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electricgg · 15 days ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 11: Say What You Want, But Say It Like You Mean It With Your Fists For Once

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 (Here!) / Chapter 12 /

The Rogues Gallery had its own section inside the Batcave’s archive.

From the very beginnings of Batman’s crusade for justice in this crime-ridden city, he had built a handmade archive with information about each of his later named ‘rogues’. From their fall into crime to behavioral and blood analysis taken straight out of Arkham’s own archives.

Including their family history.

As time passed, all those files, investigations, and profiles were moved digitally to the hard drive of the Batcomputer, but Bruce still kept the old archive. Most of the boys suspected it was out of practicality, since in the past, technology had failed them more than once, and keeping the original documents had proved them useful.

But now? They were questioning its real motive.

“You’re right,” Dick muttered, flipping through the pages of the file Damian and Tim had shoved into his hands the moment he got inside Tim’s room. “There’s missing information here.”

Damian tutted, his frustrated scowl deepening on the corner of his lips. “Outstanding observation, Grayson.”

“Can you recall anything that could be missing from the file?” Tim questioned, tapping away on his laptop without looking away from the bright screen.

Dick, still somewhat pale from puking for almost half an hour on the bathroom, huffed a sigh with an exhausted stare. He passed the pages back to the front of the file, where an introductory record paper was written in old black ink.

The name at the top of the paper brought a cold sensation down his spine.

Harvey Dent

It had been a while since that name was mentioned. Two-Face had been thrown in Arkham Asylum three years ago and hadn’t broken out of there in that period. Dick wasn’t present at the time of the arrest, Bruce had done it all on his own without backup.

He had even denied showing his body camera footage of that night.

Not even Barbara had managed to find the footage. Dick discared the whole situation as a tech failure, since it had been more than once that the body cameras were crushed in a fight or simply stopped working.

Maybe he should have looked more into it.

“It’s the family record,” he muttered. “It’s not completed. There’s a missing relative.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who?”

“Bianca Dent,” he sighed, taking a seat on Tim’s bed. His weight made the mattress sink, gaining a hiss from Tim, the sudden movement almost snapped him away from his concentration.

“She was Dent’s twin sister. Bruce took me to a few of her plays back when I started as Robin.”

He remembered her quite well. Such a tall woman with a captivating voice left quite the impression on his eight-year-old self.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“And who might this be?”

Dick had taken refuge behind Bruce’s legs, staring widely at the elegant and glamorous woman that had leaned forward to get a closer look at the shy young boy.

Defined dark brown curls, pinned by hairpins. Neat makeup, not a single imperfection in sight. A beauty mark that accentuated her deep, brown, soulful eyes that crinkled at the corners due to the warm smile on her painted lips. She was still wearing her costume, a Spanish dress with ruffles on the skirt and a corset, both in vivid red that stood out against her white shirt, which fell down her shoulders.

Bruce chuckled, his hand gently reassuring Dick by pressing on the back of his head. “This is Dick, he is my ward.”

“What a funny title,” she poked, giving the older man a smirk. “Saying that he’s your son is not that hard, you know.”

The sudden flustered look and cough from Bruce got a laugh from Dick. The woman laughed, taking a knee down to brush off a few strands of hair out of Dick’s face.

“I’m Bianca,” she said. “I’m an old friend of your old man over here.”

“And what does that make you, Bia? Last time I checked, we all have the same age.”

The woman rolled her eyes, getting up from the floor to look back at the approaching man as he came down the hall.

If Bruce was the tallest man Dick had ever met, this other man was easily taking the title. Dark curls, tanned skin, and a grin on his lips. Dressed sharply in grey colors and holding a large bouquet of yellow roses and other types of flowers in the same color.

“Indeed,” She drawled, giving the man a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, to which he copied. “But, I wear it better than the two of you combined.”

“She got us there, Harv,” Bruce jested with a smirk, gaining a light shove in the shoulder from the other man.

“Don’t give her the satisfaction,” Harv groaned. “She feeds on attention and becomes insufferable.”

Bianca scoffed loudly, snatching the bouquet and hitting Harv over the head with it. Looking smug when he complained and glared at her. “I’m not the one with his face plastered all over the city while grinning like some low-budget toothpaste announcement.”

“I’m not the one getting paid for just screaming at the top of my lungs like some wailing goat.” He snapped back.

“At least one of us has refined tastes,” she shot, her left eye twitching as she snapped her gaze back at Bruce. “Right, Bruce?”

“I think that’s our cue to leave, chum.” He chuckled, taking a few steps back while Dick stared at those two.

Now, as they stood besides each other, Dick could see the uncanny resemblace between them. Same eye shape. Same nose. Same eyebrows. Same skin tone. Even their form of speech sounded similar.

“Of course,” Harv snorted. “Leave me at the hands of the bi-witch!” He stuttered at the end, glancing down at the kid with a laugh before Bianca hit him once again with the flowers. She then pulled at his ear, grumbling a ‘Language’ while he yelped and switched to a smile directed at the young boy.

“Excuse my dumb brother, he doesn’t know how to behave in public.” She said, getting a glare from Harv while he rubbed his throbbing ear.

Dick simple laughed at the display before him, getting the adults to also laugh at themselves for how they were acting.

Two years later, Harvey Dent would go to trial against Sal ‘Boss’ Maroni.

And the name Two-Face was born.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

After Harvey Dent turned to the criminal life, Dick only heard of Bianca on the newspaper or by Alfred when he asked Bruce about how she was doing. Most of those conversations ended with Bruce changing the subject or simply leaving the room. A few more months later, Dick had suspected Bianca had changed her last name to avoid the public and vanished from the spotlight.

Another person swept under the dark of this cursed city.

“Did she have any type of sexual relationship with Father?” Damian questioned, making Dick sputter and give the boy a wide stare.

“Jesus, Dami, you don’t just ask that!” He stressed.

That’s when Tim decided to cut in, a grimace on his face. “Don’t ask the obvious facts, Damian. We need to go deeper than that.”

Damian shrugged, “I needed Grayson to confirm it. His reaction was enough to answer my question.”

“What does that have anything to do with missing documents?” Dick pressed, growing frustrated with his brothers. They clearly knew something he didn’t, and it was getting on his already altered nerves.

The sensation of blood dripping down his forehead was hard to shrug off.

The younger boys exchanged glances for a few moments, Tim nodding at Damian, who, without a word, turned around and made his way to some folded papers on the small desk attached to the corner of the bedroom. The sight was a bit off putting to Dick since it wasn’t common for them to act so agreeable and in synch with each other.

If they had always acted like this, maybe the patrols would have gone a lot more smoothly and with fewer arguments.

Damian then handed Dick the papers, noticing they were opened letters. The torn envelopes were right beneath the papers. He picked a random envelope out of the bunch and read the address right in the center.

(Y/N) Wayne Dent 224 Park Drive, Crest Hill, Bristol Township Gotham City, New Jersey

“...Is this a joke?” Dick fumed, paper crumpling in his fingers. A heating, raging sensation consumed his chest and spread down to the bottom of his stomach.

The more he stared down at the second last name, the more that heat turned into scalding fury.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that name. He didn’t like that name being beside hers.

He didn’t want it there. He wanted it gone. Burn it. Torn it. Scratch it off. He just wanted it gone, gone, gone, gone, goNE, GONE, GONE, GONE-

“Look at the address where it came from.” Tim’s voice did little to nothing to divert the anger spilling out of Dick’s body.

U.H. Mercy Island, Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane Gotham City, New Jersey

“I found them in Father’s office,” Damian explained, arms crossed with a sharp glint in his eyes. “They were hidden in his desk in a small compartment. Each one addressed to her, two for each month in the past three years.”

Two for each month, that’s a total of twenty-four letters in a year.

Twenty-four letters for three years.

Seventy-two letters in total.

“What is this psycho doing?” Dick growled out, getting up from his spot and flipping through the letters carelessly and quickly, wrinkling the papers. “What does he want from her? Why hasn’t Bruce said anything about this?!”

“My theory?” Tim dragged on, moving his laptop towards the other two so they could stare at the screen. “He wanted nobody to know that Two-Face of all people is the legal guardian of his child.”

Displayed on the screen, a series of screenshots of Arkham’s archive, along with old pictures of newspapers' gossip columns. Tim then took out a file and opened it for their view.

A birth certificate and a legal guardianship.

The legal guardianship was signed by two people, Bianca and Harvey Dent.

It came to Dick in pieces. A legal guardianship is a designation by the court that authorizes someone to care for an individual in place or absence of parents. Usually, a parent leaves in their will who is to have the guardianship of their child, but only if they left a will. If they don't leave a guardian in the will, the legal guardianship is made by the court.

Bianca (his sister's mother, how did he never put that together-) had signed a legal guardianship. Was it her will? Was it forged? Why wasn't Bruce signature in here? How did this even work?!

And Harvey Dent (his sister's uncle. That twisted and unstable crime lord, related to his sweet sister-) was signed as the guardian. Did he give the order himself? Did he threatened a judge? Did Bruce have it this whole time? Was Harvey trying to take his sister away from them?

The birth certificate had in a big, bold, exuberant font a name that kicked off a sick feeling in everyone that was in the room in different ways.

An empty hole beneath Dick’s feet.

A lack of air in Damian’s chest.

A heaviness in Tim’s shoulders.

The name (Y/N) Dent written on that paper had brought more questions than answers amongst the brothers. But only Dick said out loud the main question that was avoided from the beginning of this side discovery.

“Where the hell is Bruce?”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bobby’s face was making her anxious.

He had been silent on the ride back from the hospital, driving his truck until they reached a parking lot in front of a McDonald’s establishment.

Because after Warren had to drag her shaking body out of the hospital, he insisted on getting something to eat and settling down before they could dive into whatever this conversation was going to be.

Between milkshakes and fries, Maximoff spilled out her story from the very beginning until that very day in the fastest rant known to man. The two boys had to intervene a couple of times, stopping her when her words came out too fast and jumbled to be able to be understood.

Maybe she was too excited to finally talk to someone else about it. Let go of that dragging guilt for keeping to herself what her reality was like.

And it did feel good. It felt so good to finally say it that she somehow felt lighter. As if a heavy weight had been taken off of her chest and let her lungs get filled with fresh, new air.

Of course, that was until Bobby and Warren hadn’t said a thing in the past two minutes.

Now? She could feel her skin drenched in cold sweat underneath her track jacket.

“...So,” Bobby breathed, blinking slowly as his hands hovered. “You died.”

“And Wayne died too,” Warren added, leaning forward through the gap between the front seats, also looking kinda lost.

Maximoff nodded carefully. “Yeah, Wayne did. Me? It’s complicated, but yeah.”

Bobby clasped his hands together, nodding in response while Warren just stared. “And your soul got shoved in Wayne’s body by your twin brother.”

“Billy, yeah.” She sighed, sinking into her seat.

“And this past weeks, you have been pretending like you have amnesia, adapting to live with a family that doesn’t know their real daughter died and got switched by someone else-”

“I don’t pretend I have amnesia, I do have it because I don’t really have my memories, and they kind of come in at random times. Plus, I don’t actually know these people-”

Warren talked over her, eyebrow and the lump in his back twitching at getting interrupted. “And Wayne’s spirit is helping you out on how to get past them while you also help her find some items that her mother left around because the personification of Death had made with her a deal, and she broke it?”

Maximoff bit her cheek from the inside, half of her body already out of her seat with every inch she took to sink deeper, and avoiding their looks.

“...Sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”

The teens went silent for a couple of minutes once again, letting the information sink in. Because it did sound ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. But, then again, they live in a world where superheroes and aliens protect the planet from criminals to outworldly threats. Where people were born with powers and judged by them. Where someone could dress up as a bat and fight crime at night.

Why would a deal gone wrong with Death be ridiculous when their normal lives weren’t considered normal?

“You don’t believe me,” She muttered, giving them a side glance.

Bobby leaned back with a sigh, his eyes softening while he stared at her worried expression. Then, he shook his head. “If there’s a man who can create stuff with a green ring, and that the lost city of Atlantis is now part of the ONU, then I guess there's space to believe that Death is out there switching people's souls and collecting debts.”

That got an ugly laugh out of her, feeling her eyes starting to tear, but she blinked them away. “That was Billy, but I’ll take it.”

“And out of the places he could have shoved your soul into, Gotham was his best choice?” Warren chided with a groan, stretching his arms with a grimace while falling back in the backseat.

