks, eyes crackling with the fervor of a black flame as he inched forward… forward… forward, until his scarred mouth was right above your parted lips and his straight nose was tapping against yours.

You breathed heavily now at such close quarters, so pent up and overstimulated you were confused on whether you wanted him or utterly hated him. But with a need so intense it stung your core and shook your soul, with your stomach so tightly wound together and aching, with the space between your thighs pulsing and dripping for something to appease it, you regretfully, indubitably knew your answer.

He was your answer, him and his skilled, frazzled hands and forked tongue; the serpent tempting you to corruption, to rid yourself of any semblance of innocence you had left.

It was the loneliness you told yourself, the loneliness that made you feel such a way for him. Although, it wasn’t loneliness that made you stare up at him like a horny, doting slave bound to his every wish and desire. You made that choice all on your own.

“You know… I always wonder how I found such a sweet thing like you. So lost, so pathetic. I almost pitied you, really I did…” He grunted lowly, voice a gravely, manic hiss that had your skin crawling pleasurably.

You didn’t dare look away from his gaze as his fingers tightened on your cheeks, not even finding yourself capable of being insulted by his words. You were too enraptured by the rasp in his voice, by the way he stared so intensely at you with equal fervor.

He shook your face for emphasis, your cheeks digging into the ridges of your teeth so hard it stung but you made no move to protect yourself.

The pain only soothed you, made you wetter, only made you more greedy for him and his hands, for the sweet release of pain and pleasure only he could bring you. The pain made you feel something, something other than boredom and guilt these white walls seemed to torture you with, something other than self loathing you seemed to be haunted with.

He was the one that made you feel. He was the one that made you feel like you were still living at all, he was the one that made you feel alive.

He looked over your face intensely, as though inquisitively looking for something beyond it. Picking and prodding at the scattered pieces of your brain for something you didn’t know. His jaw was clenched as he dug his fingers harder into your cheeks, holding your face sternly so you couldn’t do anything but look back at him.

You winced at the pressure, yet your thighs pulsed and fingers tensed for more as your gaze bore into his with sparkling, edacious irises.

“But now I got’cha, don’t I? I have you and you belong to me, isn’t that right, honey? Go on, I want you to say it. Say it now…”

You nodded your head barely in acceptance, eyes glued to him as heavy breathed escaped your lips. You were stuck on him, stuck on the sound of his voice and entirely fixated on his words no matter how deluded they sounded.

“Say it!” He demanded with a rough, agitated voice, tone impatient and thunderous with his demeanor suddenly hostile. He thrashed your face back so hard you yelped.

“Ah! Yes, yes, I belong to you.” You repeated as instructed through clenched teeth, staring up at him with fear blown eyes. He seemed to like your answer as the tight grip around your cheeks dulled slightly.

You panted as the sting throbbed in your cheeks, eyes blown wide and teeth clenched yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He looked crazy but smelt so good, acted like a lunatic but maybe only because he was crazy about you. Crazy about you and only you as his reciprocated feelings seemed to be affecting you the same.

You watched him grin then, something insane and diabolical as giggles erupted from the base of his throat once more.

“Yes, you’re mine. Mine, mine, mine, all mine!” He laughed, jiggling your face in his grip as his mouth fell wide open and his scars seemed to stretch and move in the motion of a crazed smile.

You didn’t laugh with him — you never laughed with him — just stared at him with a newfound fright and even brighter yearning, a yearning so powerful that all you could do was stare at his vermilion lips and the jagged scars cut into either side of them.

Once upon a time you heavily disliked them, was rather perturbed by his disfigurement but now… now they didn’t scare you for he wouldn’t be him without them, those same scars that haunted your dreams yet you couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

Joker’s crazed laughter died down after a minute. A quick minute in your perspective because you couldn’t stop looking at his lips, thinking of them finally leaving harsh bite marks into the hollow of your collarbone with blood red paint smeared over the bruises on your soft skin.

It was a tantalizing thought, one he had initiated many times before yet tonight he seemed to be prolonging the agenda. For the first time ever, you were the impatient one, craving his touch to feel you and satisfy that burning bulb of longing shining bright in the pit of your belly.

He looked at you heatedly, dryly, now standing back to his tall, intimidating stature as his hand released your face from its tight grip. You stared back at him unwavering as he slid it down your jaw tentatively until it was around your neck, resting at the base of it.

You swallowed nervously as he stared hard at the area, gloved fingertips pressing into the skin like he was struggling not to strangle you right then and there.

The thought scared you, how easily you presented yourself to him and discarded any self persevering instincts molded into the strings of your DNA over the course of generations. You were going against your very nature letting him touch you like this but you relished in it, let it wash over you like a pool of warm water.

His other hand swiftly came up and to your face, the pad of his thumb softly tracing over the plushness of your parted lips.

You reveled in the soft feeling it arose out of your sensitive body, a breathy sound leaving your chest like the whisper of a breeze between sheer flower petals. Delicate and dainty, rendering you breathless.

Maybe this was what he meant when he said you’d have purpose again, when he’d promised you belonging.

