#The Dark Knight oneshot

[justanoasisimagines]

Jealously Headcanons

Hey my lovelies back with another Headcanon, been rewatching the Dark Knight a lot reccently. The Joker and the Temptress Part 2 is coming, it's just taking a while. My requests are open! My guidelines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider and the divider!

❀The Joker is an extremely possessive and jealous man. He refuses to let anyone get in between the two of you. he doesn't care about their intentions. If they're getting too close to you Joker is going to deal with them plain and simple.

❀Many factors cause Joker to become jealous. He doesn't let people stare at you, or make comments about you. He doesn't like people making comments about your relationship. He doesn't want to hear people doubt your abilities or your relationship. It's none of their business. It never stops people, however.

❀Joker doesn't hide his vicious jealous streak. He wants people to know what kind of man he is. Especially as his numbers begin to grow. They need to be fearful of him. They will know two things. One, they will not cross him if they want to make it out alive. Secondly, if anyone dares mess with you in any regard, he'll tear them apart.

❀So it goes without saying, that Joker makes his jealous revenge a public spectacle. He is going to set an example, to ward off anyone doing anything again. If they do so, then they are a fool for not heading his warning.

❀The encounters are violent and bloody. Joker speaks very little as he makes his claim on you. In Joker's mind, they might as well have injured you. His wrath is mighty as it is almost certain the individual dies. Anyone who dares to try to take you from him is an enemy of his.

[kurogxrix]

Under Wraps

Bruce Wayne x Wife!reader

IN WHICH Bruce and you deal with the aftermath of your kidnapping.

WC: 1.8k

warnings: ANGST, mentions of kidnapping, injuries, PTSD, soft!Bruce.

A/N: Ive l’ost all motivation in writing as of recently and had to FORCE myself to write this for a whole ass month😭 so it’s really nothing great.

The tense silence that lingered between you two was suffocating, albeit all windows in the room being wide open. You just couldn’t get yourself to speak, and Bruce just didn’t know what to say. He never does, but you love him either way. it’s funny to see the cocky billionaire flaunt all of his riches out to the world while he softens for you.

You sat upon the edge of your shared bed with your head in your hands, unable to make out whatever you husband was fumbling with behind you. The feeling of being in the opposite man’s grasp was so fresh to you, like a new scar that your brain harboured. Not only mentally, but the haunting mark across your wrists and neck were yet another temporary reminder of what had happened to you that night.

Oftentimes throughout the night you found yourself being ashamed for a reason or the other. Your husband’s been through worse, so have your sons, and yet your brain couldn’t help but replay the disturbing images of the moment you’d lost Bruce at the gala. You sighed in the comfort of your hands, forcing your eyelids shut impossibly further than they already were to try and shoo the nightmares away. 

Your clothes laid messily somewhere across the floor, a bloody and muddy mess that Bruce had quickly drawn off of you before ushering you into a warm shower. He’d then dressed you in a silky robe, and that was the end of it before you’d end up on the edge of the bed, alone with your thoughts despite your husband being in the same room as you.

Your ears fell deaf to the sound of constant rustling of cloth, so much that you failed to hear him crouch before you as he settled comfortably on his knees. 

Rough hands gently pried at your own, pulling them away from their protective stance around your face. The sudden lack of covering made you scrunch your nose in dismay, but a quick look from those hazel eyes before you had you relaxing. Bruce made a quick work out of the situation, silent as ever as his hands came to undo the knot around your robe that he himself had previously tied. 

You didn’t complain as his hands pushed at your robe, revealing the naked torso that Bruce had seen so many times before. The soft sigh that escaped your husband didn’t go deaf to your ears, and you closed your eyes once more as you awaited for the tingly feeling of his fingers. Seconds passed in sterile silence before you finally felt the scarred skin upon your own, except instead of balm covered fingers, you were met with his warm, bare ones. 

You opened your eyes to the sight of your dishevelled husband staring down at your bruised torso, the balms and bandages that were once in his left hand now abandoned beside you on the bed. His right hand held onto your side like an anchor, wide thumb pressing against your stomach. Bruce kneeling between your open legs was a sight that you’d never get tired of, but this time you could only pray for it to end. 

Hazel iris traced the dark spots littering your torso with a shame that was beyond their ability. Tiny hairs across his hairline stuck to his forehead due to cold sweat, and you brought a hand down to smooth them behind, little to no care for the tacky fluid rubbing onto your hand. Slowly by slowly, you began caressing your way down his face, smoothing out the wrinkles accumulating on his face before stopping on the edge of his jaw. 

The feeling of your fingers, alive and warm upon his freshly shaven jaw caused his fingers to involuntary clench on your side. The painful hiss that escaped your mouth was enough to snap your husband out of his stance, fingers almost immediately unclenching from their grip. 

Masochistic as it was, you were somewhat glad for the pain. It reminded you that you were alive and well, there in the mansion with your husband. It also managed to get those brown eyes that you loved so much to snap upwards towards you. They held so many feelings in there that you believed you could not be able to tend to them all in one night.

“I’m sorry,” it left his lips faster than your brain could comprehend, and you were left dumbfounded yourself at those two little words. Meaningless in most relationships, those words were nothing that you’d ever hear coming on of the one and only Bruce Wayne’s lips. He was cocky, always flaunting his riches to those who seeked. 

“It’s okay, it only hurt for a second.” you lied, because the throbbing pain still coursing through your right side threatened to sell you out. You could tell that Bruce wasn’t buying it, so much for being Gotham’s greatest detective. Nevertheless, your hand resumed its delicate caressing upon his cheek, a ruse to take his mind away from the little slip up. 

You could practically see the gears turning inside his head, trying to decipher why in hell you would be lying to him about this out of everything. Yet again he’d worried far too much over you in one night, you wouldn’t let his mind collapse over something so minor. 

Bruce didn’t wait for your approval before shifting on his knees, hands grabbing at the balms that looked humorously tiny compared to his large palm. The cold paste spreads smoothly upon the tip of his fingers, and soon they’re on your skin. The sensation made you flinch, but the reassuring hand that laid on your knee made you calm down. You thought it was crazy how such a simple thing could make you relax so easily, yet again marriage and love were another crazy thing of their own.

Your fingers clenched on their own as you felt

your throat tightening. No. Hell no, you wouldn’t let Bruce see you cry after the hectic course of fucking hell of days that you’d put him through. That selfless side of you that was present most of the time was yelling at you to stay strong, and yet the sight of your burly, rough and yet caring husband doting after you following your accident, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

You fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging little crescent moon into the skin of your palm as

you gritted your teeth together to hold in a loud sob threatening to escape past your lips involuntarily. From his spot on the floor, Bruce froze at the sight of the soft, rhythmic movements that swayed at your chest. From the corner of his eyes nevertheless, and in the dimness of the enclosed room, his senses never failed him.

Tilting his face up to meet your own, his fingers unwillingly clenched around the poor tin can of balm upon his hands. The tears that you were trying so hard to keep in pooled at your waterline, entangling in your bottom lashes before escaping on their own accord. He watched as your chest shook, exasperation taking over your body before you could even cry to him. Yet you weren’t doing it, and for some reason Bruce knew that he had some part to play in it. 

He remained silent as his hand came to clutch onto your own. Then, the sobs shook you and you just couldn’t hold it in anymore. You jumped from your seat on the edge of the bed and straight into his awaiting embrace, arms thrown tightly around the broad neck. Bruce felt his heart squeezing at the sound of your distraught cries, like the Joker himself had his heart placed and chained on some sort of death carousel. 

Nothing was more painful to Bruce than family. The bad and the good hurt. Like when happiness would grasp at his heart so hard that it’d physically hurt. Only family could achieve that for him, yet life wasn’t always favourable, and the bat knew that better than anyone else. He could make a list of things, one shittier and more tragic than the other, that’s happened to Bruce ever since he was but a little boy, and yet, his heart never got more of in a twist than at the sight of a member of his family hurting. 

Your breath staggered, and your husband felt the warm exhale of you trying to stabilise yourself upon his neck. A large, ringless, and warm palm found its way to the small of your back like a collarless dog chasing home. Suddenly, another bare hand fell upon your back as Bruce embraced you against his chest fully. 

The room was void of any noise save for the agonising sounds of your pained sobs. Bruce didn’t need to ask anything, he didn’t need to inquire to know that you were hurt. All the more scared and traumatised after your encounter with the Joker. His large palm rubbed comforting circles along your back as you laid motionless in his warm embrace. 

“You’re home now,” he muttered, as though it would help appease all of the new scars and fears that you'd acquired in the span of a few days. 

“I’m glad.” you breathed out from your position in the crook of his neck, feeling like you’d break down again if you spoke too much. The both of you occupied your positions on the floor for far longer than normal, only splitting apart to rejoin the comfort of the soft mattress after you’d whined in pain following a slight movement to adjust yourself on his lap. 

Bruce made a quick and effortless job of carrying you back to bed, pausing in his movements when you’d told him you’d feel better to sleep with the side lamp on tonight. The frown on his face deepened at your comment, yet he didn’t allow you to see it as he kept his back to you despite complying. Settling in bed was even harder for you than you expected, unable to wrap your arms around the muscular torso of your husband and rest your head upon his chest as your injury unabled you to. 

Sleep didn’t come easy either, plagued with nightmares that previously didn’t exist in the far back of your mind. Bruce was here with you through it all, his sleeping habits aiding him to wake by the moment you’d stir awake. That night, Batman slept but Bruce didn’t, but the feeling of your pulse regaining its normal beat as you laid with your back against his chest erased Bruce’s ability to care. Safe and sound under the wraps.

-

anyways that was that….

[anitalenia]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒆!𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮. ₊ ⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ✧˚ ༘

— 𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖘 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ 𝘥𝘤 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

˚☽˚｡⋆ 𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑. The silence was too loud and his room was too cold — his arms and torso were left bare to freeze thanks to you (he was too much of a gentleman to snatch the blanket off you anyway). The heavy rain smacked into his windows pointedly and purposefully; with every loud drop it made his lip twitch in annoyance.

The air was sharp and frosted, it burned his nose when he breathed in too deeply and it made him wonder if Alfred forgot to turn the heat on — better yet if you turned it off, knowing you hated to fall asleep too warm and Alfred was too meticulous and thorough to forget to turn it off at all.

It was dingy and dismal, dark and dreary just as Bruce preferred it to be, so little going on for him to be so awake and agitated but yet… maybe that was just it. The silence, the boredom, the macabre sense of monotony on an unfamiliarly quiet Saturday night — so little going on it was driving him mad.

Bruce stared up at the ceiling with his arms laid out on his shirtless stomach, restless but tired. His limbs were sore and heavy, his body bruised and battered, yet his dark eyes couldn’t help but flicker over to his window ever so often when he thought about what was on the other side of it — the source of his calamity.

He’d stare through the droplets of water at the blurred kaleidoscope of lights as they shone onto his floor, not eagerly per say just habitually; Bruce seldom ever saw a peaceful night in, so unaccustomed with the sweet domesticity of crawling under the covers at 10:30 pm and kissing your lover goodnight — he was usually so busy, for Gotham never slept and crime never seemed to stop.

No, Bruce couldn’t sleep; his thoughts a morbid mess of batman-esque obligation that made it impossible to close his eyes.

You were a different matter entirely as Bruce turned his head to look at you; snuggled up on your side of the large bed with his thick, black comforter surrounding you, breathing gently on the muscle of his shoulder and sleeping soundly, beautifully.

His pretty little wife.

His eyes looked over the sharp shadows of your sleeping beauty. From your wispy eyelashes, to your cute little nose, to your softly parted lips, a soft smile adorning the corner of his mouth as he did — he couldn’t help it.

Your hair was frizzy and tangled messily around your head, your soft breaths ever so often stuttered with an adorable snore but Bruce couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked anyway as he raked his eyes over your face fondly.

As he did he realized how grateful he was that you didn’t need to worry yourself with the things that he did; you were too innocent for the cruelty of Gotham City, too pure and divine; an angel wrapped in wicked tapestry.

Even now, in your pale white pajamas on black silken sheets you looked too fragile for them, like they could wrap their shadowy arms around you and swallow you whole — just as the city could so easily do if he wasn’t there to protect you.

If Batman wasn’t there to save you.

I don’t care, Bruce. I love you anyway.

That’s what you’d always say when Bruce would settle down in bed beside you with a heavy sigh and whisper why do you stay?, on those long nights when he’d come home brutally battered and fatigued. After a night of being heavily reminded to the real dangers waiting just outside his door like a pack of feral dogs and how easily they could ensnare you in their jaws.

I don’t care. I love you.

He loved you too, he really very did.

With that final thought, Bruce was still caught staring at you with a soft look of love on his face when you gently fluttered your eyes open, your body sensing his awareness before your mind could.

He watched patiently as you groggily looked around before eventually meeting his gaze, his eyes getting even softer at the adorable look of confusion on your face.

Your eyes tiredly looked back up at him despite the darkness surrounding you two, able to see his frowned lips and dark eyes clearly, “Bruce? Why are you still awake?”

Your voice was raspy and tired, a small yawn following your statement that made pity tear at his heart for waking you up.

Bruce ran his hazel eyes over your face some more before he responded, unable to stop cherishing you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He simply responded, voice low and intimate, words spoken in the bare space between his lips and yours.

You settled into your silken pillow with a small huff, eyes focused more on Bruce’s face now as the grogginess gradually melted away and your vision became clearer — the silence and rain thrumming calmly around you. It wasn’t a normal night in Gotham City without the rain.

“Well, did you try?” You teased just as quietly as he, smiling a little at the chuckle he gave you in response.

“Yes, of course I tried. It clearly didn’t go as planned.” Bruce mumbled back with a faint snicker, speaking just loud enough so you can hear him over the rain pattering on the windows, a small smile now quirked on his sharp lips.