“That’s true,” Bobby said. “Gotham is not a great place for mutants.”

The blonde teen then glared at him, eyes squinting. “And why exactly are you in Gotham? Last time I checked, Metropolis is open to mutants.”

That changed the mood to a tense one, as the cabin suddenly became colder and the windows fogged up from the inside. Maximoff sat up, sharing stares with Warren as Bobby took some deep breaths. The tips of his fingers were turning ice right in front of their eyes, but they went back to normal once again when Bobby seemed to calm down.

His trembling shoulders said otherwise.

“Bobby?” Maximoff carefully touched his shoulder. He looked at her with a wide stare, then back at a worried Warren.

“I- my parents aren’t-” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and gathering himself up. “My parents think differently. They thought that if I were off by myself for a while, it would just go away.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. But Warren had already caught on to what was going on. So, he took hold of the subject.

“What exactly do you know about mutants?”

The girl bit her lip before shaking her head. “I haven’t heard of it before. Been back from the dead for, like, two or three weeks. Time is weird.”

“There’s a big difference,” Bobby butted in, eyes a vibrat blue that entrampted her attention. “Between metas and mutants. Metas are made on accidents. An experiment gone wrong, or exposed to some chemicals, and things like that. Mutants are born like this.”

“It’s in our DNA,” Warren explained. Which gained a small frown from Bobby. “We are born with a special gene in our blood, called the X Gene. The gene activates at random times, but there’s a higher chance that it activates during teenage years. That’s when it’s called a mutation, and it can be from physical to mental.”

“You've been saying ‘us’ and ‘ours’ a lot, Warren,” Bobby noted.

Warren rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, you have officially caught me. As if I haven’t been obvious enough.”

“Wait,” She interrupted, a delighted glint in her eyes. “Does that mean the three of us are mutants? Holy shit-”

“I honestly expected that your accelerated perception also included your thought process.” He ribbed. “Guess I was hoping for too much.”

“Back on the subject,” Bobby interrupted before they could start to banter like always. “Since mutations can be dangerous, it scares people. It scares normal people to the point that they hate us.”

That did not sound nice at all.

“It’s a whole dilemma,” Warren grumbled. “The media loves to antagonize, and the heroes do little to nothing to help us because ‘it’s all about politics’. Mutants have been around forever, and they still treat us like nothing but dirt beneath their feet.”

Yeah, not nice at all.

Bobby then put his hand on Maximoff’s shoulder, noticing her stress over this discovery. “It has changed in the past few years. Some places are safe for people like us. There’s an institute back in New York for gifted children. I had a visit from them a while back, but my parents turned them away.”

Warren sighed. “Which takes us to Batman’s ‘No Meta’ rule, which includes mutants. It’s supposed to be a caution because of all the messed-up villains and shit that happens here, but not many of us can afford to leave.”

“Isn’t your father rich? Why hasn’t he moved you out of here?” Bobby looked puzzled.

“Looks like all of us have shitty families, Boo.” He shrugged with tight lips.

“But why? Why are they so afraid of us?” She questioned, feeling her throat tighten.

“For many things,” said Warren. “But the main one is that they can’t control us. Just look at Westview, that’s a good reminder of why people fear us.”

That name tingled in the back of her head.

Westview.

“What happened in Westview?”

Why does it mean so much?

“Some say it was a failed training experiment from the Justice League.” Bobby uttered. “A small town was encased in a red dome for weeks. But nobody from the inside has talked or given interviews about it because the government got involved quickly. Some of the League members also worked alongside them, but there was barely any news on it.”

“Of course, until people started to recall that there’s a well-known mutant that specializes in red domes. They even went as far as to call the whole thing ‘The Hex’. A bit stereotypical if you ask me.” Warren scoffed, moving his shoulders uncomfortably against the seat.

The Hex. Red Dome. Westview.

The Hex.

Red Dome.

Westview.

"Wanda, you’ve never been up against another witch before. Did you know there’s an entire chapter devoted to you in the Darkhold? That’s the book of the damned. “The Scarlet Witch is not born, she is forged. She has no coven, no need for incantation.'"

"I’m not a witch. I don’t cast spells. No one taught me magic!"

"Now, do you see? You tied your family to this twisted world, and now one can’t exist without the other."

"Save Westview or save your family."

"Mom! Help!"

“The Scarlet Witch.” She muttered. The boys looked at her in disbelief.

“...Are you supposed to know that?” Bobby hesitated.

“Guys, that’s it!” She suddenly yelled, startling the boys with her sudden outburst. Eyes wide in euphoria, as a grin widened on her lips, and her knees stabbed the seat. Helping her turn to look back at the scared blonde while gripping the head cushion.

“Wanda Maximoff!” She said, her heart pounding against her chest. “She is the Scarlet Witch, right?!”

“Hey, how do you know-” But Bobby was interrupted with a gleeful squeal.

“That’s my mom! My mom is the Scarlet Witch! I remember!” She cackled with glassy eyes. Bobby and Warren tried to set her down, but she was literally vibrating on the seat, making the truck tremble and making them scream. It attracted certain looks from the outside, the night already falling over the city, but people minded their own business and continued with their things.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“It was hidden for a reason, Damian!”

“Don’t yell at him!” Dick yelled, getting right in Bruce’s face with a scowl, shoving a finger in his chest. “This is crucial information, and you kept it quiet! For years!”

“Why would you need to know?” Bruce questioned in a harsh tone as he walked to the other side of the living room. “It was better for everyone. For her!”

The boys and Bruce had been at each other’s throats for the past hour. Not only had they found that Bruce was holed up in his cave, but also wasting his time on the missing cases instead of focusing on the real problem at hand under his roof. Dick and Tim had dragged him out to the living room, confronting him about the missing documents in Dent’s file and the letters that had been sent by the man.

It fell short to say that Bruce was beyond livid.

“Then why not burn them?!” Tim pestered, shoving the papers on the coffee table with Damian standing behind his spot on the sofa. “It would have been easier if you didn’t want anyone to find them!”

Bruce glared at the boys, deep bags under his eyes and hair messed up, as if he had been dragging his fingers through it over and over again. Even his clothes looked disheveled.

He looked like a mess.

His gaze diverted to the silent presence by the entry of the room. Cassandra stood there, with an odd expression on her face, as she decided to enter the room and gain the attention of her siblings.

“It’s loud…” She said. Dick and Damian had the decency to look slightly ashamed, while Tim continued to glare at Bruce.

Once again, his sister had proved to be more than meets the eye. So many years, hiding this part of herself. A part that Bruce had tried to make disappear by sheer force of will. Another missing equation that added more to her enigma.

What else was she hiding? What else was she keeping under wraps? What more could he find deep inside her chest and mind?

“I’m sorry, Cassandra,” Bruce muttered, walking towards her with a hand going down his face and scratching his stubble. “Your brothers are in trouble over some documents-”

Dick butted in, tone rising. “Don’t you dare sweep this under a rug!”

“Conversation is over for now, Dick,” Bruce grunted.

But Dick refused to switch the subject. “Why is Harvey her legal guardian? I thought her mother was dead for years, and just today I found out that not only did you keep her identity a secret, but that it’s Harvey Dent’s sister?”

“What exactly did you want me to do?!” His father hissed. “Let everyone know that she was related to him? That her mother went insane and tried to carve into her skin with a burning iron? That Bianca’s memory would be tainted because of Harvey’s choices, and that our child would be tainted with the name of Dent?! I did what I had to do as her father-”

“So lock them away and throw away the key, right?”

Those sarcastic words, accompanied by a watery edge, made the five members snap their heads to the person standing in the hall.

Carrying plenty of shopping bags in each hand, posture straight, and glaring at Bruce with red rimmed eyes, stood the girl of the moment.

Cassandra had jumped a few steps back, pale in the face, and clutching the back of the sofa while Dick came forward, already wiping up a wide smile. “Hey, hun! You got home quite late!”

His words fell flat because of the intense, bitter glares the young girl was given to the suddenly solemn man. Bruce took a step towards her, feeling encouraged to take a few more when she didn’t move from her spot.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry you had to-”

“Are you?” She whispered.

Bruce looked lost for a moment before nodding, raising his hands to reach out to her. “Of course I am. I’m so-”

“Or are you just sorry you got caught?”

He froze, hands in the air. Fingers just centimeters away from grasping her shoulders. Her dark eyes spilling with tears as a mocking sound trembled out of her lips.

“Y’know,” She sniffled, wiping the back of her wrist at her nose. “From the moment I set foot here, there have been many things that I have taken notice of. Especially after the whole accident thing. One big example is the lack of pictures.”

She tilted her head to look at the rest of them, who hovered by the sofa while standing up and staring while gaping at the scene before them. “Many portraits. Many pictures. Of everyone.”

A shaky chuckle slipped, gaze returning to Bruce’s frozen expression. “But not a single one of me.”

The way that she said ‘me’ left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth.

“Do I look too much like her? Like them? Does it haunt you so much that you can’t bear to see me in the eye? Too afraid to face your mistakes?”

“Hun, lets take a walk-” Dick tried to intervine, fingers trembling at his side.

But she pointed her finger at him, bags rattling as her shoulders shook, as more tears spilled down her face.

“Don’t you dare act all high and mighty, Dick. You never cared until I stopped caring.”

Her words made him click his mouth shut, taking a step back with his shoulders dropping down.

The girl moved a step forward, tear tracks making her look younger in Bruce’s eyes. As if he were standing before that seven-year-old girl who refused to cry at the police station all those years back. Who laughed after going through the most traumatic moment in her young life.

Left without a mother. Without a home. Only him as her protector.

Because, even if the papers said that she was Harvey’s in the eyes of the law, Bruce’s blood coursed through her veins. He had known so from the moment the test had turned positive, maybe even earlier.

That little girl, who never shed a tear, stood before him with eyes filled with anger and tears.

“I hope you got what you wanted. That one day you’ll be able to admit out loud how much you fucked up, and that that day, I will not be here to hear you say it.”

Nothing moved.

Nothing breathed.

Bruce wasn’t sure when he snapped out of it. At one moment, she was there before him, and at the next, she was gone. And so was everyone else. His chest contracted deeply, a dry sob craking through his throat while his shaking hand came up to find his face wet with tears.

Deep in the manor, a girl sobbed beside her bed. Her dead companion soothed her by humming an old song and caressing her hair.

Maximoff repeated the same words over and over in her head.

‘I will get us out. Both of us.’

‘No more tears.’

‘Not for them.’

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Could you repeat them? Again?”

“Do I have too?” Maximoff whined, head against the library table the three of them had been using for the past free hour.

The weekend had passed by way too slowly for her liking.

Apart from the outburst she had with Bruce in the hall that night, everyone seemed to let her be for the remaining day before going back to classes once more.

No clingy and intrusive siblings.

No overbearing father banging on her door.

Just her, Wayne and a shit ton of investigating on their vessel quest and studing for that demonic algebra exam.

The perfect way to end such an eventful weekend.

“Wheel of fortune, find the ashes of The Moon beneath the Four of Wands, get The Sun its Hierophant, and reunite with the Reversed Tower.” She recited with a deadpan tone, lifting her head and leaning against the fancy wood with her chin, staring up at Warren, who stood by the bookshelf, searching for another book that could help them.

“That’s gotta be the weirdest tarot spread I ever heard of,” Bobby mumbled from behind his laptop, also helping out in their search.

Right, Tarot cards.

After telling Wayne about what happened at the hospital, she instantly clocked out her mother’s words as references to tarot cards. She had practically thrown her old tarot deck right in Maximoff’s hands.

Of course, that very day, she made a FaceTime call with Warren and Bobby, giving this last one a heart attack when he managed to see Wayne hovering on the back before to connection fell on their side.

A great introduction and a great discovery on the extent of Wayne’s abilities.

She had lately been more visible. Appearing on corners, standing behind walls, or hanging upside down on the ceiling with a shrill laugh that cracked the windows and rattled the doors.

Maximoff had adapted quickly to waking up with black hair tickling her face and getting spooked every time she turned around.

Back to the current situation.

Maximoff had taken any type of occult book found in the manor’s library and shoved them in her backpack. That morning, she had gone through the most awkward car ride in her short life, because Damian couldn’t stop staring at her with that weird, sad look that unsettled her to hell and back.