Yes, you’d have purpose in the sense that you had purpose to him, that he needed you in his own sick, self serving ways and everything you could offer him. You’d always have purpose as long as you stood next to him. Purpose to be found when he was buried deep in your heat and cradled in your heart during the cold evenings spent between Egyptian cotton sheets only his lustful animosity could make warm.

Yes, you’d always feel like you belonged as long as you were with him, entrapped in this huge house he graciously gave you with its sickening white walls and disgusting velvety red curtains. Yes, you would always belong to him in the sense that you didn’t have a choice but to be. He has found you and you are now in his clutches, he has found you and you will never be lost again.

You belonged to him. Your heart, happiness, health, and everything else was entirely his. A gruesome sense of belonging twisted in the dire fabrics of his manipulation, intertwined with his body and absent soul. You belonged to him, tethered to him like a ball and chain, a woefully symbiotic bond.

Even now, with his boney hand around your throat so easily capable of draining your life force you didn’t bother trying to save yourself. Your very existence was interlocked with his and had been since he first laid eyes on you. You didn’t have anyone but him to trust, even if that meant trusting him with your own life and death.

He had the power to let you thrive, as he has proved countless times with his endless money and pointless gifts, giving you a life anyone else could so easily live but he had all the capability of destroying it as well. He was the King of your small kingdom and you were nothing but the romantic whim he could just as easily spare, a victim caught in the crossfire of his demented devotion.

Your life was quite literally in his hands and unfortunately for you he had an unfathomable proclivity to ruin anything he touched.

The thought made you feel shame for yourself, knowing how dumb you were being as drops of lucidity dripped down the cracks in your fried brain yet your lust didn’t deter. You had already acknowledged that you were deranged in your own way, so desperate for connection that you’d find it anywhere. It just so happened you found it here, in his sticky trap you’d never escape from for reasons beyond your own capability.

Joker removed the hand that was on your neck to the other side of your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands with a much more gentle touch than was exhibited before.

“Now, let me see a smile… go on, smile for me. I wanna see a great… big… smile.”

He smiled slightly at that, a dry fleeting motion with no real effort behind it, cradling your cheeks in his palms like delicate birds. His thumbs rubbed the corners of your lips then stretched them into a smile for you. You didn’t resist him, loosening your lips as he stretched them so far they cracked.

You ignored the burn, your eyes showed no signs of happiness as a smile usually demonstrated. Just lustful watery things staring up at him pleadingly, begging for him to finish this act of his and relinquish the pain you were starting to feel in your lower regions.

Your muscles were tense, body longing for him to touch it in the places you needed him most, to carve his admiration into the fat of your hips and apex of your thighs so you’d never lose it. You were dirty with his tainted love anyway, too much to care anymore; could never feel clean.

He stared at your smile with a criminal look in his eyes, a cackle scratching at the back of his throat as your fingers tightened even tighter around his jacket until the edges were engulfed in your own warm palms. You fought the desire to yank his lips down to yours, knowing you should never rush him no matter how impatient you were becoming.

“Ah, ah, ah, there we go. Now isn’t that pretty?” He rumbled fiendishly, satisfied now as his thumbs slid down your cheeks in a frowning motion until your lips gradually reset themselves into a line.

You swallowed once more, staring up at him wantonly as his hands slid down to lock onto your upper arms. Sparks burst where he touched you, your lifeless body abuzz with an invigorating feeling only his greedy fingers could make you feel.

You didn’t say a thing, unable to speak, longing for his lips to touch yours and for his lithe hands to familiarize themselves with the smooth skin of your body as he has so many times before.

You couldn’t imagine how desolate you looked now, so wrecked in the pupils of his glowering eyes as he stared down at you with an intensity you easily recognized, an intensity burning with the promise of wrecking you entirely later on.

“Now, what do you say we go and have a little fun, huh? I’d really appreciate it if you’d do me this little favor. You know I hate to make a fuss but, uh, it’s been a…rough… night.” He mumbled sarcastically in remembrance of something you had no clue of, rolling his eyes at himself as his tongue flicked out of his mouth again, his thumbs stroking the skin on your arms in an oddly patient way.

He hummed with his scratchy voice in the tone of a question, staring down at you blankly in expectation of a yes.

You nodded your head dumbly, so consumed with want that all you could see was him, think of him, him, him, him. Him and his devilish gloved hands and long purple fingers that had killed so many yet only seemed to bring you back to life in the harsh and tender touches they spared you. Blood stained hands, hands tainted with grandeur sin and murder that only seemed to exhilarate and enliven you.

Him, him and his red lips that spoke such curses and cruelty yet kissed you so delicately like a golden star dotted in the blanket of a navy blue sky. Him and his body riddled with scars and imperfections hotly intertwined with yours as he conquered you in a way so similar to how the Roman’s stormed the Greeks. Just as powerful, just as influential, just as legacy lasting.

“Okay.” You breathed out softly in acceptance of his words, of your own delusions, already staring at his lips as eagerly as a lifeless carcass only brought to life by his magical kiss; the most twisted tale of Snow White written in any media.

Joker grinned villainously, cackling at your behavior before his hands tightened their hold on you and he was lunging your smaller body towards his in a messy, much awaited kiss that left red paint smeared over your own lips in the same, wicked smile that he had.