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyes looking between his, knowing Bruce well enough to know when he was lying.

“I don’t really believe you. What’s keeping you awake?” You sighed with furrowed brows, resting your head right next to his bare shoulder to look up at him better — maybe if you pouted in that cute way he liked he’d tell you honestly.

Bruce faltered at that, looking down at you with a heavy heart; he couldn’t possibly tell you that he felt guilty laying in bed with you when he should’ve been out there, out there protecting those who needed him. But the fact of the matter, one he couldn’t argue with, was that you needed him as well.

He couldn’t possibly tell you how conflicted he really was but probably shouldn’t have been; two parts of him sharing the same mind and body but each with entirely different obligations — the irreconcilable duality that was he.

One part of him was Bruce Wayne; millionaire, orphan, husband, you needed that side of him, you deserved to have him for at least one night. But he was also Batman, and Gotham always needed him.

He was haunted with a classic case of Jekyll and Hyde but instead of one side lusting for murderous intent his alter ego longed for rightful justice in the grandest city of injustice. Batman was the only one who could live harmoniously in the dark, the only one capable of doing the things he did. It was an enervative dichotomous life of matrimonial duties and moral obligation.

There were two men sharing the same halves of the same soul and Bruce couldn’t decide which heart to listen to without making the other one feel guilty.

“Just work stuff, honey. It’s nothing you need to worry about, trust me.” Bruce dismissed after a short moment, shaking his head gently with a reassuring smile on his thin lips — like that could convince you of anything.

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, registering the slight blue bags under his eyes and the crippled fault in his smile, all small clues of his devious, well-intentioned deception.

“Which work stuff?” You prodded carefully, raising a brow at him as suspicions already began to brew in the back of your mind as to what he was really referring.

Bruce chuckled again at that, loving your caring and inquisitive nature any day but wishing you’d just drop it already. He really couldn’t bear weighing any of the pressure he carried on your delicate shoulders, fearing you’d crumble under the weight of it.

“Really, it’s…” Bruce looked back up at the ceiling in indecision, searching for the right words, “it’s nothing I can’t handle, okay?” He looked back down at you with confidence, his voice firmer than before but still softly spoken to get his point across.

You narrowed your eyes at him with that, knowing it was a response you fully expected but were still annoyed to hear.

You were aware that he was lying to you but also aware that he wouldn’t tell you no matter how much you begged him; he never liked to tell you anything about his Batman related problems and it greatly frustrated you for some reason.

As his wife didn’t you deserve to know at least something? You were fully aware of what you were getting yourself into when you agreed to his long awaited proposal. After all, you didn’t just marry Bruce Wayne but you married Batman as well… you could handle the truth even if he didn’t seem to think so.

You sighed anyway, unable to mask your irritation towards him for keeping you in the dark. Your lack of sleep didn’t help the influx of annoyance either.

You took your head off his warm shoulder and went to turn around away from him, your fatigue easily irritating you more than usual.

Bruce licked his lips and sighed, having already disappointed you in an attempt to protect you; a small price to pay if it meant your pretty little head wasn’t clogged with constant, pained disquietude like his was.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” You muttered more to yourself than anything, fussing with the blanket you had wrapped yourself in during your slumber and now seemed to be stuck in.

Before you could fully turn around though Bruce laid a warm, consoling hand on your forearm that made you pause, “Hey, hey, wait.”

You lingered a moment at the feel of it before turning back around to face him, expression a little more sour than before — tired and impatient.

Bruce felt guilt swirl in his stomach at the look on your face, knowing he was disappointing you but also knowing it was for the best.

He kept the hand on your arm, leaning up and wrapping it around your back to bring you into his chest, his other arm going behind your neck and tucking you into his side like you were his most precious doll — you were of course.

You didn’t fight him even if you wanted to, enjoying the warmth he provided and the safety you subconsciously sought out snuck tight in between his arms.

“Bruce.” You grumbled anyway as you settled against him, his arm releasing you for a moment to pick the blanket up and over his waist so there was nothing separating you two from each other.

You felt hard plains of muscle underneath you when he did, a flustered pinkness appearing on your cheeks, then slowly crept in hot embarrassment at the fact that your husband’s carefully structured body that you’ve seen many many times still managed to make you shy.

You melted into his side, albeit a bit stiffly as you were still annoyed with him and wanted to blatantly show it, your arms stubbornly slotted against your chest to separate yourself from laying completely on his.

When Bruce was done adjusting the blanket, the bed moving as he did, he settled still and looked down at you with those kind eyes of his you loved so much, the ones that always flustered you when you stared back into them for too long.

The arm behind your neck pushed you closer to him while he took his right hand and wrapped it around your chin, his palm so warm and big against your jaw that you couldn’t help but sigh in submission.

Bruce gently forced you to look up at him, his eyes staring down at you softly but earnestly.

“Alright, hey, don’t be like that with me. If there was something I thought you really needed to know I’d tell you. Otherwise, it’s best I keep that side of myself as private from you as possible. I hate the thought of you being in danger because of me, because I exposed you to that side of myself you didn’t need to see.” Bruce whispered genuinely, minty breath fanning over your nose as you stared up at him, seemingly calm now and even just a little regretful for being so upset with him in the first place.

“Just give it a rest honey, alright? I promise you, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Do I ever go back on my promises, hmm?” He said sweetly, looking down at you with insistent but loving eyes in the expectation of you responding.

You paused for a moment as you registered his words, still curious to know what he was really thinking about because you just couldn’t help it. You worried for him, wished he’d be more open with you so you could help him in whatever way you could. However, you also didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was either, your mind picturing all the purple bruises littering his beautiful body pitifully.

So, you just shook your head like a scolded child, “No… you don’t.” You’d have to bite your tongue for now, pouting up at him cutely — Bruce was just too sweet to argue with sometimes and he knew it.

Bruce gave you a charming smile, gray shadow washed over the angles of his straight nose and narrow cheeks. His brown hair was more unkempt than usual, wavy tendrils of it fallen around his face. He looked so handsome, more tranquil this way, as he leaned down and gave you a peck on the forehead, a sweet hum sounding in the back of his throat.

“That’s my girl.”

You sighed happily, giving in to him completely now and wrapping an arm around his chest so you could burrow against him; he wrapped his arm around you tighter instinctually, enjoying the feel of you against him as he looked up at the ceiling in content.

Nothing was better than being with you, so much so that Batman himself felt satiated from his lonely perch in the back of Bruce’s mind.

You stared out the large, arched window on his wall for a few quiet moments, watching as the rain quickly fell down the glass one by one as Bruce softly traced his textured fingertips along the spine of your back.

“It always rains, you ever notice that?” You murmured tiredly against his skin, in a daze from the tingling sensation on your skin as he caressed your back in gentle, loving touches.

Bruce looked away from you a moment when you spoke to spare the window a disinterested glance, “What? You don’t like the rain, Mrs. Wayne?” He teased you, his spirits higher than before as he looked back down at you even if you couldn’t see, his nose filled with the sweet smelling shampoo you used — coconut and vanilla.

You smiled a little — you loved when he called you that.

“Well of course you do. You’re Batman, you’re supposed to like depressing things.” You spoke with a smile, only teasing him as your eyes drifted shut from the comfort of his body against yours, muscles melting against the black sheets nestled between his own.

Bruce chucked at that, his hand ceasing its calming motion, “oh, is that right?”

You hummed with an amused smile on your lips, nodding your head, “mmhmm, yes sir.”

Bruce scoffed playfully at that, looking down at you with a fond playfulness in his eyes before gently taking his muscled arm out from underneath your head.

You lifted your head up curiously to look at him, wishing for the moment to not be disturbed, only to be gently rolled over so that Bruce was laid on top of you and you were now sunken into the inky black abyss of cushions beneath him. Your lips parted in a slight gasp, staring up at him with those beautiful eyes he loved so much in surprise.

“Now now, Mrs. Wayne, don’t go calling me that unless you plan on doing something about it, it’s in bad taste.”

You giggled at that, a joyous and twinkling sound that made Bruce tense up, his eyes darting towards your lips and his heart quickening in his chest. You always had such an effect on him even if you didn’t know it.

“How ‘bout you do something about it then?” You whispered up to him sensually, voice low and playful. You could feel the air surrounding the little bubble you two found yourselves in change heavily as you ran your hands softly over his midsection, his light skin cold and soft, muscles hard and firm as you traced your fingers delicately over each individual ab until Bruce was twitching at the feeling.

He glanced down at your hands hotly, already worked up from your minuscule touches alone, his skin tingling from the sensation as a familiar heat started to twirl in his lower tummy.

He looked back down at you, eyes more hooded now but just as eagerly as rain pounded on the windows somewhere in the background — you couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his warm breaths and the gradual throbbing between your own legs.

“Yeah? Would you like if I did something about it, Mrs. Wayne?” Your husband mumbled huskily, a teasing smirk on his lips as he lowered down closer until his face was just above yours, his big arms pressed into the pillow on each side of your head so you were surrounded by him.

He could see the way you inhaled at the name, felt the way your nails dug into his skin for a subtle, fleeting moment. He always knew all the right ways to turn you on, knew all the right words to say to make you melt in his hands like warm syrup — you were certainly just as sweet.

You stared up at your husband with heavy breaths, mouth watering for a taste of him, eyes blown black with love and unabashed want as he sat in the reflection of your irises. Your skin felt hot and your thighs tightened around his waist, arms aimlessly tracing the ridges of muscle that coated Bruce’s front; it was in an innocently naive way now, so unaware of how badly it was affecting Bruce himself as your initial confidence dwindled down to need.

You impatiently waited for him to make a move, give into the desire you both so clearly felt as your eyes ran over his shirtless body and perfect face in the mean time. With every exhale of breath out of his mouth you found yourself inhaling it back in, breathing his air and smelling of Bruce’s aftershave, Bruce’s shampoo, it was all just Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.

He had completely overwhelmed your senses with his smell, his presence, his very existence and it was making it hard to think clearly — only he plagued your thoughts so much it made your fingertips buzz to feel more of him.

It was in moments like these where the sheer size of Bruce was brought to your attention; he was much more muscular than you, all sharp edges and ridges of pure muscle and destruction that could destroy anything he put his hands on.

It was ironic to you, how those same hands that broke bones were the same hands that caressed your skin in the softest of touches, in the softest of ways, irrevocably incapable of breaking you.

Bruce believed he was all carnal ruination — hands made to break and fists made to destroy. He believed he had a dark side in him he couldn’t control, that Batman was the outlet for all the frustration he felt towards the injustices of the city and how easily it corrupted the lightest of souls. He believed he was made to hurt, to cause ruin — a reason why he never took a single human soul no matter how rotten it was.

But you believed he didn’t give himself enough credit, which is exactly why moments like these were so important to remind him.

You swallowed nervously now as you looked back into his eyes, your fingers faltering in their movement as they stilled on the angles of his hips, right outside the tight band of his black sweatpants.

“Yes, Mr. Wayne, that’s exactly what I want.” You whispered back up to him in a velvety soft tone, eyes looking at his pink lips and then flickering back up between his hazel irises lustfully; the look in them was too intense for you to handle but you sufficed, your heart thrumming passionately under your skin at the attention.

Bruce almost melted at the name, just as affected by the title as you were, lowering his face down until his nose was touching yours, his lips hovering right above your own.

“That’s my girl…” Bruce breathed thickly against your lips, his eyes flickering to your mouth as yours did the same to his, your mouth salivating for a taste of him.

A silent beat passed as you both just stayed in that position, locked into each other’s loving gazes and gentle touches, his lips just a whisper away from yours screaming to have you, to taste you. It was intimate and warm, quiet, your body feeling fuzzy and alight with something similar to deep admiration and not so far from a deep, shared love for each other.

There was no playfulness about it now.

It was then, when the tension had sizzled into flame did Bruce finally lean down and kiss you, his lips soft and cold, so contrasting from the warmth he sought in yours as the rain pattered on the windows and your angelic essence drowned him further into the depths of you.

You moaned softly, feeling relief flood through you as your hands gripped his hips for some sort of anchor off the clouds you seemed to be floating on. Bruce kissed you lovingly, a characteristic act of tenderness as he found his own needy noises hum in the back of his throat.

It was sweet and slow, lips careful and gentle against each other between delicate sighs and hums. He tasted of peppermint and the faint drawl of bourbon, his tongue damping your lips and your shared saliva wet on your mouths.

He seperated from you just for a short moment, your lips feeling the loss but not for too long before he was on you once more with a fervor, tongue molding between your lips forcefully and sucking yours into the warmth of his mouth.

You whined at the sudden confidence within him, lips barely moving against his as he took control of your movements and gave you no other option but to take what he gave you — his lips and his tongue tangling with yours messily as sensual rumbles sounded deep from within in his chest.

He brought a hand down from the pillow and intertwined it in your hair, tangling his thick fingers into your roots and pulling hard enough to arouse you further. It made your back arch and lips part in a salacious gasp.

Bruce found himself unable to part from your delectable taste for long, taking that moment to reconnect his damp lips to the skin between your chin and shoulder. He forced your head back as he kissed your neck, the cold air hitting every damp spot in a pleasurable tingling sensation that had your nails digging into his abs.

“Bruce…” You sighed oh so sweetly in a distracted state of mind, just wanting to say his name and have him hear how good he was making you feel with his simple kisses alone — a feat he always accomplished anytime he did.

The praise didn’t fall on deaf ears but he was too preoccupied with the sound of your heavy breaths and whines to really pay attention, too love drunk on the smoothness of your skin falling over his tongue as he licked his way down to your collarbone. He released his grip on your hair and his hands made idle work in caressing their way down your body to the hem of your white pajama top.

His hands were eager, so familiar on the curves of your body as they slid back up to your chest, hands big and desperate as they tightly gripped your bosom for a fleeting moment that had you moaning at the sting — he was handsy, unable to get enough of you and the way your body perfectly slotted between the strength and ridges of his hands.