Getting used to his sour expression and glares was easy, but this? She didn’t know how to handle this. He even seemed to try to say something to her before she got out of the car, but words failed him, and she was in a hurry to leave the situation as quickly as possible. She left the car without giving him the time to talk, running up to the entrance of the academy without giving the boy a chance to talk.

Then, once the three teens had gone through their first class with Mr. Logan, they had invaded the school’s library, taking advantage of their free period since their teacher was absent for the day to do their own investigation on the vision Bianca had given Maximoff.

And, as it was obvious, they were not doing very well.

“It says here,” Bobby read. “That the first card is supposed to represent the signifier of the querent, meaning, whoever is getting the reading.”

“Isn’t supposed to be past, present, and future?” Warren asked, sliding across the table another book to pick up another.

Maximoff shook her head. “That’s a different spread. Tarot cards use spreads depending on what you are going to ask. It can go from one card to almost ten cards. The more cards you use, the deeper the insights into the situation.”

“But we don’t know what spread was used, or the question that was asked.” Bobby sighed.

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way?” Warren shrugged, looking at his friends. “We could search what each card means first and then come up with conclusions.”

“That could work-”

“What are you three doing in here?”

Mr. Logan’s voice startled them out of their conversation, Bobby flailing around with his book until it fell on the floor, and gaining a hush from the librarian who was nearby.

The teacher raised an eyebrow, staring at them with suspicion until Maximoff got up from her seat and snatched up the book that had fallen from the ground. “Just trying to summon a demon. Y’know, teenage stuff.”

The boys tried to make her stop saying anything else, Bobby shaking his head with an awkward smile while Warren hid behind his book. But Mr. Logan simply grunted, rolling his eyes once she grinned at him. “If you are going to do that, do it outside. Seeing all three of you in silence and still is making me nervous.”

The teens grinned and laughed, sharing glances and nods while starting to pick up their books and things.

Good, Maximoff was growing restless from staying still for so long.

“Before you leave,” Mr. Logan said to the girl, extending a plastic bag he had been holding onto. “I think this is yours, bub.”

She blinked at the bag, switching her gaze between it and Mr. Logan. He nodded at her, lightly moving it side to side, letting her know it was alright to take it.

Maximoff grabbed the bag, brought it closer to her chest, and opened it slowly to see what it held inside. Her eyes widened, snapping her head up to look at Logan, who shrugged as he leaned to the side against one of the big wooden bookshelves.

“Maybe you’ll find these more resistant.”

Warren approached her from the back, looking over her shoulder while Bobby leaned at her side to also see the contents of the bag.

Shoes. Running shoes. The base of them was white with two green stripes on the side. The soles were made out of a material that they weren’t able to recognize, but they looked expensive.

She took them out of the bag, feeling their weight in her hands.

They were extremely light.

“I can’t accept this,” she said softly, looking at the man with disbelief. “This is too much-”

“They’re a gift, kid.” He insisted while crossing his arms. “No other shoes will last like those.”

“I could-” She hesitated, looking back at the shoes. “I can’t take them.”

“How about this?” Logan offered, the corner of his mouth deepening in amusement. “Give them a try on the field, and if they are not comfortable, I’ll take them back. Deal?”

She looked at Warren and Bobby, both of them also taken aback by Logan’s gift. Bobby shrugged with a smile, with Warren giving the man a raised eyebrow, but also shrugging at her.

‘Why not? It’s worth the shot.’

Maximoff grinned, grabbed her bag, and took off with her friends, who were trying to catch up to her before they lost her in the halls while laughing and yelling. Logan stayed behind, smirking to himself. He took out his phone and sent a quick text to the first chat that popped up in the Messenger app.

‘Hank’s research worked. Tell him to make more of those.’

A message popped up quickly in response. As expected of him.

‘Hope they don’t go destroying shoes like I did at that age. I’ll have to get Hank to make me a pair of those, too ⚡️’

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Essex Corporation: 10:00 PM

A big screen, divided into smaller ones, streamed a series of footage from security cameras. All of them from different angles and rooms, focusing on the figures that moved around.

They all wore a thick yellow collar with a blinking red light in the front middle of it. Along with gray scrubs, whose fabrics varied in different states.

Burned, dirty, wrinkled, scratched, torn.

And of course, all of them were kids.

Missing kids.

“What are the statistics?” A growly and raspy voice imposed.

Before the screens, two men stood. One of them was wearing a lab coat and held two files, his identification card blurred by the light as it hung from the small pocket of his coat. The other man was dressed way differently.

His sickly white skin looked like it belonged to a corpse, clashing with his black leather suit. An odd back piece that looked like it was floating behind him, it resembled a cape that was split into thick stripes, and it fell down to the ground. Black hair slicked back, exposing bright red eyes and razor-sharp teeth.

“The earthquake mutant is still at the top of the list,” the assistant said, pointing at the top left screen, where a teen boy with long brown hair trashed his room. Slamming against the walls and screaming. “He still manages to use his mutation lightly even while wearing the retention collars.”

“And the new targets?”

The assistant handed him the files, opening them for his boss to see.

One had pictures of a boy. The other one had pictures of a girl. They were all taken from different positions, but still in the same place.

The same mall.

The man in black took one of the pictures and examined it up close. The lens was focused on the girl, blurred by what he could blame on her moving too fast for the camera to capture. The boy, with his back to the camera, kneeling on the ground and reaching to her.

“Names?” He drawled.

“The boy is Robert Drake. We suspect he has a mutation related to ice. He doesn’t have any registration at the clinics.”

“And the girl?”

“(Y/N) Wayne. Probably speed-related. Also, no registration.”

The sinister man suddenly grinned, the sharp nail of his thumb tracing the blur of the picture.

“You know?” He confided to the other man. “I have always wanted to have a speedster in my collection. Their bodies are fascinating.”

“Bring her first.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: Here's the new chapter!! Sorry for taking so long to publish, last week was insane. Fell down the stairs, got stressed by auditions and studying for a physics exam. Any way, insane week. Let me know what y'all think of this chapter!! Can't wait to see what everyone comes up with 👀✨ Lots of hugs and love, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde @scarletdfox @letsbedragonstogether @exactlynumberonekryptonite @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @ceramic-raven @vndexd @suneaterscape @initial-ari

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rjunhuang · 6 days ago

Text

juliet, o juliet ✰ tim drake

pairing: tim drake x reader

summary: tim gets grounded so you take it upon yourself to get him out. the problem? he doesn't want to leave — he just wants you.

warnings: lowercase intended. fem reader. established relationship. reader is also a vigilante. making out. suggestive. tim is red robin. mention of jason's death. clingy tim.

note: i am his biggest fan. i felt so sinful writing them just MAKING OUT — must be the ace in me. fuck knows how old tim is in current canon but i imagine they're like nineteen in this. also, viet/wasian tim is so real to me — whenever people mention his blue eyes i get jumpscared.

divider by omi-resources | comments & reblogs are appreciated! <3

tim drake had always been the voice of reason.

being reckless was not in his nature. he was wired for precision and hypothesis. out of all his teammates, young justice or anywhere else, he was least likely to mess things up due to carelessness. in fact, tim drake cared too much.

it was exactly why he put himself on the frontlines this time — for the sake of the mission. for the safety of his team. if anyone needed to harmed, let it be him.

and while the mission ended in a success with red robin unscathed, bruce did not like what he came to hear. maybe it was the jason trauma kicking in, but bruce didn’t need his children playing the role of martyr.

so, for the first time in long while, tim was grounded.

no outings. no patrolling. no you.

his brothers took great pleasure in seeing the wayne child, whose image was all about being ‘orderly’, sulk in the confines of his bedroom. tim attempted to slip away many times, but living under a roof filled with security systems and other super-spies, it was harder to escape than arkham asylum in comparison. little damian had no problem reporting to their father if tim’s foot made it even a centimeter past the front door.

lucky for tim, he had a girlfriend who shared a mind of his own. breaking into the wayne manor was difficult — this was batman’s sanctuary, after all. you’d almost gotten your butt fried when hopping past a high voltage trip wire.

truthfully, you didn’t need to be doing all of this. you had access to most, if not every, part of the estate. you even had your assigned room there, whenever you decided to stay over. you were associated to the bats as closely as stephanie brown or barbara gordon. nevertheless, the idea of forcing your way into a place you could practically call your home sounded incredibly appealing for what was a dull wednesday night.

tim only noticed you perched out his windowsill when he heard a small tap on the glass, forcing him to peel his eyes away from his laptop. his personal laptop, of course — bruce knew tim’s biggest hobby was scrolling through the system files to crack any cases.

“nuh-uh.” tim begun to vigorously shake his head. “no. nope.” he pushed himself out of his chair, walking over to the window. “get out.” he hissed lowly, like he was shooing away a stray cat, fanning his hands. to be fair, you did look like one with the cheshire’s grin you held. when he realised you couldn't hear him through the glass, he unlatched it, leaving a crack wide.

tim’s reaction hadn’t faltered you in the slightest. you saw it coming, in fact. if bruce happened to catch you in his room — which was very possible — tim would be blessed to be un-grounded before thirty.

you took the open window as a chance to push your way into his room. your hop was light, feet soundless on the rich wooden floors. it’s been near a week since you’ve last seen your boyfriend. the longest separation since the time you met at the ripe age of fourteen. tim, who had all the strength to do so, doesn’t make an attempt to keep you out. despite all his protests, he was missing you a lot more than he currently let on.

you don’t pay mind to a single word he’s whisper-yelled. instead, planting your hands on his face, diving in to give him a gentle greet on the lips. he couldn’t say a damn thing once your lips landed on his.

his hands automatically found their usual position on your hips, instinctively pulling you closer as he kissed back. he was dying of withdrawal, his body reacted to you like he needed air. the kiss left you giddy, but you managed to pull yourself back before any one of you could lose the plot. staying put in tim’s hold, you asked, “sneak out with me?”

“this is a horrible idea—“ he muttered in a hushed tone. it was evident how badly he wanted to run away with you.

“oh, come on,” you begun, “he’s your dad. he’ll come around to forgive you a lot more easily than you think.” the tips of your fingers brush against tim’s pale face, pining the mere touch of him. it was a deal with the devil — for you were letting your heart get to you and not your head.

but, dammit. how did you making everything so enticing? you were a temptation that he absolutely could not resist.

with a groan, he leaned into your touch. he didn’t want to admit it out loud but he was caving. “he’s already pissed that i went against orders. this’ll just piss him off more,” he protested weakly, despite knowing that he was about to give into you anyway.

“please?” you pleaded, with a weak attempt of what people called ‘puppy eyes’. you leaned in closer to brush your lips against his. “i miss you.”

you had him wrapped around your damn finger — the second those three words left your lips, it was over. his will to resist was crumbling by the second. tim sighed, giving your lower lip a small and playful bite. “you’re the bane of my existence.”

you raised your eyebrows. “isn’t that a bridgerton quo—“ your comment is smothered by another kiss.

tim’s hands shifted to your thighs to lift you up, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. he pressed you against the wall of his room, returning the kiss with fervor. his fingers curled into the fabric of your clothes, clinging to you tightly. “shut up and kiss me.” he breathed against your lips.

your bodies are reacting before your brains do. clearly, the days spent apart had been driving tim up a wall as well. “wait, wait, wait.” you giggled against his lips, “we’re supposed to be sneaking out, not making out.”

tim only groaned when you interrupted the kiss, burying his face into your shoulder. he was so close to completely abandoning the idea of sneaking off to just kiss you until the sun came up. “c’mon,” he whined, “sneaking out is overrated, let’s just stay here and make out instead.”

“gods— you are such an introvert.” said the other introvert — yourself. you rested your head against the wall, absentmindedly playing with the black tufts of hair on tim’s nape. his eyes fluttered momentarily at the feeling of you playing with hair, a small, content hum rumbling in the back of his throat. “i really wanted to go for the whole romeo and juliet aesthetic. except, i’m romeo and i’m trying to get you out and have your father’s approval.”

he raised his head to roll his eyes in an overdramatic effect, though a smile pulled at the corner of his lips while listening to your rambling. “you do know they both die at the end, right?” he teased before pressing another kiss against your collarbone, trailing his lips up towards your jaw. “besides, you’d be the worst romeo,” he said with a gentle nip.