How fitting.

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss @ghostslillady @boobaeri @prayingal (I think that’s everyone, hope you enjoy ☺️)

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k12academics · 1 year ago

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SAGU seeks creators and change-makers--students who long to gain real-world experience. SAGU Lions are pioneers who find opportunity to live their Christian faith in diverse careers such as: producers at Warner Bros. and ABC Entertainment; cabin services coordinator, Southwest Airlines; promotional developer, IPHC Ministries; ministry world-wide; teachers at all levels nationwide, and more!

#University #scholarships #marketplace ministry #Graduate School #college #Christian University #Bible based

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wombywoo · 9 months ago

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ID 🪪

#my art #ocs #original character #quinn #vincent #qv art #the lore is transpiring the traumas are pending #govt sanctioned murder bfs but only one of them sucks blood (for now)#quinn: just some guy. kicked dog. mommy issues™️.probable death wish. trauma prophecies. gay...etc #vince: bisexual black british. vamp. normal relationship with Sins. also maybe has half the spirit of a nazi in his soul(it's complicated)💅#I may not be cooking yet just lightly sautéing 👩‍🍳#quinncent #apologies to the real life quinn lacey who played basketball for a christian university circa 2020... your name is mine now 🫰#oc: vincent craft #oc: quinn lacey

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ohholydyke · 3 months ago

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When Saint Augustine said “evil and sin doesn’t exist, it’s just an absence of good” and when Saint Julian of Norwich said “sin doesn’t exist, everything is love and charity, we just struggle to perceive and embody that love and thus suffer pain and despair” and when Jesus Christ said to be perfect as god is perfect means to love everyone and when Saint Hildegard said all are sick and feeble and rotting and inherently worthy of love and care and do you see the connections love is everything love is all there is, sin is what happens when we suffer because we do not love and do not allow ourselves to be loved and it’s fixed by restoration of the sinner to the love which never leaves them it just lingers there until they are ready to accept it. The great commandment is love. We are loved and we ought to love. Care community charity affection support interdependence THESE are holy and these are what constitute everything and our oneness in god who is love. The attributes of God aren’t separate. God’s justice is love, his holiness is love, his righteousness is love, his power is love, his knowledge is love. He loved us so much he became us so that we could become one with him in a way creation never could otherwise. That’s why sin entered the world. That’s why the cross happened. So that creator and creation could become one in love through the remedying unification of the passion, like when you have to cut a section out of a tree and cut a branch in order to graft it on so that they become one and begin producing fruit.

The body of Christ is like Van Aken’s tree, which grows forty different types of fruit after a process of careful grafting, tending and growth. Look at it—it’s beautiful. That is our relationship to God through Christ.

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streetlamp-amber · 7 months ago

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bad time to be claustrophobic

bruce wayne x gn!reader

word count: 2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: claustrophobia, panic attack NOTES: reader is gender neutral but it is mentioned they wear high heels

It had been two weeks since you started working for Wayne Enterprises and you were finally getting the hang of the job. At first, you felt like some sort of imposter, to be part of the famous company that overlooked the city and felt almost out of reach from every normal Gothamite. You had worked hard to get to where you were now and you deserved the stability this job brought to your life, as your roommate never failed to remind you every time you voiced out your doubts in the last weeks.

Your boss had needed you to bring some documents up to the top floor, where the CEO’s office was, and it was as you waited for an elevator to bring you down that you finally met Bruce Wayne. Of course you knew who he was – who lives in Gotham and doesn't know who Bruce Wayne is? – and you also knew of the playboy reputation he had that the gossip magazines could never get tired of. Although you had never really been interested in him before, one quick glance of the eye up and down his six feet two inches tall body was enough to determine that the media failed to describe how truly mesmerising Bruce Wayne was.

The two of you shared a brief eye contact when he came to a stop next to you in front of the elevator doors. He sent you a polite, tight lipped smile with a shy nod of his head as a form of greeting and you replicated his actions before turning your head forward again, hoping Mr. Wayne hadn’t noticed the beginning of a blush on your cheeks. You were no better than anyone after all, few could resist the natural charm that emanated from him.

The ding! of the elevator broke the silence floating in the air and Mr. Wayne, ever the gentleman, motioned with his right hand for you to step in first. He pressed the button for one of the basement floors as he entered before turning to you.

“Which floor?” He asked, and the sound of his voice caught you by surprise for a second.

“Oh! Um, sixteen,” you answered in what you hoped was a nonchalant way but was probably leaning more towards timid.

Mr. Wayne pressed on the button for your floor and the doors closed, the only noise that could be heard was the faint music of Mozart’s Horn Concerto no. 4 in E-Flat Major playing through the elevator speakers.

You watched with an anxious eye the floor numbers go down as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers, trying all your might to keep your hands down instead of divulging your embarrassing habit of biting off the skin around your nails to Bruce Wayne upon your first meeting. You hated elevators, or any kind of small closed space really, but your claustrophobia was just something you had learned (and still were learning) to live with. You usually avoided elevators, but Wayne Tower had more than thirty floors and you simply were not going to climb up all of those stairs in high heels for a bunch of documents. You could survive a minute long ride in an elevator, what’s the worst that could happen?