His cock was already hard in his slacks, poking against your thigh absentmindedly as his hands dug into the center of your top and adamantly ripped it right down the middle. The buttons flew over the bed and your tits spilled out of the ripped material in a gorgeous ripple of flesh that had Bruce groaning at the sight.

“So beautiful, so gorgeous, just fucking perfect…” He mumbled in a lustful daze, more to himself as a factual observation, his hands now gripping your waist, eager mouth leaning down and making quick work to lap at your chest in the way he knew you liked.

You giggled dreamily at that, feeling fluttery and lightheaded at the praise, body warm and melting like a cube of butter on top of his silk bed sheets. He was always capable of making you melt with just a few loving words and caresses, another one of his talents.

Your hands had found their way into his thick hair, massaging at the loose strands when you decided it was impossible to stay still from the buzzing running through your pores.

Your pussy throbbed in your pajama shorts, painfully so, stomach in tight knots at the sparks shooting down to your core from his ministrations.

He found himself enthralled by the feeling of your tit in his mouth, fervently sucking on the skin there as his hands gripped into your waist so tight in a subconsciously possessive hold so you could never leave. Maybe it was the semblance of Batman himself leaking out from under tight fingertips, a degree of fierce protection in the way he held you underneath him, unable to be taken or destroyed by the same evil he fought almost every night.

You were here with him, with him and all of his burdens for the rest of your lives.

“So gorgeous…”

Bruce was lost in the pleasure you helplessly moaned in his ears, feeling his own mutual desire swirling in his tummy and thrumming through his skin that made every touch feel like fire, every kiss an ember from the flame until you and him were intertwined ash lost in the black smoke.

He loved you, his pretty wife, always so supportive and forgiving in the moments he definitely didn’t deserve it.

He picked his head up, panting and lips wet, your chest littered in pink marks and damp with his spit as Bruce licked his lips, hungry for more already.

You looked at him in all his glory, admiringly, just as enamored with him as he was with you as your warm hands slid down to his cheeks. Your own were flushed pink and feverish, breath warm and heavy as you lovingly ran your palm over his sharp cheekbone. His skin was soft, smooth and tepid under your dainty fingertips.

You gently caressed the faint purple of a bruise with your thumb, right in the hollow of his eye.

Bruce leaned into the tender action for a spared moment of comfort, his eyes hooded and twinkling in the dark as he breathed heavily against your lips. He kept finding himself absent in the presence of your beauty, staring at your face and your lips and being so thankful he had you at all.

“So beautiful…” He breathed gingerly, eyes looking over your face like he was seeing you for the first time — no, he was selfish in his blatant admiration of your magnificence, his heart throbbing almost painfully in his love for you as he watched the soft corners of your mouth twist into a shy smile at your devotees idolatrous attention.

He leaned down after a fond moment of your thumb tracing his cheekbone, after he was satisfied with his generous intake of your prettiness. He pecked an affectionate kiss on your smiling lips before dipping his head down and laying several kisses to your neck once more.

You bit your lip at the sensitive feeling, closing your eyes, lost in the feel of him, as he pampered you with doting kisses all the way down to your ribcage, his hands now playing with the hem of your shorts but not too boldly as to take them off quite yet.

“You’re everything, you know that? I could never imagine my life without you… you’re perfect, so perfect.” He rubbed your stomach adoringly, “Your body is perfect, so beautiful, I can’t believe you ever married me…” He mumbled in that rough voice of his, vulnerable in the night, in the moment when you couldn’t see him all the way clearly but he could see all of you just fine.

You could feel another smile playing on your lips — not that it had even left — the heavy sensation of happy tears casting a light sheen over your eyes. He was the perfect one, he was the gorgeous and beautiful counterpart of you that didn’t seem to realize his own value. You only wished you had the poetic spark in yourself that he had, then you’d be able to voice it properly. Still, his praise made your heart swell as he took your left hand and kissed the diamond ring on your finger amorously.

“Oh, Bruce…” You spoke in a hushed manner, voice wobbling from the overwhelming infatuation you had for the man, so thankful and grateful for such a man as wonderful as he. In your eyes the sudden romance had come out of nowhere, but it was still greatly appreciated as it caused your voice to thicken with the downpour of love it had spiked.

He looked into your eyes as he warmly kissed your palm, lips quirked slightly, eliciting another tender hearted smile from you. He then let you settle your hands back on his shoulders as he slotted himself between your hips, the affectionate moment lingering in the air as you pet his wide shoulders.

You were laid on your back, smooth thighs spread to accommodate his size between them, pajama top ripped down the middle in fragmented material hanging off your shoulders, your tits pooled on your chest and wet with his kisses. Your hair was tangled, fanned around your head, lips pink and plushy from all his salacious kisses, your eyes glittering erotically bright.

Despite that, you were not uncomfortable to be so exposed to him, exposed in a way you’d only ever be with him. You knew he would never judge you nor your body, that he loved you and all your freckles and scars and all the blemishes you considered imperfections — he loved them all. The only part of you not seen were covered by the shorts Bruce was already eager to take off.

You were beautiful to him, ethereal even, just as he said you were an angel, something divine and pure, a holy deity completely out of this world that transcended the mortal plane he was bound to, letting his lowly lips and hands cherish your merciful soul and body. Just oh so perfect.

“I love you…” You whispered, pathetically cute, down to him, a whisper wafting into his ears soft and fragile as if you were scared he wouldn’t say it back — he’d say it everyday for a thousand years if he had the blessing of living that long with you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, pulsing with need, as you smiled down at him sweetly.

“I love you more, Mrs. Wayne… I love you more…” He breathed hotly against your stomach, already leaning down and peppering sugarcoated kisses along your pelvis, so much closer to where you really needed him that the throbbing had become unbearably intense, wetness soaking your inner thighs and cream colored shorts. You felt your body shiver at the title once more.

You swallowed shakily as Bruce moved down, his daft fingers hooking into the band of your shorts and gently shoving them down to your knees as his longing lips reached the band of your lavender laced panties.

Your thighs tightened around his head as cool air hit your wet center, your body sensitive and pulsing heavy notes of desire straight into your pussy that made it hard to keep your head up and eyes open.

You just needed him, needed him and his expert mouth to bring you some sort of relief. Your toes were curled already, pussy clenching around nothing and spewing out clear juices that only damped your underwear further. You tangled your fingers into his hair heatedly, resisting the urge to shove his head down where you really wanted him.

Bruce swallowed hungrily, staring at your panty-clad pussy with dark eyes. He could smell your sweetness on his nose, the rain pattering on the windows still and the room still dark as sin but he could see his heaven clear as day, hypnotized by the patch of wetness in your panties, molded to the shape of your pussy lips and begging to be ripped apart.

His eyes flickered up to you, feeling your grabby fingers tangled in his hair as your thighs tensed back and forth around his neck.

Your head was barely held up, eyes hooded and sparkling with a form of lustful desperation as you stared down at him. Your chest bobbing up and down heavily and your skin radiant and smooth, the city lights from his window blurredly reflected in the fat of your cheeks. You already looked destroyed, like he had just fucked your brains out yet he really hadn’t done a thing.

“Bruce, come on…” You whined in a delicate plea when he made no movement further, hands barely pulling his hair but it was hard enough for his skin to prickle in pleasure, a hiss leaving his lips, just hard enough to get your message across.

He snickered at that, lips shiny and jaw chiseled, his face so sharp yet soft at the same time. His beauty greatly perplexed you for how could a mere mortal be so fucking handsome? He was though, he was strong and big and riddled with scars and imperfections yet the accumulation of all those little faults are what made him flawless.

Bruce himself felt the throbs of impatience nestled in his stomach, burrowed in his heart, buzzing at his fingertips, as he looked down at your pussy once more just inches from his mouth, both wet and watering for the other.

“Be patient, honey. I just wanna look at ‘cha first. You’re so pretty, dripping wet for me…” He had the audacity to murmur in that cocky voice of his, yet simultaneously genuine and stunned at the observation as his hands rubbed your thighs, being sure to heartily press into the tissue in that way he knew you liked.

You couldn’t help but pull his hair some more, bursting at the seams for some sort of pleasure you feared it would boil over and you’d explode. You felt frustration settle through your veins once more like molten lava, your skin tensing and thighs aching from their tight grip around his neck.

“Bruce, no more teasing, please? Just please…” You moaned and whined like a stubborn girl, voice thick with need and painful yearning that made his cock twitch in his pants. You almost sounded broken, voice fragmented with a certain torment only his mouth and fingers could appease.

He licked his lips, feeling desire swell in his lower tummy at the state of you — already so incapable of any thought but the memory of his cock inside you, the feeling of his fingers drilling into your tight hole as he spat and licked on your sensitive clit. It was all you could think about, all you could picture in your mind as your head laid back on the pillows and you scooted down the bed until your pussy was right in his face.

The blanket had long since been forgotten, bunched around his hips and aiding as a nice cushion for his abdomen hunched over the end of the bed.

Bruce felt himself chuckle huskily at your shameless neediness, his big hands stopping on your plush inner thighs as he settled down between your legs on the soft mattress, getting himself comfortable for you.

You breathed heavily, eyes closed as you laid back on the silken pillow with your face crumbled so cutely. He was such a tease even when he was meant to be sweet, even when he was insistent on being a good husband who doted on his wife whenever he could — you guessed growing up rich gave him that arrogant edge.

Your stomach was knotted so tight, your skin hot and shivering for some sort of touch as your fingers dug themselves into the roots of his damp, brown hair. You needed him so bad, but your pussy needed him worse.

You felt your thighs tickle as Bruce lightly traced the pads of his fingers down, down, down until he was at the crook of your inner thigh, his right hand digging into the flesh of your leg like he himself couldn’t hold back from you anymore.

Bruce didn’t bother voicing any teasing quips or dirty statements, knowing you were so out of it you wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Every fiber of your being was hooked on his touches, hyper aware of the spots his fingers trickled across, eager for some degree of pleasure that would make this painful waiting period worth it.

He swallowed down the salvia pooling in his throat, so hungry for a taste of you, starved almost. His index finger hooked into your panties and delicately pushed them out of the way until they were bunched in the crook of your thigh. His eyes were met with your soaking wet slit in all its glory.

White, creamy arousal stuck to your panties and dripped down your pulsing hole into the crack of your ass, sheer white beads of cum dribbled down your needy hole that would escape his tongue before he even got a proper taste of you yet.

The cool air made you whine behind closed lips, your voice high pitched and desperate now, your fingers tighter in his hair as your hips subtly bucked forward. The beautiful noises you were making made Bruce’s jaw clench.

You were glistening, shiny with arousal and the strings of impenitent want, evidence of your desire and love for him as he found himself inhaling the scent of you once more.

You smelt so good. He found himself groaning at the musky sweetness, his finger still hooked around the crotch of your panties as his other hand tightly gripped your thigh — you moaned softly at the pressure, sure that there would be the faint yellow bruises of his adoring fingerprints pressed into your skin tomorrow. A charming reminder of the evening when they blossomed.

You felt your core clench once more, thighs tensing up as wetness shone in his greedy irises.

Bruce was unable to wait any longer, his mouth salivating and his eyes blown black as he pressed his tongue into your wet hole and licked a bold stripe all the way up to your buzzing clit, the taste of your arousal pooled on his tongue and already dripping down the sharp corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t stop the loud moan from echoing in the room, euphoric sounding as sweet sparks went off all over your skin at the long awaited contact. Your fingers tightly anchored themselves in Bruce’s hair as his tongue went up and down your folds, gathering as much of your wetness in his mouth as he could.

His hands swiftly dug themselves into your hips to hold you down once you started writhing in his hold. His tongue forcefully circled your clit in sharp wet strokes, deep rumbled moans escaping his chest that vibrated the sensitivity of it and only made more wetness gush out of you and soak his chin.

You tasted so good, so fucking good; he wanted nothing more than to be drowned in your essence, choking on everything you gave him until his belly was full and even then he wouldn’t be satisfied, he’d never be satisfied. He was like a monster, chasing every little drop of cum that pebbled out of your clenching hole with a forked tongue, greedy and carnivorous like you were the only nectar he ever wanted to taste again.

His tongue lapped your pussy once more as you gasped, back arched and toes clenched as he thrusted his tongue into you over and over, wet and messily as your juices shimmered on his cheeks and lips.

No, he decided, the beast within him would never be tamed.

You bucked away from his mouth in a pathetic attempt to free yourself from the overwhelming pleasure, but Bruce held you down with his strong arms, staring up at you with furrowed brows of concentration as his lips molded over your puffy clit once more, swollen from need and his relentless licking.

He was nothing if not devoted, devoted to your elegance, to your holy figure and endless love as he lapped at you desperately, his tongue swirling your clit as the fabric of your panties tickled his nose. He couldn’t get enough, pushing deeper and harder until your wetness was messily smeared on his mouth and face, eating more and tasting more until his entire being was smothered with your cum inside and out.

“Bruce, o-oh my god!” You squealed wantonly, one hand now gripping the black sheets between tight fingers as your other hand remained in his hair, following the movements of his head as he went up and down, side to side until not an inch of you wasn’t covered in his salvia.

He breathed hotly against you, his eyes closed as he savored the feel of you in his mouth and trickling down his throat. He couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t listen to reason as all he could focus on was you and your cum, tasting you, licking you, having you in every sense of the word. No one could tear him away from you, not now, not when he was so close to having you cum in his mouth and reaching his final purpose.

You were so close, you could feel it in your tummy. Your hole clenching around his tongue as he went back and forth from your clit and your soaked hole, wanting to pleasure you but simultaneously wanting to taste you for his own pleasure.