“what?” you dramatically yelped, offended. “would not. i’d totally drink poison for you, or however the play goes. juliet, oh, juliet — let down your hair.”

the sudden and rather loud outburst had tim immediately cupping a hand over your mouth, muffling your next sing-song remarks. “be. quiet,” he said with a small laugh. “you’ll get us caught, dumbass.” he couldn’t help but shake his head slightly. “see? terrible romeo, i’m doing all the work.”

but you weren’t really listening anymore, your eyes narrowing into a knowing, dirty-minded look. the smirk you were currently sporting was enough for tim to get the message. the small smile on his face betrayed the false annoyance, “pervert.” he mumbled, lowering his hand from your mouth to rest it on your hip instead.

“you like this pervert.”

“not the words that come out of that mouth.”

“i can think of other ways to use this mouth.”

“oh, yeah?”

“i can use it,” you paused for dramatic effect, and in a blink, you’re swinging off of tim’s grip, “to eat a good ol’ hotdog at our nearest bodega.” you said the line like a narrator straight out a 60’s commercial.

“you little—“ he started, his hand flailing outwards in a pathetic attempt to grab you again. you snickered at his reaction, too busy collecting your backpack that you slipped off in passing earlier. tim was still pouting like a child as he slumped back against the wall. you took a step closer and swung an arm across his shoulder, dragging him with you to his window.

“a shitty pizza slice sounds so good right now.” he couldn’t help but let out a soft snort of laughter at your excitement for shitty bodega pizza.

tim’s only response was to let out a small smile, muttering, “alright, let’s go get our shitty pizza, then—”

#— rika's works.#tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #tim drake #imagine #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #dc comics #dc

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hattersrabbit · 2 months ago

Text

SICKNESS OF THE HEART

batfamily x mileena! reader | sfw

CW! all platonic, good parent Bruce Wayne supremacy, mk1 mileena, gn reader, hurt comfort, r has killed people (under tarkot), Hugo Strange is creepy, mentions and use of needles, implied cannibalism, Damian & r are the same age (14), androgynous/nb! reader, implied future su!c!de attempt, implied future yandere batfam

Summary! Bruce finds a child under a threatening disease that seems to have no cure, and under Dr. Strange’s horrid guidance.

✎ᝰ.backstory for reader is inspired by my dc oc’s backstory (+ mileena is one of her inspiration as well)

next | series

˖꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷

“Dear, please be still.”

You growled lowly as the needle entered your skin and the disease went away.

“Can’t have you attacking me now can I?” Dr. Strange smiled creepily. In your sober mind; clear of the disease that plagued you hatred filled your being.

A glare in your eyes that were no longer a form of orange, red, and yellow. No slit in those eyes, and not a like a predator without a mind of their own.

“Do behave won’t you, child.

You still growled. He found you after you murdered your father, mother, and twin sister. Covered in their blood. Around your mouth and sharp teeth.

Gone was your humanity and then a monster. A cannibalistic monster in front of him who was in tears and no realization of what just happened.

You were old enough to know clearly what happened.

After all, they used you to deal with unruly patients.

“Good job though. You swallowed him whole.” The bones were clear enough. Blood and spare flesh on the ground. Blood around your mouth and on your hands. You stared at your palms in horror.

Hatred for him and yourself. The wish to die from this disease, but this man wouldn’t let you die. You were a curiosity.

A rare disease never seen before. Mysteriously he conjured a cure of some kind to stop it, but not forever. It wore off and back your humanity would come.

But you’d always be a monster. Always.

“There’s a child in Arkham Asylum?”

Batman stared at Harley, whose normally smiling face was wild. She wasn’t now, and her expression was full of worry.

“Yes, Damian’s age if I remember correctly.” She played with her low pigtails with a worried face. Her eyes were wary as they thought of the child. “Under Dr. Strange’s watch. I talked to the child quite a lot before, and I smelled blood.”

“Blood?” Batman stilled.

Harley huffed, “I asked about and…was disturbed. Like they knew, but didn’t.”

“I think it’s a disease. A rare one or something like that. They went wild, and immediately were pulled into somewhere else in the asylum.” Harley went quiet. She wasn’t thinking, or not able to articulate what she wanted to say.

“Harley?”

“I heard screams. They are loud and guttural. They stopped in an instant.” Harley shivered. Harley doesn’t shiver.

“Save them. Save the kid because I fear otherwise he’ll make something of them, and they won’t be themselves ever again.” Harley looked with pleading eyes.

Batman stared blankly. His brain going miles a minute about the information he was just told. A child in the care of Dr. Strange, and he was a dangerous man.

A child with rare sickness that was both dangerous to others and the person itself. That child would be made a weapon he was sure.

“I’ll save them, Harley.”

“They have a child in Arkham?” Stephanie blinked crazily. Her brow furrowed down because she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Yes, and I’m afraid they are in big danger.” Bruce wiped away the grease paint off of his face. “Tim, please.”

The pale boy made no comment and did what he was told. “This is crazy.” He whispered to himself as he looked for files on this child. A child that was Damian’s age.

The demon child himself was thinking. “Father, how exactly are we to get this other person out of Arkham?”

“We’ll come up with a plan.”

Damian stared and went back to where Tim was working.

“Indeed there is a child in Arkham Asylum. Very discreet, but nothing is too hard for me to find.” Normally, Tim would be smug but he was grim. His gaze dark and concerned over what he’s found.

“What did you find?” Dick asked, as he and Damian looked over his shoulder. Bruce most importantly listening intently.

“A report of a child named [ ] [ ], whose parents and twin sister reportedly killed. The details surrounding their deaths are murky, but considering what information Harley gave, it’s best to assume they got the illness and killed them.” Tim’s brows furrowed. “The file on the child shows that they are under Hugo Strange’s watch, and there have been complaints from civilians of not being able to see relatives.”

“Are you saying that…?” Duke asked. Cass grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Her eyes glazed over with anger. “Yes, the child was used to kill them if that’s the case.”

Dick breathed in a sigh. He didn’t even realize he was holding in his breath.

“Who would do that to a poor child.” Stephanie mumbled to herself. “That poor baby, and she’s only Damian’s age?”

Bruce huffed grimly, “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Guys! There’s been an outbreak at Arkham Asylum!” Barbara’s voice rang loud and frantic.

“What?!” Dick exclaimed.

“Got it! Everyone get ready and head out! Oracle, let Jason know!”

“On it!”

Upstairs Alfred stood listening to the radio with a blank expression. The information that a young looking child was seen running away from Arkham Asylum. A crazed kind of look in their eyes.

Frantic and looking to get away from that horrid place. Even Hugo Strange’s voice saying that he was willing to pay anyone who’s call in on his missing patient.

The butler breathed a sigh of relief when the radio reported that the figure had been seen going towards Crime Alley.

The urge to bite into someone was heavy on your conscious. You did everything to evade this illness.

Hissing every time the needles poked your skin. You didn’t like them but they stopped you from going crazy and loosing your mind. You couldn’t handle another life loss due to your affliction.

Maybe when you got somewhere then you’d could end it all. Stop the horror that was you and nobody would die.

You were in Crime Alley and on the run. You knew that it was a good place to hide; you grew up there with your sister.

A life you wished you could get back. To get back your beloved mother and father. If only you didn’t get this damn rare disease. You wondered why it affected you, and you couldn’t get treatment either.

And then you killed them.

Covered in their blood. Them inside you and becoming a part of your soul. Carrying their souls on your back.

Unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to do what you planned because you were stopped in your tracks by a man in a red mask. Tall and intimidating.

Guns held in his hands.

You froze in the alleyway and backed into the corner. You only wanted to take a breath, and you were found.

They’d take you back to that horror, and face the other patients. The fear of being used as the punishment against disobedient patients.

The man didn’t step forward. He was silent and observed you. Slowly he put his guns in the holsters. He focused even more when you hissed from needles pricking your skin once again.

“You’re the child that escaped Hugo Strange.” He spoke lowly. Studying you carefully.

On instinct you growled. Who could you trust? And this man, whoever he was, didn’t know who he was dealing with. He could get the disease too and you didn’t wish that on anyone.

How you wished for the illness to take you six feet under. To be rid of this pain and carnage you dealt.

The man said nothing still watching you behind that red mask.

“Stay away from me! I-I’ll hurt you!” Yelling back at him. Already you could feel the pressure of your illness in your mind pushing. A parasite in your body that you tried so hard to refuse. No, you wouldn’t kill and you didn’t want to.

The man didn’t moved nor did he say anything. He reached up to face and pressed something. A soft “found them” from his covered lips surfaced.

Your body flared up at the fact he told someone he found you. They would send you back to Arkham Asylum and you would be with Strange again. You would will and suffer again.

People would look at you fearfully again.

Even Harley, the one person who still gave kindness to you, still acted in apprehension. Her eyes on you changed after you lost it and went on a rampage. You didn't blame her, and honestly, you expected it.

The masked man placed his hands up. The guns are still in the holsters. He was calm and slowly approaching you. Instictivley, beastly; you let out a growl.

The needles are once again hitting your skin. You hissed as you felt the tears of your cheeks retracting. Maybe then he would kill you. The red-masked man would see you for the monster that you really were.

But at the same time, you would attack him.

You would hurt his man. He seemed kind enough if he was placing his hands up in the air. Letting you know he was coming in peace, despite stepping closer to you at every step.

"Hey, kid, it's alright. I'm not here to hurt you, or throw you back into that hell hole." His voice was calm and gentle talking to you. Hearing his voice, but the voice of the disease was haunting you. The need to chomp onto his bare neck was stronger than ever.

He kneeled in front of you.

You're backed up against the wall and trying to get away from him.

"I'm..." He thought for a second. Flinching hard when his arms lifted to his face, and off came the mask. A fair-skinned man with a fair amount of scars, and black locks with a white tuft. Most alarming, you caught sight of a J etched into his cheek.

"You can call me Red Hood, or Jason kid." Serene blue eyes that seemed uncommon for such a hardened face. A face that had been hardened for a long time. You only nodded in response. The itch of the disease was getting worse, and you were pushing back.

"I'm not here to hurt you." His eyes flickered to your bare arms, where numerous scars lay. Some deep and some shallow, some old, and some fresh. "He hurt you?"

You nodded. Nails digging into your skin to keep the monster at bay,

"I'm here to help you, okay? It'll be alright, just come with me."

You shook your head. His blue eyes widened when you released your arm to reveal sharpened nails and breached bleeding skin. "I-Im a monster..."

You cried as the disease tore your mouth apart and into a wide mouth of sharp teeth and a long tongue. Disturbing for anyone to see. A fourteen-year-old morphing into a monster. Frantically, you grabbed a needle while, with a single leg, you pushed him away.

He made a noise as your above normal strength pushed him away. "Hey! You'll hit a vein-"

He watched as you desperately stabbed a needle into your neck and pushed in the serum.

Just as you did, you felt a blunt object hitting the back of your head. A faint yell from Jason was heard as you fell unconscious.

"Robin!" Jason expressed to the child next to you. Having hit you in the back of the head with his katana.

"They were going manic? Weren't they, Red Hood? You should have tread more carefully. The illness they have could have sparked at any moment." His gloved hand removed the needle from your hand. Numerous of the needles were seen by the two.

"Fuck-"

"Yes, as you would say. They could have killed themselves if they hit right here. Luckily they didn't hit a vein." Damian informed as he collected the needles into his utility belt.

"Pick them up. Everyone else is at Arkham Asylum and trying to find Dr. Strange." Under his breath he cursed a name.

Jason made no complaints as he picked you up from the ground. His eyes glazing over the numerous scars on your arms and legs. Seeing how your mouth morphed back to normal. "Those needles must have a serum that keeps it from taking over."

"Yes, however it's incapable of stopping the disease."

"Let's get home." The two took you home.

News you could be heard that Arkham had been ransacked. Batman was more ruthless than ever. Mean ever than before. Black Bat, she was more violent than ever.

Files found by Red Robin and Spoiler of the many experiments and who exactly you were. A young child who contracted a man made disease, and murdered your parents and twin sister. Having heard of it affecting someone, Hugo Strange retrieved you.

Saying a young child with problems that needed much more complicated help. Hiding the fact that a manmade disease hadn't affected you and turned you into a monster.

Using you as a punishment for disobedient patients. Eating them alive and making the entire asylum listen to the carnage.

After reading such things Nightwing; ever the more angry he slammed the doctor hard for what he had done. "They aren't a weapon!" He would yell in defense of you.

A feeling of protectiveness overfilled them. As did Red Hood, Robin, Signal, and Alfred you looked at you so much more deeply.