Well, the worst that could happen, happened.

The elevator was plunged into darkness as it shook to a stop, making you and Mr. Wayne almost lose your balance. It didn’t take more than five seconds for the lights to turn back on but the elevator wasn’t moving.

“No,” you whispered to yourself when you realised what was happening.

Mr. Wayne didn’t hear you, preoccupied with trying to get in contact with someone on his phone.

“Lucius, tell me what happened,” he spoke in an urgent tone, fearing that he was trapped in an elevator while Gotham needed his alter ego.

You were too busy trying to focus on keeping your breathing at a steady rhythm to listen to what the man on your left was saying. Everything suddenly felt hot and as you pulled on your white dress shirt in quick movements to air your torso, you started to feel like the walls were closing in on you.

“City workers were cutting a dead branch off a tree and it fell on the power lines,” Mr. Wayne explained as he closed his phone and put it back in the pocket of his suit, his eyes yet to see the state you were in. “Apparently there was some problem with the elevator when the generator turned on but a team is already wor–”

Bruce didn’t finish his sentence when he finally noticed that you weren’t listening to a single word he was saying. “Are you okay?” He asked, taking one small step closer to you.

“Yes,” you murmured, trying to sound as normal as possible. How embarrassing was it that the first time you meet the Bruce Wayne, you end up having a panic attack in front of him because of some ridiculous phobia that involves elevators.

“You’re not okay, you’re shaking,” he pointed out the obvious.

“‘S nothing,” you dismissed, clutching your shaking hands to your chest. You had your head hanging down and your eyes closed, unable to see the concerned look on Mr. Wayne’s face.

“Is there any way I can help?”

If your mind wasn't in such a frenzy, you would've heard the almost pleading tone in his voice.

“Not really,” you answered and your breathing quickened.

“Okay, okay,” he passed a hand through his hair as he tried to think about what to do. You were clearly in a state of panic and there was nothing he could do stuck in the elevator. He had to try to distract you while you waited for the team to fix the elevator.

You reached with your right hand to support yourself against the wall, the numbness in your legs making it hard for you to stand upright. Mr. Wayne was at your side in a second, holding your arms to keep you from falling.

“Let’s, let’s sit down, alright?” He suggested and you nodded your head.

He lowered the two of you to the floor and once you were sat up against the wall, he moved to sit in front of you, trying to catch your gaze.

“Hey, hey, there’s a team working on fixing the elevator as we speak, we’ll be out of here soon,” he tried to reassure you but you still wouldn’t meet his eyes. He observed the way your chest kept rising up and down rapidly and clocked that he needed to help you calm down.

“Okay, there’s this thing my… Alfred taught me when I was young. Just cross your arms over your chest and put your hands on your shoulders, can you do that?” He calmly asked you.

You nodded your head and did as he told you.

“Now I’m gonna put my hands on your knees, is that alright?”

You nodded your head once again and his large hands covered your bent knees over your charcoal dress pants.

“Alright, I’m gonna tap my hands to a rhythm, you’ll do the same with your shoulders and try to breathe along with the rhythm. Understood?”

Your distressed, teary eyes finally met his reassuring ones and in this moment, through all of the panic and the fear clouding your head, you were able to see that Bruce Wayne was a caring man under the playboy persona.

After you shook your head ‘yes’, Mr. Wayne started tapping his hands to a relaxed, steady rhythm like he told you he would. It took a minute for you to ground yourself in his eyes that never left yours and you followed his movements, tapping your hands on your shoulders to his tempo. He made a show of exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, for you to eventually fall in step with.

“You know, when I was a kid, I was playing in the garden with my friend and I fell in an old well,” he started telling you when a few minutes passed and your breathing had calmed down a little. The both of you were still continuing tapping a steady rhythm on your knees and shoulders. “I was stuck down there with a broken arm and then a colony of bats flew out of the darkness. Been scared of those creatures ever since.”

“Is that why you’re not Batman’s biggest fan?” You asked in a small voice and Bruce faintly smiled both at the secret he was keeping from all of Gotham and because he was finally hearing your voice not in a panicked state. He always made sure to make his displeasure with the caped crusader known to deter the press from making a connection between the two.

“Amongst other reasons,” he answered, one corner of his lip curling up to show you his tiny crooked grin.

The two of you stared at each other and it surprised you how easy it was to feel safe and comfortable while looking in Bruce Wayne’s eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure to meet you before,” he spoke up after a short moment of comfortable silence.

“I assure you I would’ve made a better first impression in any other circumstance,” you quickly said, eyes going wide like saucers when it sunk in that you almost had a panic attack the first time you met Bruce Wayne.

“I can tell you, this isn't even in the top twenty of the worst first impressions I’ve had,” Mr. Wayne tried to reassure you with a joke. The shy smile on your lips indicated he succeeded. “I’m Bruce, by the way.”

“I know,” you said, a little more at ease. You told him your name, to which he couldn’t help but compliment.

“How long have you been working here? I don't remember ever seeing you, and I try to say hi to all my employees at least once a month,” he asked you.

“A little more than two weeks,” you answered. “I’m in the PR department, specifically overseeing the funding of your charities.”