Your toes curled, stomach tightened, hands gripping the sheets as your mouth flew open in sporadic moans and gasps, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your thighs squeezed around Bruce so tight you’d fear he’d never surface from between your legs again.

He wouldn’t have a problem with that.

Bruce picked his head up only high enough to talk, lips dripping and almost incoherent as he mumbled deeply into the wet folds of your pussy like he couldn’t bear to part, “You gonna cum for me, baby? Come on, Mrs. Wayne, make me proud, cum in my mouth.” As he voiced this his one hand crept down and slyly inserted themselves into the tight confine of your warmth, his index and middle fingers pushing inside you, so long and so big it made you cry out.

It was wet and warm, your juices slapping against his knuckles as he circled his fingers inside you, pushing on the spot he knew he was supposed to as his mouth eagerly returned to your clit. He looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your tits jiggling with every thrash of your hips, every arch of your back and every gasp out of your pretty, dampened lips.

He groaned into you at the sight, feeling his cock achingly hard in his pants as he sucked your clit into the warmth of his mouth and refused to let go, tongue prodding the area skillfully and harshly. He wasn’t going to stop this time, not until you were creaming around his fingers and leaking down his neck.

The air was so thick and stuffy that you couldn’t help but pant fervently, your body prickled with pleasure and overwhelming sensations that made it hard to focus on anything but his fingers inside you, long and lithe, slipping in and out as the sounds of your wetness clouded your ears and muffled your moans.

Bruce himself was lost in you, tongue and lips a glistening mess as they lapped and circled and sucked every part of your pussy exposed to him, it felt so good it stung — he was groaning into you softly, pleasure building in his tummy and rumbling through his mouth to your already so sensitive clit.

It was then, just a few short moments after his fingers wormed their way inside your tight walls, just a few short moments after he sucked your clit into his mouth did you feel your stomach relax, thighs squeeze around his head so hard he felt himself go dizzy.

“Ahh, O-oh my god, Bruce!” You moaned so blissfully, so sweetly, as your juices squirted onto his chin and his fingers squelched inside you.

Bruce moaned at the feeling, fingers gently sliding out of your clenching hole so his tongue could catch all the cum pouring out. You whimpered at the feeling of his mouth still on you, lapping at your hole like a dehydrated villager kneeling at a prosperous fountain, your skin pasty and so so hot.

He lapped at your pussy a few more times, up and down, ensuring he got his fill for the evening as faint tremors wracked your body in the aftershocks of his giving nature. You were flat on the bed now, belly sore from the tightness it held for so long, legs limp and body spent as you panted gently, heart throbbing in your ears.

You managed to lazily caress his sweaty hair though as Bruce surfaced from between your legs, face glistening and lips sore and pink. He looked manic, hair pulled and tangled and messily scattered on his face yet he seemed to be glowing at the same time, like he had never felt so alive and it made you want to giggle.

He sniffled, looking up at you with an impish grin, the taste of you lingering in his mouth and staining his nose. His hands fondly massaged your shaking thighs, noting your wrecked appearance and tired eyes, your sweaty skin flushed and warm.

He couldn’t help it as he glanced down at the mess he made, your slippery wet folds and the large patch of wetness staining his sheets.

“Mrs. Wayne, pardon my brashness of course,” He said almost sarcastically, breathless and rugged, an amused smile quirked on his lips as he leaned forward and embraced your hand with his, “but you taste utterly divine.”

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ @little-miss-chaoss — I hope it’s okay I tagged you, you said you wanted to be tagged in everything 😭🙌🏻

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Forever a Shelby

Thomas Shelby x Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas and you get married.

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings:

protective! Thomas, cocky! Thomas if you squint, kissing, lap sitting,

Thomas Shelby stood at the altar, the weight of his suit jacket pressing down on his broad shoulders. The church was grand, decorated with white lilies and gold ribbons, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Birmingham that he knew so well.

Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floor. The pews were filled with both Shelbys and Changrettas, two families whose histories were steeped in blood and rivalry. Today, however, was meant to be a day of unity, a truce symbolized by the marriage of Thomas Shelby and the daughter of his fiercest enemy, Luca Changretta. Arthur stood beside him, a rare softness in his eyes as he glanced back at the congregation. He reached out, patting Thomas on the shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Nervous, Tommy?"

Thomas turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in what could almost be considered a smile. "No, Arthur," he replied, his voice low and steady. "Nervous ain't in my nature." His accent, thick and rich, rolled off his tongue, a constant reminder of his roots.

Polly Gray sat in the front row, her dark eyes fixed on her nephew. There was a mixture of pride and apprehension in her gaze, a silent prayer for the future. Beside her, Michael leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the gathering. Arthur's wife, Linda, looked on with a serene expression, her hand resting in her lap. John sat a few rows behind, bouncing his baby on his knee, his wife Esme smiling warmly at the scene. Ada, dressed in a striking blue dress, chatted animatedly with Finn, while Johnny Dogs and Isaiah exchanged hushed whispers, their eyes darting around the room. The tension in the air was palpable, a heady mix of anticipation and unease. Thomas felt it in his bones, the weight of expectations and the ghosts of the past pressing down on him. Marrying into the Changretta family was a strategic move, but it wasn’t a strategic move on his part, it was love. Yes, Thomas Shelby had fallen in love with a Changretta but the same could be said for her.

“Now, hush Arthur. She’ll be walking down that aisle any minute now,” Thomas murmured, his voice a low growl that carried an edge of authority. He straightened his posture, his gaze fixed on the ornate doors at the end of the aisle

Arthur looked at him again; “You sure you’re not nervous?” Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, waiting for his reaction. He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s for a moment before he replied.

“I said I’m not fucking nervous, Arthur,” he said, his voice low and steady, laced with a thick Birmingham accent that carried an edge of impatience. To emphasize his point, he kicked Arthur in the back of his left knee, causing his brother to stumble briefly. Thomas chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that broke the tension momentarily. He could always count on Arthur to lighten the mood, even if unintentionally.

The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse; who was he kidding? It was for better! As the doors opened fully, revealing her figure, Thomas felt a rush of emotions. She stood there, framed by the golden light that spilled in from the hallway, her silhouette ethereal and almost otherworldly. Her dress, a delicate creation of black lace and satin, hugged her form gracefully, the long train trailing behind her like a whisper. A veil covered her face, but even through the sheer fabric, Thomas could see the outline of her features, delicate and serene.

Her father, Luka Changretta, stood beside her, his expression a mask of pride and caution. The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent reminder of the bloody history that lay between their families. Thomas’s eyes never left her as she began her slow walk down the aisle. Each step she took seemed to echo in his mind, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. He could see the slight tremble in her hands, the way she clutched her bouquet of white roses a little too tightly. Despite the nerves, she moved with a grace and determination that he found both admirable and endearing.

Arthur leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper in Thomas’s ear. “She looks beautiful, Tommy.”

Thomas nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Aye, she does,” he replied, his voice softer now, filled with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. In that moment, he felt a connection to her that went beyond their shared history, beyond the political and familial implications of their marriage. It was something deeper, a bond that he hoped would grow stronger with time. The sound of the organ began to fill the room, a deep, resonant melody that signaled the start of the ceremony. The guests fell silent, their attention shifting to the doors that were slowly opening. Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it, the moment that would seal their fate, for better or worse. But it was never worse, it saw always for better. As she reached the front of the aisle, Luka placed her hand in Thomas’s, a gesture heavy with significance. Their eyes met, while under the veil; a silent understanding passing between them, He lifted the delicate veil that covered her face, their eyes meeting in a silent understanding. This was not just a marriage of convenience or strategy; it was a commitment to each other, to the future they would build together.

Jeremiah stood before them, the priest's presence both comforting and solemn. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the chapel, echoing off the ancient walls. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together in holy matrimony Thomas Michael Shelby and _______ LaPaglia Changretta." His words carried the weight of history and expectation, binding not just two people, but two families with a fraught past.

Thomas's eyes flickered to the woman beside him. _______ LaPaglia Changretta. She was beautiful, her dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, her eyes a deep, enigmatic brown. Her dress was elegant, simple yet stunning, the black fabric contrasting sharply with her olive skin. She stood with a quiet grace, her expression serene, yet there was a fire in her eyes that spoke of strength and determination.

Jeremiah's voice cut through the silence. "Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take _______ LaPaglia Changretta to be your lawful wedded wife?" Thomas felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Every decision, every move he made was calculated, and this was no different. "I do," he said, his voice steady, firm. It was a commitment not just to her, but to the path he had chosen, the alliances he was forging.

He turned to her. "Do you, _______ LaPaglia Changretta, solemnly swear to love, honor, and obey till death do you part?" Her response was immediate, her voice clear and unwavering. "I do." There was a finality in those words, a binding promise that echoed through the chapel, sealing their fates together.

Jeremiah's proclamation was met with a collective breath, as if the entire room had been holding it in anticipation. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The words hung in the air, a declaration that felt both momentous and surreal. Thomas turned to his new wife, his expression unreadable. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that sealed their union. It was a kiss that spoke of duty and obligation, but beneath it all, there was a spark, a glimmer of something more. As they turned to face their families, the applause was polite, restrained. This was no ordinary wedding, and the people gathered here understood the gravity of the situation. Arthur left the alter and walk to the pew to join his family. Their expression a mix of approval and caution. Polly Gray, ever the matriarch, watched with a keen eye, her sharp mind assessing every nuance, every subtle shift in the room.

The Changrettas were less expressive, their faces a mask of formality. Luca Changretta's presence was a dark cloud, a reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to achieve. His eyes bore into Thomas, a silent challenge that promised future confrontation. Thomas took her hand as they walked down the aisle, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. Every step was a reminder of the path he had chosen, he wouldn’t ever regret it; the future he was forging. The guests rose as they passed, their eyes following the couple, whispers of speculation and curiosity filling the air. This was a union that would be talked about for years to come, a merging of two powerful families with a history of bloodshed and betrayal.

Outside the chapel, the sun shone brightly, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere within. The reception awaited, a lavish affair that promised to be both a celebration and a test of the new alliance. As they stepped into the sunlight, Thomas felt the warmth on his face, a brief respite from the shadows that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He glanced at her, her smile a beacon of hope in the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"Welcome to the family," Thomas said, his voice low, the Birmingham accent thick and unmistakable.

The kitchen was a stark contrast to the rest of Arrow House, filled with the smell of freshly baked bread and the earthy scent of the wood burning in the hearth. Thomas stood at the head of the room, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room, ensuring he had the attention of every man present. The weight of the day was palpable; this was his wedding day, a day that marked a significant turning point in his life and the Shelby family. His dark suit was meticulously tailored, each stitch a testament to his attention to detail, and his peaked cap sat jauntily on his head, casting a shadow over his face that made his intense expression even more formidable.

"Right, boys, you're all here," he began, his voice carrying the authoritative edge that had come to define him. The men around the kitchen, his brothers Arthur, John, and Finn, along with Michael and a few trusted others, like Charlie and Johnny Dogs turned their attention to him. Each face was a study in respect and a touch of fear, for they knew Thomas was not a man to be crossed, especially not today.

"Today, this is my fucking wedding day," Thomas continued, his tone brooking no argument. His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken understanding that this day was sacred, not just for him, but for the entire Shelby clan. It was a rare occasion of vulnerability, where the hard-edged leader allowed a glimpse of the man beneath the armor.

John, ever the irreverent one, couldn't help but interject. "Yeah, and you said there'd be no bloody uniforms," he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and humor. The tension in the room crackled for a moment, a testament to the volatile nature of their relationships. Thomas fixed John with a steely gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Nevertheless... Nevertheless, John..." he began, his voice a low growl that seemed to reverberate off the walls. He took a step closer, his presence dominating the room. "Despite the bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." His words were a command, not a request, and the message was clear: today was about unity, not division.

His gaze swept around the circle, making eye contact with each man, ensuring they understood the gravity of his words. "Now for my wife's sake, nothing will go wrong," he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. His love for his bride was a rare softness in his otherwise hardened demeanor, and he was determined to protect her from the chaos that often surrounded the Shelbys. Thomas pointed outside the kitchen, towards the bustling preparations for the wedding. "Those bastards out there are her family," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of disdain. He had little patience for those who might threaten the harmony of his wedding day, and he would go to great lengths to ensure everything went smoothly.

His hand traveled around the circle, pointing at each man in turn as he spoke. "And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her, your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything..." His voice trailed off as he fixed his gaze on Arthur, the eldest and most unpredictable of the brothers. There was a pause, a moment where the weight of his words seemed to settle over the room like a heavy fog.

Isaiah, leaning casually against the counter, broke the uneasy silence. "Tom..?" Thomas's gaze snapped to Isaiah, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. "To... WHAT!?" he barked, his voice low but commanding.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What about snow," he ventured, his tone cautious. John eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Yeah, their women are sports, I’ll say that.."

"No. No. No." Thomas cut him off sharply, striding towards Isaiah with purpose. He stopped inches from his face, his breath hot and laced with the smell of tobacco. "No cocaine," he said, jabbing a finger towards Isaiah's face for emphasis. "No cocaine."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable as Thomas turned his attention to John, who stood to Isaiah's right. "No sport," Thomas said, waving his hand dismissively. "No telling fortunes."

He began to pace, the soles of his polished shoes tapping rhythmically against the tiled floor. Each step seemed to echo with unspoken threats, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. He approached Arthur, his oldest and most volatile brother, stopping just short of him. "No racing," Thomas ordered, his voice a low growl. Arthur met his gaze with a slight nod, the fire in his eyes dimmed by his brother's authority. Breaking from the circle, Thomas crossed to Finn, the youngest of the Shelby brothers. Grabbing Finn's face with his left hand, he forced him to look into his eyes. "No fucking sucking petrol," he snarled, his grip tightening. He delivered a light slap to Finn's cheek, a reminder of the discipline he expected. "Out of their fucking cars."