Other serums in your body. Most scars having been caused by attempts to keep you contained. Pulling at chains and rope. Your neck bleeding heavily due to the needle you stabbed into your neck.

A child that was forced into Arkham Asylum because of man and forced to become a weapon against human kind. Ridding the world of people who needed help.

The vigilantes cursed the doctor heavily. Releasing exactly what had been done, and there was pushback. Nuanced views of it being a child, but a monster who still killed people.

A disease with no cure that could potentially kill more people. Others may be after your head.

It was at that moment when Jason and Damian met up with their family is that they saw what horrors you saw and experienced.

A certain horroric feeling of protecting you, from death. Taking away the disease eating at you and making sure death never touches you ever again.

Anyone who tried to take you away from them would face the wrath of vigilante. A child that needed help and wasn't at fault for anything that happened.

Bruce would brush your face of blood on your face. Soft blue eyes promising that he would give you the love you never got.

Your new siblings willing enough to give you the sibling love you lost so early on.

Truly you would be safe and sound. Away from all the horrors of the world.

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demonic0angel · 4 months ago

Note

can we connect the 'Duke gave Jason Jazz's number' ask with the ask of 'Babs being Jazz and Danny's sister'?

(Sure :3)

Jason gets Jazz's number, Babs is their sister

When Duke walked into the Clocktower, he paused in place at seeing the people on her screen.

"Uh. Babs? What's that?"

Barbara turned and blinked tired, exhausted eyes. She had spent several sleepless nights just researching everything she could find on her siblings.

She was so, so proud of them, especially because Danny was going to school to be an astronaut and Jazz had already graduated, currently working within Arkham Asylum as a fair and hard working psychiatrist.

"This? It's nothing," she said absentmindedly. Like hell she was going to let any of the vigilantes she knew linger around or pester her darling siblings!

"... that's a picture of Jazz Fenton."

Barbara blinked. "You know her?"

"Yeah, sometimes Jazz volunteers at Gotham University to tutor people. She helps me with my anatomy classes," Duke explained.

A first witness account about her siblings from someone she knew!

"Tell me more," Barbara said eagerly.

Duke crossed his arms. "Tell me why you're looking into her."

Barbara sighed deeply. Then she said, "We're half siblings. I found out that she and my half-brother are in Gotham so I just wanted to learn more about them. I never met them before because my biological mom left when I was young."

Duke's eyebrows rose. Then he said, "Huh. Well, alright. Jazz is really nice. She explains things really well and she's also really patient. Everyone wants her to tutor them, but she's pretty busy so you have to schedule her in advance sometimes. I have her number, so I usually get tutored by her often. She also talks a lot? But she's super nice!"

Barbara nodded. She had hacked into several places and had already figured out most of her sibling's personality traits.

Jazz was an overachiever, eager to please, helpful, chatty, and a bit of a know it all. Danny, meanwhile, was a bit antisocial, but very kind, thoughtful, clever, and quick to help others.

Had she mentioned that she was very proud of them? She wanted desperately to meet them in person one day.

Duke then continued with a small laugh, "Y'know, if nothing else happens, I think you'll see your siblings again. Maybe even as in-laws! Jazz gave Jason her number the other day and he's been super eager to ask her out."

All time seemed to freeze. It was like a record scratch that turned off the music.

Barbara stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Even if Duke wasn't a meta that could predict the future, he could already feel the danger.

"Uh."

".... did you just say that Jason is trying to ask out my adorable little sister? Jason? Jason who once killed 8 people and put their decapitated heads in a duffel bag? Jason who lives in a trashy apartment because he's too busy committing crime to clean it? Jason who forgets to shower sometimes because he gets lazy?"

"............ yes?" Duke sounded afraid.

Barbara turned around to her computer again, bringing up more files. This time, they were named after Jason and Red Hood.

"Leave. You didn't see anything here."

Duke immediately bowed. "Yes, ma'am. Please spare me."

"You'll live only because you can tell me more about Jazz."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Then he scrambled out of the Clocktower. RIP Jason. You will be missed.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask #anon ask #jazz fenton #danny fenton #barbara gordon #duke thomas #jason todd #jason x jazz #anger management ship #hardcover ship #lmaooo ty for the ask #half sister au

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mothhball · 1 year ago

Text

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

“Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #smut #.moth writes

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || dark!jonathan crane x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || since you're the only one of his coworkers at arkham who doesn't seem to be intimidated by his intelligence, jonathan decides it's time he finds out what does scare you... and how he can embody it. unfortunately for you, turning into your greatest nightmare doesn't prove very difficult for him.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || EXTREME AND EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ only and please proceed with caution), drugging and kidnapping, paralysis, traumatized reader, forced orgasms/overstimulation, degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, unprotected sex/breeding, misogyny, jonathan is very much in character which means he is incredibly evil and has incel vibes (I know y'all are not about to get mad at me for writing a villain being a villain and not uwu babifying him...)

When you interrupted and corrected your colleague, Dr. Crane, about the correct combination of pharmaceuticals for a certain schizophrenic patient in the asylum who happened to have diabetes, you thought nothing of it. After all, the whole point of staff meetings was to discuss and debate these things, and you weren’t about to let him damn-near poison a patient by giving him something that would interfere with his insulin. You weren’t trying to be snarky about it, but you did sort of make a joke about how dangerous his suggestion was— and you didn’t notice the way Jonathan’s nostrils flared and jaw tightened when some others chuckled at what you said.

When you received an email from your therapist’s office informing you that there was evidence of a break-in in her building, but that the police were unable to officially determine if confidential client files were compromised, you thought nothing of it. It was a big complex, these things happen, and you knew from being a clinician yourself how tricky the laws could be surrounding that stuff: she had to email you, legally, if there was any chance your file could’ve been accessed, and that didn’t mean you had any reason to fear your private therapy session notes had been read. Besides, who would want to read about you and your boring life, diving into your mundane hopes and fears and daily stresses?

And when Crane came into the office with tea for you, you thought nothing of it. Sure, you seemed surprised when he popped into your office with cups in hand— you asked him why he had two cups of tea, assuming they were both for himself, and he laughed. Just that was out of character, he wasn’t much of a chucklehead or anything. “Green tea, right? With lime and honey?” he asked, setting one cup down for you. You were still taken aback, but you had to admit defeat.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the cup as he sat down across the desk from you. “Yeah, that’s my order— I didn’t know you drank tea.”

“Sometimes,” he informed you, hoping his poker face was holding up as he watched you take a sip. He couldn’t help but stare at your lips wrapping around the little hole in the lid, the print of berry-red your lipstick left behind. His heart was racing already, more than he expected.

When you finished the first sip, you smiled at him and let out a small, nervous laugh. “Thank you,” you finally said. So, yes, even though you clearly noticed this was slightly odd behavior, you thought nothing of drinking the tea. That was one thing he hated about you: the thoughtlessness. You didn’t seem to second-guess yourself much, if anything you were a little on the cocky side. He found it so irritating— that confidence. Sure, you were smart and you deserved to take yourself somewhat seriously, but the way you walked around this place— the way you ignored him so easily, or spoke over him if you wanted to, or ignored his suggestions when he gave them… you were a bitch, basically. You clearly thought you were better than him— better than everybody else— for no reason at all. Just because you were pretty and had a good job you thought you could get away with anything, surely; pretty girls always think that way.

He made casual conversation with you as you sipped the tea, asking questions he already knew the answer to, hoping to catch you in a lie. For the most part, your stories matched up with what he’d learned from that file. But, you left out the gory details— you left out the best parts, really.

You mentioned where you went to medical school and that you transferred mid-way through due to ‘stress’, but you didn’t elaborate on what really happened to you. You mentioned having your own therapist— something you said passionately that every client-facing mental health professional should have— but left out what you were actually being treated for, not to mention the PTSD diagnosis.

He had to hide his smirk behind the paper cup every time you seemed to lose your train of thought— it wasn’t like you, so focused and determined all the time. No, it was the drugs finally kicking in. You went for bigger gulps of tea each time your eyes looked heavier, hoping the caffeine would work— but the trace caffeine in your green tea was nothing compared to what he’d added.

You tried to warn him that you were suddenly not feel up to par— that he needed to leave, and you might try to wake yourself up— but he just sat and waited. He watched you try to get up, and lose your balance. He watched you stumble, trip, and ultimately fall onto the floor limply. He watched your eyes flutter shut and the final ounce of energy to fight it fade; he quietly took a final sip of his tea.

You woke up on the floor. You could barely feel it beneath you, but you knew it was the floor— it was cold, and hard. And you were looking up at the dark ceiling, at the fan spinning at the lowest speed; so you were definitely on the floor.

Jonathan was standing above you, not too far off, flipping through papers. You couldn’t move— no matter how hard you fought to, you couldn’t. You barely managed to turn your head, but it felt more like it rolled to the side on its own. You tried to yell for Dr. Crane’s attention, for help, for him to explain what happened to you, but even your mouth couldn’t move. The best you could do was breathe harder— actually, you were pretty sure your body was trying to hyperventilate, but you were too incapacitated to even have a proper panic attack.

He heard you, though; he looked away from the papers and grinned down at you. “Comfortable down there?”

You started to put together a few things. One, that the last thing you remembered was being in your office, and now you were in your apartment. Two, that those papers were photoscans of chart notes— obviously you couldn’t make out the words from here, but the format gave away that it must have to do with a patient.

And three, that Crane was neither surprised that you were paralyzed on the floor, nor interested in helping you.

He half-rolled the papers in one hand and playfully hit the other hand’s palm with them. “These have been quite interesting… revealing, to say the least,” he informed you, like it was a compliment— something you should be proud to hear. “You’re quite the enigma, Doc!”

He sat down beside you on the floor, leaning on his hand first to find his balance with a little sigh; he seemed amused, actually, and your heart began to race.

As he started to read aloud from the page in front of him, you felt nauseous. He was reading patient data, describing a client who was receiving individual counseling— or that’s what the CPT code indicated, at least. As he listed the client’s demographic data— age, race, gender, height, weight— it became eerily obvious what he was doing. You refused to believe it until he went on: “Client was recommended to Dr. Min Zhang for individual therapy concerning PTSD following sexual trauma.”

Your therapist. This was a file he’d copied, which belonged to your therapist. And it was obvious whose file it was.

As you tried with all your might to scream, Jonathan flipped a few pages ahead.

“Session fourteen, eleventh of June,” he continued. “Client expressed frustration with an increased recurrence of nightmares and flashbacks to her assault. Up until now, she has struggled to explain what triggers her anxiety without having to actually elaborate on the circumstances of the event.”

He stopped, but you weren’t exactly relieved. In fact, you were horrified. He had a little grin on his face when he looked at you, but you could finally see the rage in his eyes. Suddenly, you realized how long it had been there. You had sort of picked up on it before, the resentment he had towards you— and it didn’t take a Freudian expert to figure out that he was threatened by you, especially as a man. He didn’t respond well to feeling upstaged and he clearly had an issue with women. Maybe not that issue— he was good-looking and well-off, he didn’t need to have any issues with women if he didn’t want to— but an issue nonetheless.

“Now,” he added, smiling wider than you’d ever seen him smile before, “client states she is ready to describe the incident in full detail.”

He set the papers aside for a second, leaning over you and almost looking… giddy, really.

“I won’t read you the rest, I’ve already pretty much memorized what goes on from there. It was fascinating— seeing how what happened that night connected to the fears you still have today… the nightmares. You said that you still feel sick at the smell of alcohol, you still don’t like to wear pinstripe skirts, and even just the wrong few words can make you feel like you’re right back there where it happened— on the floor of your apartment.”

All you could do was look up at him, and you felt your eyes get hot as they welled with tears.

“Not this apartment, obviously— the one by your old school,” Jonathan sighed, “but this will have to do. And the smell of alcohol, well, I wouldn’t want to let anything cloud my experience— but I dabbed a little gin on my wrists, what do you think?”

He held his hand up by your face, caressing your cheek for a second, and you imagined yourself pulling away— turning your head and shrugging his touch off of you with a grimace. But nothing happened, of course, and you were entirely helpless as the acidic stench of liquor became apparent. You couldn’t give your typical outward reaction of a frown, but inside, you felt just the same as always: your stomach twisted, your heart pounded, your head swirled.

“Smell is such a… primal trigger of memory, isn’t it?” he mused, watching your face reverently. “I can see it in your eyes, it’s affecting you even more than I expected. You act so fearless at work— but I knew you must have been overcompensating. God, you’re terrified— I would say you’re paralyzed, but, well… it would be too literal, I think.”