“You have the most important job in the company then,” Bruce grinned.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” you rolled your eyes and this time there was no way he didn’t catch the beginning of the blush on your cheeks. You could only wish your face was still flushed from your almost panic attack so it wasn’t too noticeable.

The doors of the elevator were finally pulled open, Bruce and you turning your heads in that direction at the new noise. You sighed in relief that you could finally escape this cage of nightmare and both Mr. Wayne and the maintenance guy helped you slide out of the elevator, which only offered a thirty centimetres tall opening since it got stuck before it could reach the floor below.

Once Bruce had also gotten out, he ignored the assistant who had been assigned by her superior to catch him up on what he missed while being stuck in the elevator to instead talk to you.

“You know, if you want to take the rest of the day off, it’ll be no problem,” he told you, lowering his voice so only the two of you could hear. “I’ll vouch for you, make sure you don’t get in any trouble.”

“That’s very kind of you Mr. Wayne–”

“Bruce,” he interrupted you, though his tone was warm and friendly. “Please, call me Bruce.”

“Thank you, Bruce, I really appreciate the concern.” You were still a little unsettled by the events and when you usually would push through whatever sickness or weakness to make it to work, this time you didn’t fight off the chance to relax and recover.

“Gotta make sure my most important employee is well rested and of sound mind to do the job,” he smiled at you and you smiled back at him. “I have to go back to my duties, but I’ll be seeing you around.” Bruce said goodbye to you and you waved at him until his back was turned on you.

The first thing you did when you got back home to your apartment was search for a good pair of affordable running shoes to help you climb the stairs of Wayne Tower comfortably until you were ready to get in an elevator again.

And ever since that day, Bruce made sure that the elevators were inspected once every week.

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 month ago

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Voices From The Past - Bruce Wayne X Female Reader

Title: Voices From The Past

Bruce Wayne X Female Reader

(Can be seen as any iteration of Bruce Wayne, however the Batcave is from The Dark Knight).

Additional Characters: Reader's mother, Reader's father (Mentioned), Reader's Step-Mom (Mentioned), and Alfred (Mentioned)

WC: 4,108

Warnings: Crying, family issues/parent abandonment mentioned, Reader is mentioned to have a mother and father, italics, divorce hinted to, infidelity by Reader's mother mentioned, mentions of marriage, nicknames, Bruce is so wise, slight angst, and fluff

You never thought this day would come. Your phone shook in your shaking hands. Tears burned the backs of your eyes before rolling down your cheeks in waves. You stared at the blackened screen, unblinking, shocked, upset, overwhelmed… Too many emotions to fully process properly.

Your mother called. Well, you didn't call her your mother. Technically, yes, she is your birth mother, who birthed you, but she wasn't your mom. Your step-mother was more of a mother than she was. Overall, it was complicated.

Now, the thing was, your mother never called. The day she walked out on you and your father was the last day you had ever seen or heard from her. And that was fifteen years ago.

You had very vague memories of your time and life with her before she left; a time at the local community pool, that one time she taught you how to bake cherry pie, and when she would tuck you in at night. One memory though, that somewhat haunted you at the worst of times, was when she would sing “You Are My Sunshine” to you. You hadn’t listened to that song since she left, it always reminded you too much of her. You hated being reminded of her.

After she left though, walking out on you and your father, it was like she had taken the bright sun with her. For a long time, you didn’t understand why she left or what you had done wrong. For a long time, you thought that you were the reason why she left. Were you not good enough? Were you not a good kid? What did you do to make her hate you that she left?

You tried not to dwell on it, tried to be strong for your dad, who did his best to fill the gaping void she left behind. Your step-mother came into your life years later, a balm to your wounded family, and you slowly started to heal. But the scars remained, faint yet unforgotten.

And now, fifteen years later, that woman had the audacity to call you out of nowhere. How she got your number, you didn’t know. You didn’t really care. Her voice on the other end of the line was hesitant, almost trembling, like she wasn’t sure if you’d even answer. It was awkward, insanely so, and you wished that you had never answered the unknown number.

Her voice faltered as she spoke, a tentative edge threading through every word. “Hi, honey. It’s me,” She began, and for a split moment, you didn’t recognize the sound of her voice, but then it hit you like a tsunami and your eyes widened. It had been fifteen years after all, so it only made sense that you wouldn’t recognize her voice at first or at all. She paused. And it was long, heavy, and suffocating. She was waiting for you to say something. You didn’t. “I… I just wanted to see how you’ve been,” She continued, tone awkward, as if she didn’t know where to start or how much ground there was to cover.

The words hit you, and you fought the urge to hang up right then. “How have I been?” You asked yourself, scoffing mentally.

“I know this is unexpected,” She continued, the slight tremor in her voice betraying her nerves. “I just… I think about you all the time. Wondering how you are doing, where you are. I- I never forgot about you.”

“Okay,” You finally spoke, your voice low, and tone tense. What could you even say to that?