Satisfied, Thomas released Finn and turned to Charlie, who had been lingering on the edge of the group. "And, you, Charlie," he said, his voice softer but no less intense. "Stop spinning yards about me, eh?" Charlie, taken aback, spoke up as Thomas turned his back. "I'm just trying to sell you to them, Tom," he defended.

Thomas took a deep drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a rare sign of the stress he carried. Returning to the center of the circle, he spun slowly, addressing them all. "But the main thing is, you bunch of fuckers," he began, his voice rising with intensity. "Despite the provocation from her family, no fighting."

He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Isaiah. The room seemed to hold its breath as Thomas slowly made his way toward him, the echo of his footsteps on the wooden floor punctuating the silence. As he reached Isaiah, Thomas lifted his chin with a firm but controlled hand, forcing Isaiah to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, yet there was a flicker of something deeper—an unspoken understanding, perhaps. “Oi,” Thomas began, his voice a low growl that resonated with authority. He pointed a finger at Isaiah, his expression unwavering. “No fighting.”

With a swift, deliberate movement, Thomas shifted to his right, positioning himself in front of John. He didn’t waste a moment, his finger darting out to point at John with the same intensity. “No fucking fighting,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. John's smirk faltered under Thomas's glare, replaced by a nod of compliance.

Thomas moved again, this time to Arthur. Their eyes met, and an unspoken tension filled the air. Arthur, ever the wild card, was the one Thomas needed to keep in check the most. Pointing at his older brother, Thomas's voice was a commandment. “No fighting.” Arthur, his usual bravado momentarily subdued, nodded with a grunt, understanding the gravity of the order. Next, Thomas’s eyes fell on Michael, who was leaning against the wall with a nonchalant air. Without a word, Thomas pointed at him. Michael straightened up, his casual demeanor replaced by a look of acknowledgement. The silent exchange spoke volumes—Michael knew exactly what was expected of him.

Finally, Thomas turned towards Finn’s direction, his youngest brother, “No,” he said, his voice slicing through the tension. He then swung his gaze back to Arthur’s direction. “Fucking.” And finally, his eyes landed on Charlie's direction. “Fighting.”

The room fell silent once more, the weight of Thomas’s words hanging heavily in the air. Each man understood the simplicity of the command. In this room, defying Thomas Shelby was not an option. Thomas took a drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light, and exhaled a plume of smoke. He walked towards his coat, which was draped over a chair between Michael and Arthur. “Good,” he muttered, his satisfaction evident in the single word. With his back turned slightly, Thomas didn’t see the butler approaching. The man, new to the household and unfamiliar with the Shelby way, hesitated for a moment too long. The collision was inevitable. The impact was sudden, and Thomas spun around, his face a mask of fury. “Get the fuck off me!” he snarled, shoving the butler to the ground. The bottle of wine the butler had been holding shattered on the floor, red liquid spreading like blood across the wood.

Arthur, ever the enforcer, hurled his glass at the butler, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. The butler scrambled to his feet, fear written all over his face as he hurried out of the kitchen, leaving behind a mess of broken glass and spilled wine. Thomas exhaled one last plume of smoke before stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. He adjusted his coat, smoothing out the fabric as he straightened up. “Right,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “Let’s get this done.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, his family and comrades falling into step behind him. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway as they made their way towards the main event. Thomas’s mind was already racing ahead, planning, strategizing, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. But the words he had spoken in the kitchen lingered in the air, a solemn vow that no matter what happened, there would be no fighting. Not today.

As Thomas Shelby sat at the head of the table during his wedding dinner, the room was alive with the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. He raised the crystal glass to his lips, savoring the last drops of whiskey that burned pleasantly down his throat. Setting the glass down with a soft clink, his eyes swept across the room, taking in the faces of his family and the guests. His gaze lingered for a moment on his wife her beauty striking even in the dim candlelight. She was radiant, her smile lighting up the room. But as his eyes drifted to her father, he noticed the man's steely gaze fixed upon him. Thomas arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"You look absolutely stunning today, luv," Thomas remarked, his voice low and tinged with admiration. "Hard to keep me eyes off of you." He reached out to gently squeeze her hand, a small, affectionate gesture amidst the formality of the occasion.

"I can say the same for you, Mr. Shelby," she replied, her smile radiant as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

Thomas smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened his features. His attention then shifted to her father, a man of stature and presence, seated a bit farther down to her. "Well, you're not the only one whose eyes are on me, eh?" he quipped, a hint of playful charm in his voice.

"Luv," he murmured, leaning towards his wife, "would you mind telling your father to stop staring me down, eh?" His tone was light, teasing, but there was a hint of challenge in his eyes.

His bride glanced nervously at her father, then back at Thomas. "Tommy, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice tinged with apprehension, "but that's just how he is."

Thomas nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. "I see," he replied, his voice low and measured. He leaned back in his chair, his mind working quickly. He was used to dealing with difficult situations, but this was his wedding day, a day that should have been free of such tensions.

There was a moment of hesitation, a flicker of doubt in Thomas's eyes as he considered the weight of his actions. But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and he knew that this was where he belonged. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a silent declaration of his love and commitment. The room erupted into applause and cheers, the sound echoing off the walls as Thomas and Luka's families celebrated their union.

Hours had slipped by like fleeting ghosts since Thomas had exchanged vows, and now, in the quiet intimacy of their bedroom, he sat with his new wife perched gently on his lap. The flickering light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow, accentuating the soft features of her face and the delicate curves of her figure. He gazed at her, his eyes tracing every line, every contour, as if committing her beauty to memory.

"You're absolutely gorgeous, Mrs. Shelby," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rasp that betrayed a hint of awe. His hands, calloused yet gentle, cradled her waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on the fabric of her dress. The weight of her presence on his lap was a comfort, grounding him in the reality of this new chapter of his life.

"I like when you call me Mrs. Shelby," she said softly, her voice a soothing melody in the quiet room. Her words were like a balm to his weary soul, a reminder of the new life they were beginning together.

Thomas wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. It was a moment of peace amidst the chaos that always seemed to follow him.

"I like it too," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "It suits you, Mrs. Shelby."

"You're fuckin' perfect for me... y'know that?" Thomas's voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with sincerity. His hand reached up to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. There was a gentleness in his touch, a rare vulnerability that he showed only to her.

Their lips met in a tender kiss, a silent affirmation of their love and commitment to each other. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a shared connection that transcended words. Her hands roamed freely, exploring his body with a familiarity that spoke of countless nights spent together. Thomas pulled her closer, his other hand wrapping around her waist, holding her as if afraid she might slip away. Their kiss deepened, a silent communication of their love and desire for each other. It was a dance they knew well, a rhythm that was uniquely theirs. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss even further. His hair, usually so meticulously styled, was now a tousled mess, a testament to the passion between them. She loved the way his hair felt between her fingers, the way it seemed to have a life of its own.

They broke the kiss, but remained intertwined, her head resting against his chest, his chin on her shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the day's events slowly settling on their shoulders. The gravity of their new union was not lost on Thomas; he knew the responsibilities that came with it, the need to protect and provide for his new family. His mind drifted to the future, a future now entwined with hers. He thought of the challenges they would face, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of their world. But he also thought of the moments of joy, the simple pleasures they would share.

Author’s Notes:

Y’all, I fucking love this oneshot..it’s so cute I finally did my own rendition of the wedding scene..ahhhhhhhh I feel like I got it just right y’all..ahh it’s fucking cute!!!

Deadass I should have written smut but nah, I don’t feel like it

[jimmawww]

Fave Save Points

Resident Evil

Daymare: 1994 Sandcastle

Ico

Shadow of the Colossus

Silent Hill 3

Signalis

No More Heroes

Metroid Prime

Ape Escape

Nier: Automata

Dark Souls

Metal Gear Solid

Tunic

Kingdom Hearts 2

Cave Story

Tales of Symphonia

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night

Little Witch Nobeta

Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones

GTA: San Andreas

Undertale

OneShot

Hollow Knight

Need For Speed: Rivals

Onirism

F.I.S.T.

Dust

Earthbound (worst)

[anitalorimer]

𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐑 |𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 | 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛. 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗, 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗'𝚜 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕. 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 | 𝟷𝟾+, 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗, 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗, 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛!𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗, 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 | 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 | 𝟽𝟺𝟹 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜

When you first met Jonathan Crane, you did not expect for him to be the reason you would be fighting for your sanity. You have been dating Jonathan for a few months now, your relationship shrouded in a certain mystery that seemed to surround him. You knew he had a peculiar interest in fear, studying it’s effects on people’s minds with an almost obsessive dedication. Despite your closeness, he had managed to keep his Scarecrow activities hidden from you.

Your paths had crossed in the chaos of Gotham City. You, a determined reporter, had been working on the Raymond Falcons case, delving deep into the criminal underbelly of the city. It was during this investigation that you first met Jonathan. He was a professor at a local university, offering insights into the psychology of fear and the criminal mind.

Your conversations started as interviews, but they quickly evolved into something more. There was an undeniable connection between you, a shared passion for unraveling the mysteries of the human psyche. As you delved deeper into your investigation, he became your confidant, a safe haven in a world teetering on the edge of darkness.

Back to that fateful night when fear took hold of him, his own vulnerability sparking something within you. You awoke with a start, the air around you thick with a suffocating sense of dread. And there he was, Scarecrow, his presence looming over you like a nightmare come to life.

"N-No... What...?" Your voice trembled as you struggled to comprehend the surreal scene before you.

His eerie, distorted chuckle sent shivers down your spine. "I couldn’t help but watch from afar. The peace in your body as you investigate crimes in Gotham. I’ve seen you, Y/N. You show no fear and that makes me intrigued. Fear, my dear, is a powerful tool. And tonight, you'll understand its true nature."

Panic surged through your veins as he exposed you to his fear toxin. It was as if the world around you twisted and warped, reality giving way to the darkest corners of your mind. Images of your worst nightmares began to flash before your eyes, an onslaught of terror and despair.

"No, stop! This isn't real!" You cried out, your voice quivering with raw fear.

But his voice, chilling and intoxicating, echoed in your ears. "Fear is the reality we choose to embrace. Embrace it, Y/N. Show me what’s hiding in that peaceful head of yours!"

The room seemed to close in around you, shadows morphing into grotesque figures. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the images intensified, your heart pounding as if it might burst from your chest.

The fear of being abandoned surged within you, a tidal wave of raw emotion. Memories of past hurts, moments of feeling alone and unwanted, all converged into a torrent of anguish. The faces of loved ones fading away, leaving you in darkness.

"Please, no more!" You screamed, your voice cracking as the weight of your terrors pressed down upon you. "Jonathan, no! Don’t go!"

Watching the fear curse through your body, something snapped inside of Jonathan. Your body lay before him, converged in sweat and tears and tried to scramble out of the shadows of your fear. Jonathan became aware of your fear, however he became aware of his presence in your life.

A raw connection, an unbreakable bond, a gift of love. This was not how Jonathan wanted to hear the confession, but his sinister actions got the best of him. Aware of the current actions, Jonathan felt useless to try and calm you down. He had to let it run its course.

The sounds of your cries, screams and the sight of your body trembling with fear made Jonathan remorseful. Jonathan pulled off the Scarecrow mask, gripping it tightly in his hands. The material felt heavy, his own fear and obsession weighing it down with sorrow.

As the toxin's grip began to loosen, you found yourself shivering, trembling not just from the aftereffects of the toxin but from the rawness of the emotions it had dredged up. And then you saw him – Jonathan, no longer Scarecrow, but a broken man before you.

Tears streaked down his face, his hands trembling as he clutched the mask that represented his alter ego. In that moment, your fear transformed into a profound understanding. You saw the man behind the mask, the vulnerability he had always hidden, and the pain he carried.

Upon hearing your shuffling against the bedsheets, Jonathan turned to face yours. " Y/N… I-"

"Why did you do this to me?" You felt betrayed, hurt, but in all emotion, you felt fearful.

"I never meant... I didn't want you to experience this. I wanted to understand, to know why you're different. But I never wanted to hurt you like this."

Seeing Jonathan in this state was foreign to you. Looking into his glossy eyes, you saw raw feeling, the real Jonathan.

Tentatively, you reached out to him, your fingers brushing against his tear-stained cheek. "Jonathan," you murmured, your voice filled with compassion. "We both have our fears. I didn’t want you to know mine because I fear of losing those important to me. You are important to me, Jonathan.”

His gaze met yours, a mixture of relief and contentment in his eyes. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. I brought this upon you."

Your fingers found their way to his lips, silencing his self-blame. "We're all haunted by something. What matters is how we choose to confront those demons."

His voice cracked as he spoke, his vulnerability laid bare. "I never meant for you to see this side of me. I never wanted to lose you."

The weight of remorse bore down on him as he realised the extent of what he had done. He had brought your deepest fears to life, subjected you to the torment he himself had inflicted on others. As you trembled before him, his heart shattered, the pieces scattering at his feet.

But forgiveness was not an immediate gift. Fear still lingered in your eyes, and his self-doubt was palpable. The days that followed were heavy with the weight of what had transpired. There were moments of silence, when unspoken apologies hung in the air, and moments of distance, when you both grappled with your own insecurities.

It was a slow journey, navigating the landscape of your emotions. You were fearful of him, of the darkness he could tap into. He was fearful of himself, of the damage he had inflicted upon you. Yet through it all, the connection you shared acted as a guiding light.

Finally, after weeks of uncertainty and soul-searching, the moment of forgiveness arrived. It was a quiet night, a gentle breeze rustling the curtains. You sat together, the weight of your experiences hanging between you. And then, he spoke.

"Y/N, I can never erase what I've done, the fear I've subjected you to. But I want you to know that I'm truly sorry, that I never wanted to hurt you."

Your gaze met his, the wall between you crumbling. "And I'm sorry for shutting you out, for not fully understanding what you were going through."