You knew that Crane studied fear and phobias, even trauma occasionally, as a personal interest within the field. It was normal to have a favorite subtopic, and to conduct related research on it— but obviously, this was far from normal, this was absolutely deranged. You knew that part of this was vengeance, in his own mind at least, but you didn't feel like you'd done anything actually wrong to him. And the rest of it, well, it seemed like some twisted experiment, but if you were able to speak you would've tried to remind him that this 'research' wasn't going to get him published or advance his career— but of course, that wasn't what he wanted. He just wanted to humiliate you.

“I was worried I didn’t have enough to work with, you know,” he added. “I knew I couldn’t get you to where it happened, if I could even figure it out since you never filed that police report… and the skirt, well, I considered it. It sounded pretty exciting to dress you up like the night it happened— what I would give to know everything you were wearing that night, but I don’t have a ton to work with. Obviously, you don’t own any pinstripe skirts anymore, so I would’ve had to buy one… and I wasn’t quite ready for the looks I’d get shopping at Macy’s, so…”

Carefully, he reached up to take off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on your coffee table.

“You know how detail-oriented I am— I mean, I went to all this, didn’t I?” He continued, reaching down and brushing his fingers for a moment over your leg. It was so instinctive to pull away that it took you a moment to realize you hadn’t… because of course, you couldn’t. “But it’s impossible to recreate it all perfectly. Clearly, I don’t need to— if only you could see it, Doc, you look… you look so weak. Pathetic.”

Since the only thing you could do was look around, you tried to look away— to not give him the satisfaction of seeing the terror in your eyes. He grabbed your face and turned it until you looked up at him.

“Did you think you’d be able to face your greatest fear? Perhaps with a bit more dignity?” he mused. He looked different without the glasses on; and, ironically, you felt like he could see you even better now.

It was obvious that he enjoyed lording complete power over you, but a quick glance down to his suit trousers made it clear just how much he enjoyed it. You quickly darted your gaze away, but it was too late; he started to climb on top of you, staring at your face uncomfortably close, and worked on opening his belt and fly.

“Fear rules us all, doesn’t it? Everything you did, it was guided by your fear that it would— well, why paraphrase? Let me find exactly how you put it…”

He picked up the papers again quickly, licking his thumb and flipping around until he found the right entry.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is: client states she lives in almost constant fear that it will happen again.”

So that's what this was: his disturbed take on exposure therapy.

As he tossed the copied charts away for the last time and reached up under your skirt, he leaned down and whispered in your ear— and you couldn’t even flinch from the harsh sounds of his words. “It took you over fifty sessions to admit it,” he recalled, “to tell her the whole truth. Not just what he did to you… what you did.”

With a small growl, he yanked your panties down your legs and rubbed your thighs with far too much aggression, such that you expected bruises from his hands— just like the ones you’d had before.

“You said he made you do it,” he continued, “you couldn’t help it, right? But you said nothing’s ever felt like that— that you’d never had such a powerful orgasm.”

You would’ve vomited, except that that, too, requires your muscles to not be paralyzed. Rolling your skirt up and spreading your legs, he positioned himself right between them, rubbing his cock's leaking head around your hole.

“Your greatest fear isn’t really that it’ll happen again, is it?” Jonathan taunted. “You’re afraid someone’s going to find out how much you liked it.”

With that, he punched his hips forward and speared you on his cock.

It had been years since you'd had anything inside you, even your own fingers. You couldn't even remember if being penetrated hurt like this during your assault, and you would've sworn before that you remembered every detail perfectly. But this was so real, not a memory or a nightmare. You couldn't cry out from the sting.

"God, it's tight," he groaned, "I bet you weren't this tight when it happened— you'd been whoring around, hadn't you? Letting all kinds of guys use you… just ran into the wrong one and got your drink spiked. But now…"

He hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on your hip.

"Now it's all mine, isn't it?"

Inside, you were screaming and kicking and pleading for mercy. You imagined you would be angry and violent, beat him to death with your heel or something, but you wondered if you'd be forced to bargain with him— apologize for whatever you did to upset him, promise you wouldn't tell a soul about this as long as he left you alone. But either way, it didn't matter… on the outside, you were useless, laying there and letting him use you.

"What made you come so much before? Did he have a big cock, is that it?” he asked with a snarl. “Did he know exactly how to touch you? Or was it just that you’d been craving it, needed it really rough to get off properly? Is that why you came while he raped you?”

It was a biological response, you told yourself like you had over and over, I couldn't help it, it wasn't my fault, it was a biological response— it wasn't my fault, I didn't like it, it was a biological response.

“I think I know what it is,” he mused, looking down at you with heavy eyes and almost purring as he watched your limp form bounce on the floor. “I think you wanted to be put in your place. You act so liberated, so empowered— but you’re a creature of instinct, like anything else. You need someone to remind you how weak you are, I know, fuck, I know you do…”

He fucked you just a bit faster, grunting and tightening his fist on the floor by your head.

“You haven’t been able to have an orgasm at all, since then,” he stated— almost making it like a question, with the way he said it, but he obviously already knew it was true. He sounded shockingly sympathetic— not even pitying, not condescending, for once. “I’m sure for a while you didn’t even try, afraid it would remind you— but that’s the thing, you can’t finish unless you’re reminded.”

You almost surprised yourself when you heard a whine come from your throat; he smiled proudly.

"It's wearing off, I think," he noticed. "I only gave you a small dose. Can you move at all? Can you beg me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try to say everything you'd wanted to since you awoke, but all that came out was a moan. You hated yourself for that, and he laughed happily.

"You don't want me to stop," he decided. "Feels too good?"

I fucking hate you, you wanted to scream, you sick son of a bitch, I fucking hate you—

"You didn't say it outright, but he must have said something to you— during, maybe after," Jonathan theorized. "You didn't say what it was, but you told your therapist about having a vivid flashback after being accosted by a delusional homeless man on the street. He called you a bitch, seemingly for no reason… is that what your rapist said to you? Did he say you were a stuck-up little bitch?"

As burning hot tears striped your temples, you curled your fingers over and over— maybe you could move your arms if you really tried…

"He was fucking right about you. You think you're so much fucking better than everyone else," he growled. "You think you're so fucking smart, and special. But you're no fucking different, you're nothing—"

You whined and reached up, weakly trying to push him off of you, but all you could do was limply grasp at his shoulders.

"Nothing but a stupid—" he grunted the word as he slammed himself into you— "fucking—" he did it again— "bitch."

"No!" you finally heard yourself sob, clutching a weak fistful of his white shirt, but he grabbed your hands and shoved them back down to the floor.

“God,” he choked, holding your wrists tightly until you whined, “it’s so much better when you can fight— fuck, it’s so much better. Keep struggling if you want, Doc, you’re still too weak for me…”

Your legs moved a little, but they felt heavy. Sensation was only just beginning to return to them, like pins and needles, and it stung; you winced as you managed to squirm a bit beneath him.

"That's it," he praised, "this is probably just how you did it before. Too drunk and too desperate for cock to really do much, but trying so hard to look like you hate it— I understand, you don't want anyone to know that you need this. They'd never look at you the same again: the smart, accomplished psychiatrist who likes getting treated like fuckmeat. What would they think of you if they knew?"

"No…" you said again, too weak and traumatized to say much else— but it wasn't what he said that made you say no, it was the pulse of pleasure inside your cunt. He must have felt it, and if he didn't, he surely felt the next; yes, he did, because he smiled down at you excitedly.

"It's happening, isn't it? You're gonna come."

He held on tight to one of your legs, gripping your thigh and staring uncomfortably into your eyes as he kept going— faster and rougher with each thrust. You choked on your throat, trying to stop any part of this, but the pleasure was undeniable; it still hurt, yes, and you still felt so angry and sick and numb, but something familiar and desperate was tightening in your gut. It’d been so long since anyone touched you… you’d forgotten how natural it could feel, even when it was so horrible.

"I read it in your file, but I still couldn't really believe it,” he laughed quietly, “I couldn't believe you came over and over while being raped— but here you are, wow, look at you… you’re so beautiful when you’re scared.”

A long, heavy sigh fell from your lips; your eyes got heavier, and your whole body seemed to relax— in a way totally different from the medication-induced paralysis.

He cooed at you, seeming oddly proud, and you were oddly compliant as he picked you up and pulled you into his lap.

Tears streamed across your cheeks as he held you close, one hand around your back while the other moved your hips against his. “There you go— come for me, I wanna feel it— another one, baby, for me…”

It wasn’t much longer before another one came— from what you remembered, it was a lot like the first time, this terribly wonderful way your body protected itself from the trauma by immersing you in pleasure. Of course, Jonathan helped you along by rubbing your clit with his thumb, excited to watch you surrender to ecstasy even when you begged him to just stop and leave you alone.

Of course, your protests were less and less believable as more of your strength and mobility returned— you could’ve tried harder to get away, but instead you found your hips rocking with his, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. No, you didn’t want this— you never wanted this— but you found the way he spoke to you impossibly comforting even while it was still deeply upsetting. “Tell me about the nightmares, darling,” he whispered— some impossible mix of pleading and ordering.

“A-almost every night,” you whimpered. “I… I got used to it, but I used to… I used to wake up and think I was still…”

"They felt so real, hm?" he presumed, and you nodded. “It’s real now… you don’t have to be afraid of the dreams anymore, it’s all real— I’m right here.”

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to scare or comfort you; he pet your hair, clinging to you tightly, kissing your face and neck along the lines of the tears soaking your skin.

You felt his grin against your cheek when another wavering moan echoed in your chest, and he laid you back on the floor to hover over you again. “Was that your third one, already?” he noticed. “This is so much easier than I thought… you needed this so badly, you poor girl.”

A quick wave of panic settled over you when his hand wrapped around your neck. “W-wait,” you pleaded instantly, as if you really feared he would just strangle you to death right then and there. Your hands, still weak and tingly, reached up to his arm, and you felt his cock throb inside you— of course that was what he wanted, to see you react in fear again. So many other emotions were at play right now, even some you didn’t know existed (like whatever the word would be for longing for the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, or feeling like the only person you can trust is the person hurting you the most), but fear was still going to rule it all as long as he had any say.

"How many times did you come before?" he demanded to know, nostrils flaring as he fucked you harder. "Tell me how many times you came when he raped you."

"I— I don't—" you stammered.

"Say it," he ordered.

"I— I don't know!" you yelped, whimpers falling to silence as he tightened his grip on your neck.

"You don't fucking know?" he snarled at you, watching you fight for air. You clawed at his shirt, his wrist, tried to pry his fingers away, but he just sneered as he stared at your numbing face. "You don't know how many times you creamed on your rapist's cock? Bullshit."

"I—" you gasped when he let go of your throat, "I lost count…"

He went from livid to ecstatic in a second, laughing proudly and dipping down to kiss your neck passionately. "Good girl," he mumbled against your skin, fucking you even faster. "That's what you need to do for me now— come for me until you lose count."

“I— I can’t,” you choked, grabbing at his shoulders as he seemed to overwhelm you just by pressing his weight down on top of you. “I’m sorry— you… you proved your point, I— I just need a break—”

Even though the drug he’d injected you with was wearing off, you realized you were just as limp and helpless as before… after all, some of the most powerful chemicals come inside the body. You didn’t even fight it when he put his hand over your mouth, spitting out a quiet but hateful shut up and continuing with his quick and forceful thrusts into you.

He kept you conscious and lucid by occasionally hitting or choking you, talking to you, once or twice even ordering you to kiss him. Like you mean it, he’d said, slapping you as punishment for doing it wrong. Truth be told, you hadn’t kissed anyone in so long that you’d really been trying your best the first time. Sometimes he told you to beg him for more— or to beg him to get off of you— and yet he would usually punish you for speaking at all. He was completely unpredictable, and you figured that was part of the plan: take away any shred of control you might try to get by making it impossible to follow his rules. Keep you confused and crying, keep you fearful, keep you obedient.

But, he did seem to enjoy when you could only just choke out a broken please. He laughed at you, pinching your sore clit in response until you sobbed and tried to jerk your hips away. “‘Please’ what, honey? You mean, ‘please keep fucking me, Doctor Crane, you’ll make me come again?’” he taunted. “Something like that?”