She let out a breath when you spoke finally, “Are you still in the same town?” She asked, her voice continuing to be cautious, “Or… Did you move? I always wondered if you stayed close to home or if you went somewhere else.” There was a painful irony in her words, like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she had willingly walked away from. The puzzle had long been put away, there was nothing to solve. She didn’t know where you were, what you did, or who you had become. “You must be doing well,” She added, trying to sound hopeful, “You were always a smart kid.” You pursed your lips at her words, “What… What have you been up to? Are you working? Married? Kids?”

Her questions came in rapid succession now, but the questions only grated on your nerves, reopening old wounds that you thought had long since scabbed over. She wanted to know everything, it seemed, about the life she had no part in. And all you wanted to know was why she thought she had the right to ask.

You swallowed thickly, feeling tears burn your eyes, but you held them in. Clearing your throat, you finally forced yourself to respond, though your tone was far from warm. Each word felt like it was being dragged out of you. “I moved,” You said shortly, not meeting her invisible gaze through the phone. “To Gotham.”

There was a pause on her end, a brief silence before she spoke again, her voice tinged with surprise. “Gotham? Wow, that’s... That’s far. I never would’ve guessed.”

You ignored the attempt at small talk. “Yeah,” You said curtly, hoping she’d drop the subject - and the call altogether - but of course, she didn’t do either.

“What do you do there? Are you working?”

You clenched your jaw. “I used to,” You replied, keeping it vague. You didn’t owe her the specifics, didn’t owe her anything, really.

Another pause, “Oh, I see. Well, that’s okay. Things happen, right?” She said awkwardly, trying to fill the silence. “There will always be another opportunity.”

You inhaled sharply, her assuming you lost whatever job you had irritated you, and you debated whether or not to answer her next question. The thought of sharing this part of your life with her felt wrong, like exposing something sacred to someone who hadn’t earned the right to know.

“I’m married,” You said reluctantly, your voice stiff and clipped.

Her reaction was immediate, a soft gasp slipping from her lips. “Oh... Oh, wow. Married? That’s-”

“Yeah,” You interrupted, not wanting to hear her feigned excitement or whatever platitudes she had ready. “It happened a while ago.”

Your tone remained distant, each answer another brick in the wall you were determined to keep between you. She might have been your birth mother, but she wasn’t part of your life, and you weren’t about to let her waltz back in like she had any claim to it. Not unless she said or did something worthy enough for your forgiveness.

A flicker of surprise crossed your mind, though, as you realized she hadn’t even heard about your engagement years prior. It had been highly publicized at the time. Then again, she didn’t live in Gotham, and Gotham’s news rarely traveled far beyond the shadow of Metropolis. And you doubted that she was living there.

You shifted on the couch, unable to sit still, your free hand fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Every second stretched uncomfortably long as you tried to decide whether to end the call or endure it.

“So... What’s Gotham like?” She asked, her attempt at casual conversation landing awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” You replied shortly, your tone clipped. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly.

“Fine?” She echoed, a nervous laugh in her voice. “I hear it can be a bit... Rough, you know, with everything that goes on there. The crime-rate.”

“It has its moments,” You muttered, glancing at the clock. Time wasn’t moving fast enough.

She hesitated, clearly grasping for something else to say. “And your... Your partner?” She asked cautiously. “What’s he like? Or she?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. “He’s great,” You said stiffly, leaving it at that. You didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer details. This wasn’t her business.

“That’s good,” She said quickly, “I’m glad you found someone.”

You could feel your stomach twisting as she spoke. Her words were polite enough, but they carried an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite name - guilt, maybe, or regret. You could only hope. Your grip on the phone tightened, and you shifted again, crossing and uncrossing your legs in an attempt to release some of the tension building in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” She added after another long pause, her voice quieter now.

You bit your lip, “I’m fine,” You said, the words sharper than you intended.

“I just...” She trailed off, sighing softly. “I wanted to hear your voice again. To know how you’re doing. It’s been… It’s been a while…”

Your throat constricted, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep your emotions in check. You were twisting the hem of your sleeve now, nearly tearing the fabric, your leg bouncing restlessly.

“Well, now you know,” You said bluntly, your voice colder than you meant for it to be.

She was silent for a moment, and the weight of the silence was suffocating. You glanced at the screen, half-hoping the call would drop, giving you an excuse to end it.

“I’ve missed you,” She said finally, her voice breaking slightly. You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. Your fingers hovered over the “end call” button, and for a moment, you considered pressing it. But something - curiosity, obligation, or maybe just the tiniest trace of unresolved pain - kept you on the line. “And- and I love you. I’ve always loved you,” She added, her voice trembling. The words hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. You stared blankly at the floor, your mind spinning. Your chest tightened painfully, her words stirring emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You didn’t respond, didn’t even trust yourself to speak. “Yeah right. You sure have a funny way of showing it.” You thought. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until she filled it once more.

“I love you,” She repeated, her voice softer, almost pleading. It was as if she were hoping that, this time, you’d say it back. When you didn’t, she sighed, the sound tinged with resignation. “Well... You have my number now,” She said quietly. “I hope... I hope you’ll call me or text me sometime.”

“Okay,” You murmured.

There was a pause, and you could hear the sadness in her voice when she said, “Take care of yourself, honey.”