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "We both have our fears, Y/N. But I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to protect you from them."

A tear glistened in your eye as you looked at him, the connection between you growing stronger. "And I promise to face my fears, as long as we face them together."

It wasn't an easy path forward, but through shared moments of vulnerability, you learned to trust each other on a level that transcended the surface. And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, your bond only grew stronger, grounded in the understanding that fear could either tear you apart or bring you closer together.

With time, you both found solace in each other's arms, knowing that you were no longer alone in your struggles. And as the nights grew quieter, the darkness no longer held the same terrors it once did, for you had each other to chase away the shadows.

[osiochenofarcudan]

Here's a little debut post for this account; the Blueberries collection! Some of my favorite characters from across games and shows, all of which wear plenty shades of blue, from hair to drip.

(Kocia is a bit greener but that's ok.)

[gigglinggoddess]

“When can I see you again?”

HeathLedger! Joker x f!reader

Just a short story, I want to start writing. If this gains some traction then awesome, if not then I'll probably still write tbh.

“Well let me think.” Bruce tapped his chin as he looked at his sister, “How about no?” He grinned, snapping his fingers then pointed at her. The woman rolled her eyes, groaning. “Why the hell not?!” She protested, currently, the woman was trying to convince Bruce to let her tag along to the gala that will be held in Dent’s honor.

“Because I don't need you there.” Bruce shrugged as he leaned on his office desk, “Look, Y/N... This is for Dent. I'm afraid you're gonna... Well...” He looked at her with a hinting expression, yet she still didn't understand. Y/N crossed her arms, squinting her eyes. “Go on.” She waved her hand, “Explain, Wayne. Why I can't go.” “Well, Y/N, my dear sister. You did date, Harvey in Highschool.” Bruce explained, Y/N groaned and laughed, “Oh my god! Like four years ago!” She raised her hand in the air and quickly dropped then. “For like a month!” She exclaimed, Bruce, tilted his head. “Actually three months, but whatever. The point is it'll be awkward.” Bruce smoothly explained, and Y/N rolled her eyes. “You won’t let me go because Rahcel is going.” Y/N could sniff out a lie like a bloodhound. “Whatever.” Y/N quickly added before Bruce could speak, “Didn’t even want to go!” She defended as she walked out of the office. Bruce sighed, she definitely wanted to go.

Hours passed and most guests filled the Gala hall, it had gone without a hit. Well, towards the start at least. Y/N wasn't going to take ‘no’ for an answer, hell she wouldn't have even taken a maybe. Y/N gracefully stepped out of the car, her dress was tailored to her liking. Her hair was done just in the right way that framed her face beautifully, and her jewels were ready to bring out her eyes! She looked straight from a model agency. Y/N smiled, walking and flaring her hips side to side, there was something about going to a party you weren't meant to that gave a girl some confidence. She stepped into the elevator, and an old man and his wife were in there. She stepped behind them to not disturb any conversation, and the doors shut slowly. A purple-gloved hand was shoved in between the doors, “Woah... Uh, hold the Uhm, elevator!” He laughed manically before Y/N could get a good look at the man, a gun was pointed at the group. The elderly woman let out a shriek and safe to say, Y/N wanted to. She hadn't seen a gun this closely before. The clown got in casually as ever, seeing the button he wanted already pressed, he leaned his side against the wall. The shotgun he held was being used as a pole on the ground, and Y/N kept silent. She knew exactly who this was, the clown prince of Gotham. Y/N did her best to zone out of the situation, knowing the scene that would unfold. “Y/N Wayne?” Her name made her look at the clown, “Well, didn't know I would uh.” He licked the corner of his mouth, “Be in the midst of a celebrity of such beauty.” He smirked and spun around facing his body toward her. Joker grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly, and placing a gentle kiss on her hand. Although his movements were jerky and fast, it seemed in this second he calmed down. Yet, he became jittery once again.

The elevator's door opened, and Joker turned to her once more. “So, Wayne. When can uh?.. See you again?” He asked with a grin, Y/N was shocked. Is this time right now? His smile was toxic, making her smile. “Uh uhm... Huh?” She shook her head. Joker pushed the elderly couple out, he stuck his hand back in the elevator, pressing the first-floor button. “I'll just uhm...find you, gorgeous.” He winked at her as the door shut, she heard a shot ring out as the elevator slowly went back down.

I'm so sorry if I misspelled anything, or if my grammar is bad. I use Grammarly but it's buggin'. I'm slowly improving on my writing so I'm sorry if this sucks!!

A short and sweet story of Joker. He's baby girl fr

[mlmxreader]

September Sunflower | Bane x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ anonymous asked: May I please give you a request to use the following prompts for big tiddy Bane X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader: “I don’t wanna know anything, if knowing means losing you” ❞

: ̗̀➛ you and Bane cannot be together properly, there are secrets that can't be uttered, and although Bane is willing to do anything for you, he knows that the difficulty of navigating secrets weighs on you.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, angst

•──────────────────★•♛•★─────────────────•

At first, Bane had been enjoying the time that he had with you; chilling out together and spending most days doing nothing but listening to music and talking.

He would knit during the nights when he couldn't sleep, always giving you a new scarf or a new pair of socks. It was nice to actually spend time together and to actually be a couple for once, and although you knew that your time together would come to an end soon enough, both of you didn’t want it to end.

If the world were to stop, if everything were to come to a halt for just a few more days, you would both be so happy with it in all honesty. To be together and to stay together for as long as it was possible, that’s all either of you wanted.

All you ever wanted was to be together in the end; but Bane knew that you could not stay forever, he wasn’t a fool enough to think that you could have. He would always know better than that. Bane was a lot of things, but an idiot was not one of them.

A lot of people would have said that his heart was too dark to hold any care, but they didn’t know Bane the way that you did. You loved him, which  was why you could never let him go in the slightest; you knew that when you left, Bane would bring your shirt to his mask, and would keep the soft fabric against the harsh metal until he fell asleep.

It was always like that, and in return, you often took his big fluffy coat. He would see you out and about wearing it from his place in the shadows, and if he could have, he would have smiled at the sight every time.

But nothing could ever be perfect; you had to keep the relationship a secret from your family, and you had to keep your family a secret from Bane.

You didn’t want him to look at you any differently when you told him that you were Bruce’s younger sibling; three years behind your famous brother, you were taken in by Alfred Pennyworth when you were just a baby and raised alongside Master Wayne. Bruce would never forgive you if he knew about you and Bane, and Bane would almost certainly look at you differently for being Bruce’s sibling.

You despised the thought of something like that ever happening. You loved them both dearly, you would never be able to choose. You sighed as you packed up your things, knowing that the time was nearing when you would have to leave; just an hour left with your beloved Bane, you wished that fate was not so cruel and that it would let you and Bane have just a few minutes more. 

He noticed your demeanour, and tilted his head to the side as he furrowed his brows. “Little one? Everything alright?”

You shrugged, not really sure how to answer. “I don’t want to hide anymore, but I… fuck, I can’t tell you.”

“I don’t wanna know anything, if knowing means losing you,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “No secret is worth losing you… ah Sun-flower, weary of time, who countest the steps of the Sun: seeking after that sweet golden clime, where the travellers journey is done. , where the Youth pined away with desire, and the pale Virgin shrouded in snow: arise from their graves and aspire, where my Sun-flower wishes to go.”

You smiled at him, nodding slowly as you cleared your throat; Bane always did like to quote poetry at you, and usually, it made you feel a little better about leaving, as the sweet words from his thunderous voice would echo in the back of your skull until you fell asleep… but not this time.

You still felt bitter and blue, melancholic and woeful, knowing that you had to keep such terrible secrets. You chewed at the inside of your lip for a moment, sighing heavily as you shook your head, licking your lips in hopes that the tears would not fall and your voice would not tremble too much when you spoke.

“I love you,” you told him. “I don’t want to keep secrets, but I know I have to and… I love you. Yeah?”

Bane nodded slowly as he cleared his throat and came to sit beside you, putting his hand on your thigh as he hummed softly. “Yeah.”

You were his September. He could see you through the sunshine of July, knowing that once April had passed, it would not be long until he saw you again.

His September, he looked forward to seeing falling leaves of brown and rust colours, to feeling the chilly and icy winds as well as feeling the soft rain against his head; he looked forward to hearing the owls in the night and the foxes in the evening.

Knowing that it would not be long before he saw you again. For you, Bane was willing to wait for years, months - he was willing to wait for a millennia if he knew that at the end of it, he would be able to see you one last time.

He would be able to feel your skin on his and see you smile when he read Wilfred Owen and William Blake to you, he would be able to hear you laugh. Bane would wait forever and a day for you, with no complaints; for you, he was willing to do anything. There were no boundaries for what he would do.

“I’m sorry,” you told him quietly. “I know it’s… difficult to be with me.”

“It’s worth it,” Bane told you with a shake of his head. “Any and every difficulty we come across, little one, it’s worth it when it means I get to hold you in my hands and see you for even just a few minutes. You don’t have to apologise. You are worth the difficulty.”

[miodiodavinci]

have you ever... Zola magical girls/people?

(grabs your shoulders)

did you mean one of my many oneshots / AUs from 2015-2019

[justanoasisimagines]

The Joker and The Temptress (1/?)

Summary; After robbing the Mob, Joker crashes into her. His world is turned upside down. He's besotted from the moment they meet. His Temptress, he doesn't know why but he's going to keep her anyway. Pairing; Joker x Female Reader (Temptress) WordCount; 1,659 Warnings; Use of Y/N (Although it won't be in the second part), kidnapping, murder, strong language! A/N; If you liked this, the second part will be posted next Sunday! Also, as always my requests are open! My guidelines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banners and the divider!

A busy Arkham street in the middle of the day can appear to be like any other. Taxis deliver people to their destination. People talk animatedly amongst themselves. Traffic was hectic.

However, for Y/N it was anything but. Her heart raced as she pushed through and swerved people on the sidewalk, keeping her face forward.

She could feel his presence lurking behind her like a monster in the night. She broke out into a light jog in an attempt to gain some distance between them. She was in danger. No safe place to go. No visible place to hide.

Running from a crazed ex wasn't something she'd intended to do today. Yet a decision to have a sandwich for lunch had forced her to this. Then she found herself running again. As history decided to repeat itself.

She'd gotten away once. She could do it again.

Joker pressed hard on the horn. Paitence wearing thin. He needed to get away. No one decided to move. In a fit of rage, he slammed his fists down on the steering wheel three times, before he decided to swerve into the other lane of traffic, pressing hard on the accelerator at the side of a clear road.

As Joker drove down the long straight, he relished in the freedom. He'd be gone in no time. When a woman carelessly wandered into the road. It was clear she wasn't paying attention. Her head turned back. Unaware a speeding bus was heading towards her.

Joker had been focused on his mission A pang in his heart. Stop! His mind told him. She was a beauty. A shining light. A beacon.

He had to have you.

The bus collided with her forcing her to the ground. Joker wasn't concerned. The hit wasn't too hard. Joker opened up the double doors as he exited, taking one step at a time.

Y/N's eyes flickered up. Her body was sore, and her ankle hurt. Her eyes flickered over to the side, her ex stalking towards her. Someone cast a shadow, she glanced up a man in a blue suit wearing clown makeup loomed over her.

Could someone give her a fucking break?

With all her might, she attempted to drag herself away. She couldn't give up now. Her attempt was futile. The clown pulled her into his arms, she was quick to fight back, throwing and flailing her arms and legs around. Who did he think he was grabbing her like that?

Joker remained conflicted. He didn't know what he was doing. Which was usual, but he'd never felt himself so compelled to protect another person before. She struggled against him, as his grip tightened.

"Oi, don't you touch her." Joker rolled his eyes in response. Now her actions were explainable. She was running from him.

"I don't have time for this. So I'm going now." Joker intended to walk away. The woman trembled in his arms. When the man stepped forward, she leaned into Joker. There were no other options available to her. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Literally.

"Drop her freak." Joker's next movements were swift. Placing the woman down on the bonet of the bus. He caged her in his arms. She leaned back in response.

"Shh, Shhh, Shh. I'm not gonna hurt you, Sweetheart. Are you running from him?" She nodded. Joker turned swiftly, he placed his hand in his pocket.

"Now give her to me."

"She's mine now." In a fit of rage, the man launched himself into Joker's space. The man lunged at Joker who at the last moment pulled the knife from his pocket. Staggering back, the man's face dropped as he covered his stomach. Joker crossed the short distance, as he stabbed the man repeatedly. Until he dropped to the ground.

Y/N's screams were piercing.

Joker turned back to her. From paralyzed by fear to utter desperation. Desperate to get away, she launched herself off of the bonnet, landing on her sprained ankle. She fell to the ground in pain. Yet she stood and attempted to hop away. Joker stood back and admired her. He liked her fire.

"Sweetheart, don't you run from me, I'm not gonna hurt you. Besides I killed him for you." Joker captured her in his arms, she thrashed around.

"I like that fire in you Sweetheart." Joker's raspy voice whispered into her ear. Her blood ran cold. Her fight and desperation became rejuvenated as she screamed and battled.

The crowd did nothing.

Joker would have torn them down either way. His brain was conflicting. He couldn't think straight. What was he doing? Why had he become so taken with her?

Joker didn't know. He was going to protect her; anyone who dared to hurt her would perish.

Stepping onto the bus, he dragged her to the driver's seat. As he took a seat, his arms tightened around her waist. Positioning his feet on the accelerator and brake. Using one hair, he moved the hair away from her shoulder.

"Have you driven a bus before?" Y/N shook her head. "You're about to. Turn on the ignition." Y/N's hands trembled as she turned the key. "Good, good. Now I'm gonna control the pedals, while you drive the bus. This is gonna be so much fun!" With no choice. No route of escape, she placed her hands on the wheel. "Keep going straight. There we go!" Joker rested his head on the top of her shoulder, slowly tapping on her hip.