“Please… please,” you swallowed around your whines, “please just… finish, and go…”

“Oh,” he purred, “you want me to come?”

You’d specifically not phrased it that way, but, yes, that was what you were asking for. You weren’t sure what else he wanted from you now, it felt like he’d drained you of everything.

“You can just say that, baby— you wanna make me come?” he grinned, moving in closer for a kiss, but you turned your head away. He grabbed your jaw again and stared at you with an angry glare. “This isn’t about me. This is what you wanted. This is what you fucking wanted!”

As he screamed in your face, you sobbed and tried to look away again, but he hit you hard on the face and covered your mouth before the cry of agony could come out.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he insisted again, forcing your head to nod with his clammy, iron-tight grip. “Uh huh— and you wanna make me come, don’t you? You understand now that’s all you’re good for.”

As sick as it was, you felt yourself fall into another orgasm when he said that; your eyes rolled back a bit, and for a moment you felt even hotter between your legs.

“I think, if you beg me to come, maybe I will,” he offered— bargaining with you, probably another way to trick you into clamoring for some control only to yank it away. Unfortunately, you were in no position to turn down a deal.

“Please,” you blurted out the second he released your mouth from under his hand; when you blinked the tears from your eyes, you saw him clearly again and realized how completely different he looked from the arrogant-but-generally-unassuming man you knew from work. His hair was fallen beside his face, and he was close enough that the ends were tickling your forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, crazed, and dark. His lips, always full and plush but usually in a tight frown or neutral look of condescending boredom, were curled around the teeth he bared at you. He looked animalistic, for a man typically so measured. Only he could do something so animalistic in a way that required such intellect, foresight, and contemplation— using his superhuman skills to treat you in a subhuman manner. You realized that you were really seeing him for the first time— the person you’d known before was the mask. This was something horribly freeing for him; and you were having a much easier time analyzing and thinking about him to distract from how sickly freeing this experience was becoming for you. “Please, Jonathan—”

“Doctor Crane,” he corrected. Apparently this wasn’t enough to put you on a first name basis…

“Doctor Crane,” you repeated, “please… come. I want… I want you to come.”

“Hmm,” he considered, and you worried he’d decide he was unimpressed with your effort and hurt you again— but, he did maybe the only thing worse. “Okay,” he agreed, “if it’s so important to you.”

Just when you shut your eyes tight and hoped you could just get through this— just hold on for a few more minutes at most and then this would be over and done with— he whispered in your ear that he needed you to keep your eyes open if he was going to finish.

Though, when you obeyed, he purred at you and let his own eyes flutter shut for just a moment. For once, he actually seemed affected by all this physically and not just psychosexually. “I think I’ll come inside, like he did before,” Crane decided with a groan when he opened his eyes, biting his lip for a moment as he stared down at you. “I didn’t see any birth control in your listed medications on chart… I guess we’ll find out if you have a fear of getting pregnant.”

"Jonathan— don't," you whimpered. "Please, don't do that—"

"Shh," he soothed, petting the top of your head and laying his weight over you. "Shh, it's alright. I think you need to be filled with come… I think that might be the one thing that’ll get you to settle down, now just hold still.”

“I— please… please…” you began to beg again, but your words faded away as another wave of sensation washed over you— they started to blend together, like before, and you realized you were doing what he’d asked: you were losing count.

“Good girl,” he praised under his breath, “like that— fuck, I’m close. Fuck!”

He held onto you tight— one hand on your thigh and the other on your neck as his thrusts sped to a desperately, impossibly fast pace. You moaned— or cried, or yelled, or something— as he pushed just a little too deep and your toes curled in your heels.

“Uh huh,” he encouraged, “just one more while I come inside you— I think you can manage that, just one more good squeeze on my cock— oh, fuck, that’s it, yes, just like that…”

You stopped being able to understand what he was saying, but you heard the wavering groan that came a few moments later when his movements suddenly stopped. He gasped and kept himself as far inside you as possible; you shuddered, blinking fresh tears out of your eyes, and felt paralyzed in an entirely new way as you laid under him, staring up at your ceiling, seeing how far the sun had set since it began— actually, it had started to rain, making it even more impossible to tell how much time had really passed. Eventually, though, he took his head out from the crook of your neck and propped himself up enough to look down at you.

Reaching to your coffee table, he fumbled his hand around until he found his glasses, and shakily put them back on. “Well,” he grinned, still panting but seeming to be mostly back to himself (whoever that was). “I never thought I’d meet someone who loves fear as much as I do.”

#jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #cillian murphy x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy smut #IM SO SORRY TO THIS MAN #not to crane he's garbage

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jscrawls · 4 months ago

Text

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, graphic violence, injuries, blood, accidental domestic violence? Guns, possible ooc,

Part 20: fireflies

🔹🔹🔹

after that night in town you can’t focus on anything but.

there was no resting and recovering for you, your brain was locked in overdrive analyzing every detail of the night, from the way the woman first approached you to the exact symptoms of whatever the drug was. you wasted no time and went right to your phone as soon as your door shut behind you. dropping back on the bed limply while you get to work making a case file, there’s no record of a pam in your life online, but you quickly realize there isn’t any record of you at all before the wayne’s.

on the old wayne socials the other you mostly posted about the kids, the husband, various events and trips, but there's barely anything personal, there was reference of a college education, a social circle, family, but there's no actual evidence of any of it. it’s like that was all scrubbed from the web. this just makes everything pam said all the more suspicious, just what’s hidden in the other you’s past and how are the wayne’s involved?

going into the GCPD records shows nothing either, no criminal record, nowrite ups, not even so much as a speeding ticket, nothing before the gala incident. for days you sift and run through channels looking for something that tells you who’s body you’re in right now, but it just makes you more and more frustrated, one things for certain, someone’s scrubbed the other you’s life clean and did a damn fine job of it.

it’s like you’ve found yourself in the middle of a mission with no goal, no direction, and no idea what role you’re supposed to play in it all. where does this leave you? this time you’re withdrawn, not because you’re angry but because you’re researching.

two days after the encounter with pam, you find something. it had been a whim to check through the gotham university photos after the records were bone-dry, but there in one singular photoframe in the background of someone elses photo, there was a younger you standing beside the pam woman. you were putting some kind of ribbon around her neck while she proudly held up a potted plant like it was a trophy to the photographer, you couldn’t make out the writing on the ribbon so you don’t have context but you now have confirmation that you engaged with her in some capacity years ago. It's bare-bones, but it's something, you'll take any wins you can get here.

the next thing you do is sort through the GCPD systems for a red head named pam, which is obviously very tedious but you won’t risk running an AI program on their servers just yet. You thought you were lucky when you found her quickly, that is until you read her file.

Isley, Pamela, gendered, AFAB, pronouns, she/her, Caucasian, red hair, green eyes,

Isley, Pamela, charged with, eco terrorism, domestic terrorism, murder, suspected murder, theft, breaking and entering, assault, battery, manslaughter,

Pamela Lillian Isley, also known as alias, poison ivy, was last spotted escaping Arkham asylum at appr 3:48 AM on February 11th, during an insurrection wherein multiple squad cars responded to the scene, Pamela Isley is registered on the Meta database of America and is considered a threat to human life, do not approach on sight, report if suspected in area,

oh, fuck.

you’re not stupid, obviously this woman is trying to get you alone, regardless of motive you’re not walking into something like that unarmed and unprepared. even if the tantalizing call of offered info is like a sirens song through the fog. no you know better than to fall for free candy signs on vans.

🔹🔹🔹

the back gardens actually quite nice this afternoon, you’d hauled yourself out of your little hidey hole and wandered the empty manor until you’d found yourself out here soaking up a little bit of the rare gotham sunshine on a deck chair. you need a breather before you make any moves.

breathe in, hold, exhale, and repeat. you try to meditate for a while, though you’ve never been great at it even after all these years. you can never quite empty your mind and let go of your surroundings. it’s too ingrained in you that safety isn’t earned through lack of vigilance.

still you try, you focus on the sound of a gentle breeze through the trees and shrubbery around you, the gentle warmth of the sun hitting your closed eyelids, the rustle of the dog dashing around and the various wildlife sounds in the distance, and the sound of your slowly steadying breathing.

it’s nearly twenty minutes later when you also hear the sound of the backdoor slowly sliding open, you relax your entire body and keep your breathing slow and even.

something shifts, the quietest clack of shoes on the concrete patio grow closer to you, it’s too quiet, you’re sick of being snuck up on.

something quickly pokes you in the shoulder, probably a hand if you had to guess. it isn’t until something cold and clearly metal presses against your neck do you react.

you quickly grab at the object and yank it forward while twisting it, you’d rather risk your hands than your throat. just as you start to roll out of the chair do you see who’s behind you….. tim quickly backs away with a surprised look on his face, hands raised placatingly. looking down you see a metal pen in your hand….

“….are…are you okay?” tim mumbles as he backs away, eyes wide and wild while his hands quickly go up in a placating gesture.

the pen quickly slips through your fingers onto the chair and you quickly stand, rubbing the back of your neck tiredly while you stretch your neck, you just can’t catch a fucking break huh. “mhmm, yeah. Don't scare me like that kiddo, I haven't been sleeping well since the incident.”

Tim looks away in that you can only assume is guilt as his eyes drop to the ground, his jaw clenched a he rubs at the back of his neck for a moment before his hand quickly drops back down to bury in his cropped hoodie pocket.

“…sorry….”

he avoids your form, he’s clearly feeling awkward around you which makes you all the more curious what he came out here to bother you for then. also isn’t it a weekday?…. “Don't mention it, you're off early aren't you? I thought you weren't off until five or six.”

sure you’re a bit blunt, but you’re not in the mood to play meek with him these days. especially not after he’d jabbed you with a pen, it’s like he’s just begging to get stabbed on accident.

his weight shifts foot to foot but he finally looks at you and meets your eye, his words make you tense.“something's going down in the city so I made everybody go home early.”

“something's going down?” you quickly step around the chair to grab his shoulder, grip firm.

he looks down at the hand for a moment, brows furrowed and his jaw tensed, he’s mad? “yeah…. Something about those pyromaniac's.”

your grip quickly tightens on him as if you’re trying to squeeze the information out of him, he’s far too hesitant in your opinion, that’s not something to mumble around! “What? Right now?”

tim frowns at you and gently shrugs your hand off his shoulder and straightens his hoodie out as if you’d wrinkled it in your pushy questioning.

“right now, why don't you come inside and calm down a bit.”

you swear your eye twitches a bit at his near-condescending reply.

“hang on a second, where's everyone else then? Are they inside too?” you tuck your own hands into your sweatshirt pockets and mirror his posture, you’re really trying not to look as tense as you feel at the moment, you’ve got a bad feeling about this….

again he avoids your eye, the kid really needs to work on that. “No, well Alfred's here. Bruce and everyone else is…. Out.”

now you’re just annoyed with him, what’s with the fucking attitude? your argument was with bruce it’s not like you called the whole family idiots, he’s acting like he’s personally offended by you. “Define ‘out’?”

his eyes narrow at you and you swear he stands up a little taller, his body language is clearly challenging now as his tone becomes almost accusatory. “what're you asking for.”

“So I can smother them obviously, why do you think I'm asking where everyone is?” you don’t even hide the eye roll as you step around him to head towards the backdoor.

his expression doesn’t waver as he twists to face you when you brush past him. “…. They're out.”

unfortunately for him, you know how to snap him out of his little stand off and take the wind out of his sails.

“Tim I don't have time for this, if Bruce is having an affair or something that's his business, you don't have to make excuses for him.”

“Woah what-!?” his shoes scuff the patio as he nearly trips over his own two feet, he rights himself and quickly trots after you with clear disbelief in his body language. But you don't let up with the saccharine sweet tone as you sigh deeply and continue your speil. “I'm just worried about your younger siblings getting caught up in something bad out there, aren't you?”

“…..I always am.”

Just as you expected, he drops his gaze and buries his hands deeper in his pockets in a slouch. His voice a barely audible mumble while he purses his lips together tightly.

“Are they still in school or….” you kinda regret not talking to anyone for so long as an awkward silence falls over the two of you, you wouldn't have had to grill Tim for details if you'd been around and talked to the people you live with.

“Yeah, I was gonna go and pick them up with Alfred Actually-” you cut him off quickly before he can finish that sentence. “I'm going with you two.”