The line went dead with a soft click, and you were left staring at the blackened screen of your phone, your hands still trembling. For a moment, you were frozen, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

Then, the tears came, hot and uncontrollable. They streaked down your face, dripping onto your legs as your shoulders began to shake. A strangled sob escaped your throat, and before you knew it, you were doubling over, clutching the phone tightly in both hands.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air between sobs, the dam of emotions you’d held back for years finally breaking. You curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest as you rocked slightly on the couch, tears streaming endlessly. The sound of your own cries filled the room, raw and unfiltered.

The phone slipped from your grasp and landed on the cushion beside you, forgotten as you buried your face in your hands. It felt like the world had been turned upside down, and all you could do was let the storm of grief, confusion, and anger wash over you.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, your sobs slowly slipping into silence. The tears had long since dried on your cheeks, leaving a salty, tight feeling on your skin. You stared blankly at the wall in front of you, unmoving, your mind overrun with thoughts and emotions. It was as though you were suspended in a void, caught between the past and the present, wishing - oh, god, did you wish - that you had never answered your phone.

You weren’t okay - far from it - but eventually, you felt stable enough to move. Sluggishly, you pushed yourself into a sitting position. Your arms felt leaden as you reached up to rub your warm cheeks, your fingers trembling slightly as you tried to compose yourself.

A shaky sigh escaped your lips. Your head fell forward, your elbows resting on your knees as you stared down at the floor. The weight of all of her words lingered, pressing down on you.

Rising, you sniffled, dragging your socked feet along the cool hardwood floors as you drifted through the living room and down the hall. The dim light of the setting sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows against the walls. Usually, you would take the time to admire the sunset, but tonight, you didn’t want to. You continued to wander, slipping past the kitchen and the library.

Your steps faltered momentarily as you approached the grand piano in the corner of the study. Its polished surface gleamed faintly in the dim light. For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the cool ivory keys, before pressing a specific sequence - notes that resonated softly through the quiet room.

A faint mechanical click broke the silence as the hidden mechanism activated, part of the bookshelf behind you gliding aside to reveal a concealed elevator. You stepped inside, the doors closing behind you with a quiet hiss. As the elevator descended, the air grew cooler, carrying the faint earthy scent of stone.

The elevator doors opened, the Batcave sprawled before you in all its dark glory. Gleaming metal and stark lighting illuminated the space, reflecting off the walls of jagged rock and smooth concrete. The massive expanse felt both imposing and oddly comforting. The sound of trickling water echoed from the waterfalls and their pools, mingling with the low hum of machinery and the occasional beep of system.

You walked along the narrow bridge that stretched over one of the cave’s pools, the platform ahead glowing faintly from the illumination of the LED lights hanging above. The faint chill of the air seeped through your clothes as your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, seeking warmth.

You lingered a moment longer, your heart tightening as you watched him, his broad shoulders bathed in the soft glow of the monitors. Even in the depths of his focus, there was a quiet compassion about him, a gentleness that softened the unyielding strength he carried. Bruce was your rock, the calm in every storm, and a love so steady, so unwavering, it felt like something you’d only dreamed could be real.

You moved closer, standing beside his chair, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. The strong line of his jaw, the way strands of his hair fell over his forehead a bit, the way his lips pressed together in concentration - it was impossible not to love every detail of him.

Bruce was the kind of man who bore the weight of the world without faltering, always making space to carry you through your own storms. He was unwaveringly selfless, fiercely protective, and gave every piece of himself even when he had little left to offer. And, of course, he was devastatingly handsome. Those piercing blue eyes, the unruly dark hair, and a sculpted frame that seemed carved from marble itself. But it was the way he loved you, so completely and unconditionally, that left you breathless every time.

You glanced down at him, your fingers gently grazing the back of his chair. Even without meeting your gaze, you knew he sensed your presence - he always did. Time and again, you found yourself seeking him out, whether you had something to share or simply craved the comfort of being near him.

Without a word, your hand slowly lifted, your fingers grazing through his hair, the strands soft beneath your touch. The simple act brought an immediate sense of calm, as it always did. There was something soothing about the way his hair slipped between your fingers. But the pull of him was too strong. With a soft sigh, you moved around to his side. wordlessly, you lifted one of his arms, sliding into his lap with a gentle movement. Your legs draped over the sides of his chair, your body settling close to his.

Bruce’s hand instinctively rested on your back, fingers splayed across your - his - nightshirt. His other hand, still hovering over the keyboard, stilled for a moment, his muscles relaxing. He didn’t need to say anything - his quiet presence, the warmth of his touch, was really all you needed.

You buried your face in his neck, your cold nose pressing against his warm skin, inhaling his familiar scent. Wrapping your arms around him, you let your fingers slip underneath his shirt, trying to get as much skin-to-skin contact as you could. The warmth of his skin against yours was like coming home, and you let out a soft sigh of relief, closing your eyes as you melted into him. Bruce shifted slightly, his arm tightening around you as he leaned his head against yours.

For the next couple of minutes, neither of you said a word. Bruce didn’t ask if you were alright; he knew better than that. He knew something was wrong. But he would never rush you, and never push you to speak before you were ready. He just held you, patient as always, waiting for you to open up.