"Forgive me beautiful, I didn't ask for your name. My name is Joker, but I'd prefer it if you call me J." Y/N swallowed, her throat dry. "Come on sweetheart." "Y/N" "Beautiful name for a beautiful woman I'm going to give you a name for me and me only. What should it be? Turn right here." Joker contemplated for several moments. It had to roll off the tongue, something fiery. It had to show everyone she belonged to him. Darling? No? Treasure? Way too plain. Beautiful? She is beautiful and even though he'd cut anyone who called her that. But no! Buttercup? Sugar? Wildcat? Little Mouse? No! No! No! No! A lightbulb might as well have lit over Joker's head. Temptress. She'd lured him in. She called to him. Temptress indeed.

"Temptress." It was smooth off of Joker's tongue. For another forty-five minutes, they drove in silence. They drove until they reached a dust-abandoned lockup. "If you run, I'll catch you. I'm going to place you right here while I'll lock this away." Joker proceeded to haul the duffle bags into the lockup. Temptress did not move. Temptress looked around the old lock-up. Joker had placed her on a piece of wall. There is no point in attempting to escape. She couldn't run, she had no idea where she was. Her shoulders slumped she leaned forward resting her elbows on her thighs. One moment she was fleeing her deranged ex, the next she'd been hit by a bus with a man wearing clown makeup who called himself the Joker. Said man didn't think twice about murdering her ex in the middle of the day? Was she having a nightmare? She tapped the side of her head several times. A pair of hands overtook hers, blocking her from hitting herself any longer. She didn't look up, she knew who it was. He'd quickly become infatuated, but what would happen if he grew tired of her? Surely he'd kill her.

"No, no Sweetheart, you or no one else gets to hurt you," Joker remarked as she glanced up at him. His brown eyes had softened a little. "What about you?" Temptress didn't know where the courage had come from. Joker felt thrilled it was the most he'd heard her talk. Her voice was angelic, a beautiful melody he'd longed to hear. Joker made a mental note to get her to talk more. It was going to take time. She needed not to fear him first. Joker grabbed Temptress's face by the chin. She refused to look at him. Eyes moving around, not focusing on a particular area. Using both hands, he forced her to look at him. "Look at me Temptress…Look at me." Her eyes landed on his brown ones. His rough calloused thumb rubbed her cheek. "I'm not a planner. I'm like a dog chasing a car. If I caught in I don't know what I'd do with it, but you are something special. I don't know why. I don't know how but all I know is you and me are something. I'm not gonna hurt you as long as you don't run. Don't run from me." Temptress nodded as he raised from his crouched position.

Joker needed to locate a safe space to sleep. His usual spaces were no place for someone as special as his Temptress. He'd also need medical supplies the ankle needed to be strapped. He needed something. He couldn't take her to her in case the cops were watching. "Temptress, we need to go find a place to lay low for a while. Someplace safe." Temptress glanced up at him, she knew a place. There was no way he'd ever agree to it. Her hand tapped on her leg repeatedly observing every move. She knew there was no getting away. She couldn't control a thing, yet perhaps he could listen to her if she brought up a viable suggestion. "I know a place." Joker's eyes snapped up as he approached her slowly stalking his prey. "Go on." She swallowed attempting to locate some salavia for her dry throat. "I have a house located in the woods. It's supposed to be a holiday home, but I always keep it stocked with clothes, and food just in case things get bad in the city" Joker's eyes widened. His Temptress was already proving useful. Now all he had to do was get them both there.

[march-harrigan]

DK Scarecrow crush got hit with fear toxin but instead of being scared it made her … oddly affectionate. Hugs him, rubs her head on his neck and has a goofy smile.

Hey! Sorry this one took so long! I wanted to make up a hopefully fun reason that the toxin would affect the reader differently. I ultimately settled on reader being an alien. Something akin to John Carpenter's "The Thing" but... You know, friendlier.

Hope you like it!

Extraterrestrial physiology was a strange thing. Some weren't all too different from humans, or even some of Earth's other creatures. Some rested in between. Similar in some ways, but unique from Earthly lifeforms in others(Superman would make for the perfect example of this). And then there were those that were just something else entirely.

Jonathan Crane was aware of this fact, although he'd done no research into the subject himself. Despite the fact that he'd been dating one for the last year now. You, to be specific. Or maybe it was because the only alien he had access to was the one he loved. He was willing to bank on you being the 'something else' variety given your true form. An odd mass of a creature that could perfectly imitate the form of any other lifeform you chose(although for the sake of your life on Earth, you typically stuck to your human disguise). Jon wouldn't lie and say that he wasn't curious what effects his fear toxin might have on such a creature. But he never tested it. Not on you. Never on you.

But accidents were bound to happen from time to time. And whether he liked it or not, your proximity to him would eventually put you at risk.

He hadn't expected you that night when something went wrong with the bunsen burner. The flame turned up higher than it should have, and before he could put it out, the glass he had been working with overheated. Fortunately, Jon always took the proper safety measures when working in the lab. When creating a gas that attacked your psyche with your deepest fears, wearing a gas mask was just common sense. He was safe. But you weren't.

You'd been approaching from behind when the glass shattered, the overheated toxin having already evaporated into its gaseous form inside the beaker. As soon as it was unleashed, you got an unintentional whiff of the stuff, and with a loud squeak, you now stood stiff behind Jonathan. He turned, eyes wide as horror dawned at him at the realization of what had just occurred. You had inhaled his toxin, and now he was going to see its effects on your unique physiology whether he liked it or not. Not knowing what else to do, he took your hands in his and lead you a safe distance from the worktable. He couldn't undo what had been done, but he could prevent you from taking an even higher dose.

Removing his mask, he whispered your name. "Please… Say something. Tell me you're okay." Concern laced his tone as he gently took your face into both hands. For once, he was the one who was terrified. He had no idea what effect his toxin would have on you. And if it all went wrong, if it went downhill too quickly, he had no way of fixing it. No way of saving you.

And then you laughed.

Horror turned to surprise as your lips met his. A quick light kiss followed by a stunned blink from him. He repeated your name, this time like it was a question. And before he knew it, you were hugging him. Not just hugging, but embracing, tighter than you ever had before with a big, silly grin on your face. He breathed out before questioning you again. "You're… Are you okay, angel? You had me worried!"

"Oh Jonny, I've never felt better," you giggled, keeping your arms firmly laced around him. He couldn't help but feel that you were being excessively affectionate. Even for you. And when you peppered his face with several more kisses, it confirmed his suspicions. His toxin, designed to instill terror had instead left you utterly enamoured. This was a concern in and of itself, but he supposed that of all the possibilities, this was far from the worst case scenario. At the very least, you were alive and safely with him.

"Let's get you to the couch," he sighed, lifting you up. He may not have looked it, but he was at least strong enough to carry you that distance. As he walked you over, he couldn't help but chuckle as you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck and hummed contentedly. Batting your eyelashes at him, you smiled and asked, "Will you stay and snuggle with me, Crow?"

"I suppose there's no harm in it." Setting you down on the couch, he sat next to you. If all you wanted was to cuddle, then that was fine. He'd hold your hand and let you hug and nuzzle to your heart's content, until you were relaxed enough to drift off. With luck, you'd sleep it off. If not, he was sure he could create an antidote. For your sake, he'd get you back to your still lovable, but not quite as love drunk self.

[anitalenia]

━━ 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 (𝐃𝐊) ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

RATINGS — s , smut | f , fluff | a , angst | d , dark content

˖⁺ ⊹୨ the devil has a wicked smile ୧⊹ ⁺˖ ( a-ish, suggestive ) ━━ You were only allowed to live so luxuriously because he allowed it. He gave you everything you wanted; the money, the clothes, the shoes, the diamonds. But in return… he wanted your devotion, your loyalty, and you were slowly becoming just as crazy as him because of it. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ pairing: dk!joker x fem!reader started: March 2024 published: June 12 edited: yes ୨୧ 𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

none yet…

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

none yet…

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Sleepless Nights

Thomas Shelby x Pregnant Wife Reader

Summary: Thomas cares for his wife.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings:

soft Thomas!, kissing, soft talk, lovely husband things.

Thomas prowls the grand corridors of Arrow House with a mixture of determination and unease. The mansion is a labyrinth of opulence, each corner dripping with the wealth he’s fought tooth and nail to secure. Yet, tonight, none of that matters. His mind is solely focused on one thing—finding his pregnant wife.

The house, with its vast rooms and endless hallways, feels both protective and suffocating. The heavy silence is broken only by the distant ticking of an antique clock, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Thomas’s polished shoes echo on the marble floors as he moves through the dimly lit spaces, his keen eyes scanning every shadow and crevice. The opulent decor, a testament to his success, now seems to mock him with its cold grandeur. He enters the library, where shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books line the walls, their spines gleaming in the faint light. The room smells of old paper and cigarette a sanctuary for his restless mind on many nights. But tonight, it offers no solace. He moves on, his pace quickening, his heartbeat mirroring his urgency.

As he strides through the dining hall, the long table stands like an island in the middle of the room, set for a feast that never seems to be eaten. The chandelier above it sparkles, casting prismatic reflections around the room, but Thomas’s eyes are unseeing. He is a man on a mission, driven by an anxiety he rarely allows himself to feel.

Finally, he reaches the living room, a vast space dominated by an enormous fireplace. The flames within flicker and dance, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. And there she is. His wife, his beacon in the storm of his life, sitting on the couch in an awkward yet somehow comfortable position. The sight of her instantly softens his stern expression, though worry still shadows his features. She’s nestled into the corner of the couch, her swollen belly making her position look ungainly to anyone else, but Thomas knows better. He sees the way her hand rests protectively over her stomach, the way her eyes are half-closed in a state of meditative calm. She’s wearing a loose, flowing nightgown that accentuates her maternal glow, the fabric cascading around her like a gentle waterfall.

“Love,” Thomas says softly, his voice a gravelly whisper that cuts through the silence. “Y’alright there?” His thick Birmingham accent adds a rough edge to the tender words, a contrast that defines him so well.

She looks up, her eyes meeting his with a tired but loving gaze. “Tommy,” she replies, a small smile curving her lips. “Just needed a moment. The baby’s been restless tonight.”

Thomas nods, understanding immediately. He crosses the room in a few strides, his presence a mix of power and protectiveness. He sits beside her, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. Gently, he places a hand over hers, feeling the life within her. It’s a moment of connection, grounding him in a way few things can.

“Been lookin’ for you,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. “Worried me, y’know.”

She chuckles softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I’m fine, Tommy. Just... needed to be alone for a bit.”

Thomas’s eyes soften further, the hard lines of his face easing as he takes in her serene expression. “Y’should rest more, love. Don’t want you overexertin’ y’self.” His voice is firm yet gentle, the protective husband surfacing through the tough gangster exterior.

She nods, leaning her head back against the couch and closing her eyes. “I know. It’s just... there’s so much to do. So much to prepare for.”

Thomas sighs, his hand moving to gently caress her cheek. “Leave it to me. I’ll handle everythin’. You just focus on our little one, yeah?”

He could see the strain in her eyes, the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. His heart ached for her, wishing he could take away her discomfort. "I wish I could do more," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret.

She smiled again, squeezing his hand. "You're here, Tommy. That's enough."

But it wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do more, to alleviate her pain in any way he could. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that might help. Then she spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Tommy, Ada said if it gets too heavy, you can lift my belly a bit with your hands. It might help.”

Tommy's brow furrowed as he processed her words. It was a simple gesture, yet one that could provide her with some relief. He looked into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and he knew he had to try. "Alright, love," he said, his voice firm with determination. "Let's give it a go."

He moved closer, positioning himself in front of her. His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard work, gently interlaced under her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her dress, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. Slowly, he lifted, supporting the weight of their child. She let out a sigh of relief, her body relaxing into his touch.

"Better?" he asked, his voice soft.

She nodded, her eyes closing once more. "So much better. Thank you, Tommy."

He held her there, his strong arms supporting her, providing the comfort she so desperately needed. In that moment, all the worries and burdens of their world faded away, leaving only the two of them. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply be present, to cherish the moment.

"You're incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Strongest woman I know."

She smiled, a soft blush creeping into her cheeks. "I have to be, married to you."

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. "Yeah, I suppose you do." His gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "But I wouldn't change a thing. Not a bloody thing."

They stayed like that for a while, the silence between them comfortable and reassuring. Tommy's thoughts drifted to their future, to the life they were building together. It was a life filled with uncertainty and danger, but it was theirs. And as long as they had each other, he knew they could face anything. Eventually, he shifted, carefully lowering his hands and easing her back into a more comfortable position. He smiles, before cupping her face; his hands calloused from years of work, are surprisingly gentle as they cup her cheeks. He brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear with a care that belies his hardened exterior. The feel of her skin under his fingertips is a reminder of all that he has fought for, and all that he stands to lose.

“Love,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, thick with his Birmingham accent. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The words are simple, but they carry a weight of sincerity that is unmistakable.

She looks up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and fatigue. Pregnancy has been both a blessing and a challenge, but in this moment, with Thomas so close, she feels a sense of peace. He leans in, closing the small distance between them, and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is intense, filled with a passion that speaks volumes of his devotion. It’s not just a kiss; it’s a promise, a silent vow that he will always be there for her.

His hands move from her face to her shoulders, sliding down her arms and resting on her swollen belly. He can feel the life growing inside her, their child, the future of the Shelby legacy. The thought fills him with a fierce protectiveness, a determination to shield them both from the dangers of his world. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’ve got to know,” he whispers, his voice husky with emotion, “I’d do anything for you. Anythin’ to keep you safe.” His words are punctuated by the gentle movement of his hands, caressing her belly as if to reassure both her and their child of his unwavering commitment.