You took a deep breath, the weight of everything still pressing heavily on your chest. Finally, your voice broke the silence, soft, hesitant, muffled. “My mother called me.” Your fingers continued to softly trace the contours of his skin, brushing over the faint scars that lay hidden beneath his shirt. The words felt like a stone in your throat, hard to let out but impossible to keep inside for much longer. You needed to vent.

Bruce’s hand, which had been rubbing soothing circles on your own back, paused. You could feel his body shift slightly, his focus entirely on you. “What did she want?” He continued his gentle movements.

You bit your lip, a shaky breath escaping as you finally answered, “She wanted to catch up. After all these years… She wanted to know what I was doing, if I was married, if I had kids…” Your arms around Bruce’s mid-section tightened. “Waltzing back into my life like nothing happened.” The dam inside you broke. You could feel your tears starting to fall, “She just left. She left us - me and dad. Without any explanation. No goodbye. Nothing. And now she thinks she can just pick up the phone like nothing’s wrong? Like everything’s fine?” You shook your head, the bitterness, pain, and confusion flooding your words. “It hurts, Bruce. It hurts so much, and I never was told why, just… Nothing. No answers, no apology.”

As your words began to fade, Bruce’s hand gently tapped your back, signaling for you to sit up. You huffed sadly, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand, feeling exhausted.

Bruce’s eyes softened with understanding. “You’ve never told me about your mother before.”

You shrugged slightly, feeling your heart twist as you dropped your eyes to your hands in your lap. “She was never really in my life.” You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of Bruce’s touch, his understanding presence, made it easier to continue. You looked back up at him then, meeting his gaze. His eyes were steady, filled with patience and care, and it made everything seem just a little more bearable. “When I was ten, she just… Up and left. She just walked away from me and dad without a word, well, at least to me.” Your voice wavered, thick with emotion. “It wasn’t until I was in my late teens that dad finally told me she left him for another man. She never even tried to explain it to me. I was just… Left behind. And replaced… That guy she left us for had another daughter around my age…”

Bruce’s hand found yours, threading his fingers through yours gently so you would stop picking at your skin, along with to support you. “It hurt so much,” You added quietly, wiping your eyes again with your free hand. “Not just mentally, but emotionally. And then she calls me, after all this time, and it just… It opened the wound again. I thought it had healed, but it’s still there.”

Bruce’s hand squeezed yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles. “I’m so sorry you went through that,” He murmured, his free hand brushing your hair back from your eyes before cupping your cheek. “You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.” You tilted your head into his palm, nuzzling closer, covering his hand with yours, grateful for his unwavering support, for his gentle affection that surrounded you like a shield. “And you’re not alone,” He whispered, his voice filled with a quiet strength that anchored you. “You have your dad, your step-mom, and of course, you have Alfred. And I’m here. I will always be here for you.” He then lifted your hand, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. His thumb ran over the wedding ring, a soft smile forming on his lips. “To death do us part, remember?” He said lovingly, reassuringly, before pressing a gentle kiss to the space above the ring on your hand.

You let out a breathy mix of a sigh and a chuckle, smiling as you repeated his words, “To death do us part.” Your heart swelled, feeling the warmth of his love, and you knew, deep down, he was right. You weren't alone, not now, not ever. Your heart swelled with gratitude, with love, the tears slowly drying up. Bruce wasn’t just your husband; he was your home. And in his arms, you finally felt like you could breathe again. "Thank you, Brucie," You slowly, “But, I don’t know what to do now." You admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "I don’t know how to move forward. I don’t even know if I should call her... Or if I should let her in again."

"It’s all your choice, sweetheart," He said, his voice unwavering. "You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for." You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into him, finding comfort in the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. "Just because she called, trying to reconnect, doesn’t mean you have to call her tomorrow or even a week from now." He continued, "It could be three years from now, or six months. Whenever you feel ready. Or you don’t ever have to call her." The reassurance in his voice eased some of the tightness in your chest, the pressure to make a decision immediately slipping away. "You’ll know when you’re ready," Bruce added, "And no matter what you decide, I’m here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking in his words, letting the warmth of his embrace comfort you. For once, the world didn’t feel as heavy. “If I call her, will you be there with me?”

"Of course," Bruce said, "I'll be right beside you, every step of the way. Whatever you need, I’m here. If you decide to reach out to her, I’ll be there with you." He then cupped the back of your head, his thumb brushing softly upon your hair. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment as he then nuzzled his nose into your hairline. He pulled back just enough to glance at the clock on his monitors. His eyes softened as he looked back at you, his voice gentle but filled with determination. "I’m staying home from patrol tonight," He said, "We can order your favorite take-out, watch one of our movies." His expression was thoughtful, and you could tell that he was making sure everything would be exactly how you needed it to be. Trying to make the rest of the night as comforting and fun as possible. “I’ll even see if Alfred would mind making cookies.”

You sat up slowly, wiping away any lingering tears as a small smile tugged at your lips. The idea of a quiet night with him, no worries or demands, was exactly what you needed. "Can we cuddle?"

Bruce's lips quirked upward and without a word, he moved to pull you closer, his arms wrapping around you. "Of course, my love," He whispered, his voice deep and soothing. "Anything for you."

~~~

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