Thomas stirred from sleep, his body instantly alert despite the lingering remnants of exhaustion. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the heavy drapes, casting faint, golden lines across the bed where he lay. His hand reached instinctively to the other side, expecting to feel the familiar form of his wife beside him. The cool, empty sheets met his touch instead, sending a wave of unease through him. He sat up abruptly, the fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead catching the light. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face as his sharp blue eyes scanned the room.

The clock on the mantel ticked softly, marking the time as just past nine in the morning. Thomas swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor against his bare feet grounding him. He rose to his full height, stretching out the tension in his muscles. He was dressed only in his boxers, the morning air cool against his skin. The bedroom was silent, save for the sounds that nature produced in the waking hours of the morning.

His mind raced through possibilities as he left the bedroom, each step measured and deliberate. The house was vast, and his wife could be anywhere, but his instinct told him to check the usual places first. The corridor outside their bedroom was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn against the morning light. Thomas moved with purpose, his eyes darting to each doorway as he passed. He checked the nursery, but it was empty save for the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. The sitting room was similarly deserted, the furniture untouched and the air still.

Thomas’s worry deepened with each empty room. He descended the grand staircase, his hand trailing along the polished banister. The ground floor was no different – the study, the drawing room, all empty. He paused at the doorway to the dining room, listening intently. The faintest clink of cutlery reached his ears, a sound so subtle it could easily have been missed. Relief washed over him, but he kept his composure as he moved toward the kitchen, the source of the noise.

The kitchen was a contrast to the rest of the house – warm, filled with the rich aroma of freshly baked bread and other culinary delights. The sight that greeted Thomas made him pause in the doorway. His wife was at the counter, her back to him, completely absorbed in her task. She was preparing her favorite pregnancy craving, a look of contentment on her face as she worked. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she had her loose, flowing nightgown, made of soft, breathable fabric, was adorned with delicate lace and ribbon trims. He had it made especially for her.

A soft chuckle escaped Thomas’s lips, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Hungry, eh? For whatever you're eatin' at what... nine in the mornin'..." His voice was low, the thick Birmingham accent adding a familiar roughness to his words.

She turns to him, a small smile playing on her lips. Her eyes are bright, despite the early hour, and there's a certain glow about her that he finds both endearing and reassuring. "Well... I originally woke up because I had to throw up... but then it wore off and I just sat there for a bit before I actually did throw up..." she explains, her voice trailing off as she takes another bite.

He crosses the room to her, his worry giving way to a tender affection. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle and careful. "You alright now?" he asks, his voice softening. "You and the little one?"

She nods, placing the bowl on the counter. "Yes, we're fine. Just one of those mornings."

Thomas wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He can feel the slight swell of her belly against his skin, a constant reminder of the new life growing inside her. "You should've woken me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She laughs softly, resting her head against his chest. "You need your rest too, Tommy. Besides, it’s nothing I can’t handle."

He holds her for a moment longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. The kitchen, with its warm morning light and the comforting presence of his wife, feels like a sanctuary. A stark contrast to the chaos and violence that often defines his life outside these walls. He pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a mixture of love and concern. "If you need anythin', you come get me. Don’t try to be too strong on your own."

She nods, understanding the depth of his worry. "I will, I promise."

They both stood there looking at each other.

"Any plans for today?" he asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

She looks up at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I was thinking of organizing the nursery a bit more. And maybe take a walk in the garden if the weather holds."

He nods, appreciating her simple plans. "Sounds good. I’ve got a meeting later, but I’ll be back by lunch. We can go for that walk together."

She smiles, the idea pleasing her. "I’d like that."

Author’s Notes:

Credit for the smol sparkle divider: CafeKitsune

[celestialsister0918]

Re-reading one of my kinkuary prompts over on AO3 today and felt like posting this sexy, sweet little scene for your Saturday morning steamy read.

The Dark Knight, Jim Gordon x OC

Takes place between movies 2 & 3 (two years after Barbara has left)

18+, Warnings: PIV sex, cockwarming

Jim removed his coat and hung it on the rack just inside the door. The garment was heavy, damp, and cold. Just touching the wool made his frost-bitten hands hurt even worse. Claire's apartment (well, their apartment) was incredibly warm, even if currently dark and empty. They had a small electric fireplace in the bedroom; Jim hoped Claire had been running it before she went to sleep. Tonight's stakeout and eventual takedown had been accompanied by sub-zero wind chills. He'd given the small team that had joined him in the field the next day off to warm up and recover. Maybe he'd extend the same graciousness to himself.

The bedroom was indeed toasty when Jim arrived, but he switched the fireplace on again, just to thaw his frozen skin a bit before hopping in the shower. He knew the water would sting if he jumped in without some dry heat first. In the dim glow of the fire, Jim saw his goddess of a wife asleep in a lacy ivory negligée, covered with silk sheets and a blanket of silver faux fur. She slept so peacefully that he felt guilty for even considering disturbing her. He couldn't think of a better way to generate heat than creating some friction against her body. His cock was essentially inside out, however, and had been for hours.

The stream of steamy water felt like a gift from the gods after the kind of night the commissioner had suffered. Claire had told him a dozen times that the commissioner was supposed to commission; he'd earned the right over his decades on the force to sit some out here and there. But Gordon was addicted to the chase, the thrill, the victory. And his body suffered for it.

Ivory soap. Gentleman cologne— the 70s classic, which he'd worn since his eighteenth birthday. A quick comb of his hair, then the donning of flannel pajamas. He left his glasses folded neatly under the mirror. His skin felt tight and freshly washed... the dirt and grime of Gotham's underbelly once again whisked away.

Jim gently lifted the covers and slid behind his wife, his splayed hand bringing her pelvis back toward his. One of her legs instinctually moved atop his, and her bare foot ran along the flannel leg of his pajamas lovingly. Her skin was flushed with the warmth from the fireplace and covers, and Jim buried his nose in her blanket of soft curls, smelling the herbal cocktail she'd washed it with earlier. A gentle hand reached back to caress his stubble, her thumb running over his bristles.

"Welcome home, commissioner," Claire murmured. "I missed you."

Jim's lips found the creamy skin of her shoulder, his tongue flicking along her collarbone. The sinful curve of her behind arched back against his pajama bottoms, and his body-- taxed though it was-- responded in turn.

"Can I put it in?" he asked in her ear.

"Mmm-hmm," she replied warmly, and Jim slid the smooth silk up to reveal her bare cunt beneath. Reaching into his fly, Jim gave a few quick jerks to his length before lifting her leg a bit more, his tip making contact with her wet heat. Just a few quick strokes to her clit made her ready for him, and he buried himself in her with one blissful surge forward.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, and Jim slid a hand under the ivory silk to treasure her soft breast in a tight grip. Her hips began bucking almost imperceptibly, but Jim stopped them abruptly.

"Nope. Hold still, little girl."

"Oh, you're in charge, Daddy?" she teased.

"In a way," Jim replied. "More like neither one of us is. I want to hold you, just like this."

"Mmm... warming your cock?" Her fingers came back to softly stroke his hair.

"Of course. Gotta get warm somehow. It's negative three degrees outside."

"And you were out there being a hero," she praised him, giving a small little wiggle just to make sure he was buried to the hilt.

Jim let out a moan. She was so tight at this angle, his cock curved upward, snug between her thighs. Every few seconds he felt the slightest micro tremor, and his cock would twitch in turn. It was nice... relaxing, really... just holding still and seeing what their bodies would do on their own. Jim ran a hand tenderly over her bare arm. Her skin was silkier than the silvery sheets that covered their connected bodies. He caught the slightest smell of perfume on the fibers of her negligée— citrus, jasmine, ginger, and sandalwood. Not that Jim would have known fragrance notes, but he'd been so obsessed with her after that first night at her place two years ago that he'd Googled the bottle sitting on her counter.

"I love you," he intoned deeply in her ear.

Claire sighed contentedly, and her walls gave his stationary cock a squeeze. She arched even further back into his chest, and Jim had never felt so warm, in spite of the cold.

"I love you too, Jim."

____________

Read the full one-shot collection at the link below! I greatly appreciate your kudos and comments if you enjoy or have feedback.

[addieraesfanfic]

until i found you

CHAPTER ONE: “just stay”

pairings: bruce wayne x female!oc

warnings: kissing, cussing, guns, arguing?

addie put a stray hair behind her ear as she walked through the halls of her empty home. when her father told her that her former boyfriend would be coming home for a bit she decided to come home from work early to see him. bruce wayne, her childhood best friend and the love of her life. they grew up under the same roof, her father being alfred the wayne’s longtime assistant. they started dating at the age of 16 but they broke up when bruce left for princeton two years later.

“hey dad, do you know when bruce will be here?” addie asked as she saw her father at the end of the long hallway.

“soon dear, within the hour.” he responded as he wiped dust off of an empty counter. addie’s anxiety and insecurity rose as she looked at herself in the cracked mirror at the end of the hall. she ran her hands through her freshly curled hair and ran her hands over her new dress.

“do i look dumb? like i’m putting in too much effort?” she questioned as she fixed her dress.

“of course not, you look lovely. he’ll be glad to see you.” alfred responded as he placed a kiss to his daughters cheek. she smiled in response. the doorbell rung causing addies breath to catch in the back of her throat. alfred quickly walked down the hall to get bruce who’d just arrived. out of pure fear addie ran into her bedroom practically slamming the door behind her.

she cursed to herself as she cringed at the loud sound her door made. she could hear the sounds of bruce and alfred’s voices as they made their way up the stairs and into the hall.

“hey adds, you in there?” bruce questioned as he knocked on her bedroom door. she opened the door in response, he was wearing a sweater with a blue collar shirt beneath it. he didn’t look too different since the last time she saw him, just shy of a year before. his hair was shorter than she remembered, he must’ve gotten it cut while he was away. she smiled at him and pulled him into the hug. he held her tight as they embraced eachother.

“how’ve you been? how’s school?” addie asked as she pulled away.

“good, but i’m not going back,” he responded as he sat his luggage on the ground beside him.

“why?”

“they don’t want me there anymore, but i’m glad that i decided to visit,”

“so am i. is there anything i could do to stop you from going to the hearing?” she asked as she looked at him with concern.

“someone at this proceeding should stand for my parents,” he said as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“brucie it’s just going to be more stress for yourself, you-”

“you shouldn’t be worrying about me, i’m fine, enough about me. how are you?” bruce asked, annunciating the word “you”.

“i’m fine, officer gordon offered me a job at the office as an assistant. where i basically follow cops around and get them whatever they need. it’s been going good so far, i really like gordon,”

“he’s great, i’m glad you’ve found something here addie i really am,”

“you could find something here too. just stay,” addie pleaded as she inched closer to bruce, gently placing her arms around his hips. he slowly moved his head closer to hers, their foreheads resting on one another.

“we’re gonna be late to the hearing,” bruce announced as he pulled away. addie just nodded, a feeling a little bit embarrassed at her attempts to rekindle things with her former boyfriend.

addie watched as the killer of bruce’s parents stood up, she felt bruce tense from beside her. she placed her hand on his thigh to soothe him, he placed his hand on top of hers. she didn’t pay any attention to the words that came out of Chill’s mouth, the only thing that she felt was anger.

“I gather there is a member of the Wayne family here today. Has he got anything to say?” The judge announced as he looked at Bruce. He cleared his throat and stood up. Addie watched as everyone in the room stared holes into Bruce’s head. He just simply walked away, Addie was quick to follow behind him. He ran out of the main area of the building and around the corner.

“hey! wait a sec-”

“addie just go, please i need you to go!” he pleaded, she could hear the emotion that he was trying to hide in his voice.

“i’ll be in the-" she was interrupted by hundreds of voices, questions being asked. she watched as reporters and policemen flood the room. bruce slowly walked toward the killer, several of the reporters calling our names. a blonde woman ran up to the man,

“joe! hey joe! falcon says hi.” the gunshot rang throughout the room as all of the policemen pushed her onto the ground. addie looked away, unable to watch the scene. she placed her hand on bruce’s shoulder.

“we should leave, we don’t need to see this,”

“i do.” bruce said coldly as he didn’t take his eyes off of the dying man on the floor less than 20 feet away from him. tears flooded addie’s eyes as she watched the man twitch and scream on the ground, the bullet didn’t kill him yet.

“Falcone paid the judge off, just to get Chill out in the open,” addie scoffed as she drove down the busy streets of Gotham.

“maybe i should be thanking them, my parents deserved justice,”

“but that’s not justice, that’s revenge and that’s not the same. that’s why we have an impartial system,” addie responded, trying to state her point without coming off as argumentative.

“your systems broken,” bruce responded. that set off something inside of addie, causing her to swerve off of the main road and down into an alley.

“falcone is making more joe chills, someone else’s parents are getting shot everyday. thanking falcone would be stupid, because he’s destroying everything that your parents stood for, now you wanna thank him for that? here you go,” she announced as she stopped at an old bar. that’s the bar where falcone has been staying, she went on to explain that no one will ever touch him. because he keeps the bad people rich and the good people scared.

“i’m not one of your good people addie,”

“what’re you talking about?” addie asked as she looked at bruce, worry etched in her features.

“all these years i wanted to kill him. now i cant,” he said as he pulled a gun out from his sleeve. addie’s breath caught in the back of her throat, she felt sick. she looked at the gun, she noticed the sweat that was dripping down it from bruce’s anxiety. she was furious, how could he become this person? without thinking she grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and punched him square in the nose. he groaned as he grabbed his nose, blood slowly pouring out from it.

“get the hell out of my car,” addie cursed as she shoved him into the car door. he looked at her with no emotion whatsoever. he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. addie watched as he walked away from the car and out of sight. she held her face in her hands as she sobbed, cursing herself for hitting him, for not understanding, for not being more patient.