“what, really?” he sounds downright disbelieving, like he can't comprehend you willingly locking yourself in a car with him and Alfred after the fight you and Bruce had, it's kinda annoying how flighty the kid is with you.

“Mhmm, fill me in on what's happening on the way. yeah?”

You don't give Tim time to rebuff you before you're stepping around him to slide the back doors open, but just before you step through you remember the last time you did something impulsive, you pull out you phone to send a quick, curt text to a certain someone.

I'm going to town with A and T, don't freak out.-

🔹🔹🔹

You'd mercifully given Tim the front seat after all but forcing yourself into their trip, your fingers drum quickly and without pattern against the center console while you watch traffic moving in front of you. It's the off-work rush so not only is everyone in their cars in a bad mood, but there's an active attack taking place somewhere in the city. Clearly everyone's feeling the heavy tension, heads bowed and hands harshly grip steering wheels every which way you look.

“…. You didn't need to bother yourself with tagging along, master Wayne.” Alfred catches your eye in the rearview mirror after he speaks, his eyebrows raised in question or judgement as if you've committed some faux pas simply be being here.

You bite back any snappy remarks before they can pass your tongue, you know when you've earned a little harshness so you swallow your words. “I'm aware, but I'd like to see if the kiddos are okay myself.”

You glance out the side window just as two sets of eyes lock on your form, you ignore their heavy stares as you study the streets you're slowly passing through, memorizing Street names and signs just Incase.

The sidewalks are just about empty despite the early hour, and the few people you do see are clearly in a hurry as they quickly shuffle down the cracked concrete and avoid each other as much as they dodge the traffic, you watch as two men give each other wide berths and throw dirty looks at one another. whatever's happening must be bad.

It's Tim who breaks the silence this time, he's still studying you closely when you look forward. “…. So were you joking about the affair thing earlier?”

Tim's question gets Alfred to whip around to look at you for just a moment before he quickly turns back at the road, clearly he didn't like this conversation already. You just huff silently at the two of them and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “obviously, though I know it's not normal to be out all night every night, but whatever Bruce's up to isn't my business.”

You hope they can leave it at that and go back to the awkward silence, but they're clearly not satisfied with that as they both share a glance and focus back on you. Maybe they're finding entertainment in the potential drama of it all. The streets finally clear up a bit and the cars able to pick up a bit of speed since entering the city.

“…. He's definitely not running around with someone else…..” Tim's mumbled words nearly pull a laugh out of you, the kids clearly in the know about something judging by the surly tone and suddenly darting eyes, he can't even make eye contact while saying it. He needs to practice his lying a little more if he plans to stay in the world of business.

“Young Tim's correct, Bruce isn't that type of man at all master.” Alfred's better at it than Tim, clearly. he almost sounds scolding, he knows how to get you to doubt yourself a bit.

“I'll take your word for it-!” your words get cut off when something smacks into rear side of the car and jostles everyone, it wasn't hard enough for whiplash but that's not your concern right now as you watch the car that apparently t-boned you stop, and then it backs up so quickly their tires squeal. You already know what's coming when they back into a street sign to stop, and immediately start to pull forward again.

Apparently Tim does too as he shouts at Alfred. “that was intentional, They're trying to hit us!”

“I'm aware, Master Timothy.” Alfred mutters with surprising calmness as he throws the car into drive, you're slightly impressed at the man's composed tone and decent timing as he just barely avoids the car.

You lean forward into the center console to converse with the two of them, your nails still tapping on the damn wood. “just my fucking luck, you think they want us dead or alive.”

“most likely alive judging by how slowly they hit the car, maybe they want hostages or to kill us in person.” Alfred muses calmly, eyes locked on the rearview while you nod in acceptance of his reasoning. “Makes sense to me.”

Tim looks between the both of you with a panicked frown on his face, he keeps swiveling around to look at the car as it clumsily manoeuvers to follow. “Can you both not talk about dying so casually?”

“I'm quite old Timothy, part of my everyday is wandering when I'll die.” Alfred and you nearly speak over each other. “I already technically died at that gala, what's a little murder talk now, yeah?”

You watch the other car as well, how they seem determined to follow you through Gothams complicated streets. nearly clipping a firetruck pulling out of a grotto. You watch as a few pedestrians quickly run down alleys or into buildings to avoid the swerving cars. their panicked expressions blurring together in the light of the setting sun in your view.

alfred yanks on the wheel and takes a sharp turn when the car nearly runs into backed up traffic, narrowly avoiding getting stuck while you and tim are jostled and thrown about like rocks in the wash, you wince in sympathy when tim’s head smacks into the window and he quickly grabs at his temple. he nearly drops the phone he’d just pulled out of his pocket.

“don’t break something now.” you sigh out at him, turning around to watch the dark toyota sideline a stop sign but still manage to pull away and follow your vehicle, more distance between the cars now but it seems they’re determined.

“well there goes my evening plans!” tim’s sarcastic response would get a chuckle out of you if you weren’t watching the attackers speed up recklessly behind you.

“please, hang onto something!” alfred says quickly before slamming the breaks and turning the car around, you’re genuinely surprised he can drift.

both cars screech to a stop on opposite ends of the street, facing each other almost like some kind of game of chicken, your car, an SUV obviously has a little more weight in the frame so you know who’d win that. hopefully the other car isn’t stupid enough to try anyways.

“you think they’re part of the pyros?” you lean forward between the two front seats again to converse, you and alfred staring down the car while tim is quickly texting on his phone, hopefully he’s texting the younger boys to stay somewhere safe if they’re still at school. and maybe bruce and the police while he’s at it.

“i think it would be safe to assume so, (name).”

you go to reply but you quickly shut your mouth when the dark car suddenly throws itself into reverse and careens backwards down the street, you don’t really have time to question it when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. “shit-brace yourselves-!!”

You barely get the words out before something large and red slams into the side of the car.

Metal creaks like trees in a tornado as a firetruck hits the side of the car and rams it up against the face of a building, Alfred roughly smacks into the steering wheel gasping and Tim again hits against the door and window, he's lucky it was closed as all the doors are effectively pinned shut between the brick wall and the large vehicle. Your own bodies roughly smacked into Tim's seat at an awkward angle that immediately makes your neck ache at the force exerted on it.

“Christ on a cracker…. Are you both alive?….” Tim groggily mumbles as he sits up and glances at both you and Alfred, you give him a thumbs up while Alfred slowly straightens up and runs his hand through his thinning dark hair, his eyes hazy for the moment but he manages a nod. you're definitely bruised and hurting, but breathing.

“Mhmm, just peachy. We need out of here about ten seconds ago…” you mumble as you shake yourself out of your stupor, throwing a glance at the firetruck that's apparently been put into park for the moment, the engine idling down. You're quickly unbuckling yourself and grabbing at the headrest of the passenger seat, Muttering to yourself under your breath in a focused panic. “Come on, come on don't be one of those stuck ones…”

Tim twists and glances at you in confusion as you wriggle the cushion off and start to climb over the console into the front with him and Alfred. “What're you doing?”

“getting us out, this glass isn't bulletproof right?” there's no way to comfortably position yourself sitting on the center console but you don't care at the moment, you're in survival mode now. “I don't think so!?”

You turn the cushion around and use the metal prongs to ram at the corner of the windshield repeatedly, the loud scratchy thumping nearly drowning out the sound of a car engine getting closer, probably the Toyota from before. it takes a moment but the glass starts cracking eventually so you turn your face away and close your eyes as you blindly continue. Trying your hardest not to breathe in pulverized glass, been there done that. Wouldn't recommend doing that again. “Cover your faces if you don't wanna eat glass!”

You can only assume they do as you say as you blindly smash part of the window open, the sound of a car door opening somewhere prompts you to quickly drop the headrest and turn your body to donkey kick at the fractured spot until you break out about half the windshield.

You see two coming around the parked firetruck, one holding a bottle and a lighter while another carries something else, something you desperately want at the moment, a gun.

“Wait don't do anything rash-!” You drown out Tim's words, only casting a quick glance at the two unbuckling their seatbelts on either side of you before you move forward to crawl out of the windshield on your belly, fragments of glass dig into your body through your clothes and gouge scratches down your hands and front, but it’s not deep enough to worry about at the moment as you roll off the hood of the car right as the two approaching men reach you and try to grab at your clothes to hold you still. the one with the gun points it at you and tries to bark orders at all the three of you.

“freeze! none of you move if you want to keep this one's head intact-”

you don’t have time to let him go off as you see the other one start to flick his lighter under the bottle, so you shove the gun away from your temple and headbutt him in the kidney, as soon as you get up on your feet again you throat-punch the armed one as hard as you can. Roughly snatching the gun out of his hands as soon as he stumbles and tries to clutch at his neck, you’re lucky they’re slow on the uptake.

Of course you waste no time in clicking the safety off on the gun and threatening the other man. “drop that bottle and i’ll kill you slowly.”

you’re straight to the point as you threaten the still standing man, he seems to take you seriously after glancing down at the struggling and wheezing man on the ground because he slowly lifts his hands up in surrender. now with the upper-hand at the moment you shift your hold on the gun to gesture over your shoulder at the people in the car to climb out, not taking your eyes off the two wanna-be attackers for a second. “Get out of the car.”

you’re slightly surprised at how quickly they both get out, you thought the older man would’ve struggled at the least but it seems he manages well enough with Tim's help to crawl out and climb over the hood of the near-crushed car.

“What's the plan here, Skippy.” you casually place yourself in front of the two men behind you as you attempt to question the man, you don't want him getting any ideas with that bottle and lighter after all.

He scowls at you but you can clearly see he's all nerves, he's spilling small drops of the fuel on himself with how bad he's trembling, the adrenaline must be wearing off. “i ain't saying duck, rich pig.”

You fight back a sigh, it's as if him and the man from days ago read the same book with the same points in it, you wonder if the arsonists have a recruiting pamphlet or something.

“You just did though, where'd the truck come from?” You sneak a glance at the firetruck, peeling scratched paint and cracked glass everywhere, definitely an older model too, you shudder to think what that thing could've done to the car if they got it going full speed.

“Didn't you hear me? I said I ain't telling you-”

You're yanked backwards and away from the man as the dark Toyota from earlier narrowly misses ramming into you all, instead it hits the wall where you were just standing while a car alarm instantly starts going off. The two men start shrieking at the driver, well the standing one does, the other one is still wheezing.

You're surprised to see Tim behind you, hauling you with him by the back of your shirt while he also drags Alfred by the arm further away from the yelling men. “I think we need to leave!”

You can't argue with that, you check the mag and pull the slide back to see if the Glock is actually a threat, this one's indeed fully loaded with one in the chamber. meaning someone was prepared to use it, possibly on an old man or a barely adult aged teen? You hear glass shattering behind you and when you glance back, the empty car you'd just been in is going up in flames.

“Oh God damn it I just had that thing deep cleaned too…dad's gonna kick my ass” Tim bemoans pitifully at the sight but keeps yanking you around like a puppy on a leash. He tries to pull both you and Alfred away from the panicked pedestrians further down the street but you don't let him, you quickly unzip and throw your sweatshirt off and yank Tim's cropped hoodie up over his head and toss both things down an alley.

“you’re too standout, blend in like your life depends on it.” technically it does, but you figure you should probably try not to freak them out anymore than they actually are at the moment. You're caught off guard when Alfred drops his black suit over your shoulders. as he willingly follows you towards the smallish crowd.

“Your shirt is bloody, you should probably cover it up if you intend to hide in plain sight.”

you look down at yourself as if surprised, with the adrenaline rushing through your veins you’d forgotten all about the glass scratching you already, you wince when you see the thin red lines seeping through your white undershirt in slowly spreading rivulets. you slip the overcoat on and tuck your stolen gun in one of the inner pockets so you’ve got two hands free. that’s gonna be annoying later…

tim runs a stressed hand through his messy hair (courtesy of you pulling the hoodie) and reluctantly sticks close to the two of you, it’s clear he’d rather not follow your lead right now, you wonder if he’d even still be here if it was just you and him with no alfred in the mix, guess you’ll never know.

“i can’t believe this….what the hell are we supposed to do on the street? just wait for the cops and batman to sweep in while we’re literally being targeted like fish in a barrel?” tim grabs at your wrist and studies one of the scratches.

“would you have liked to have stayed in the currently burning car? cooked alive but we could’ve done it in luxury huh.” you scowl at the young man after snapping back, pulling your arm free from his and quickly turning a street corner.

alfred is already gasping quietly so you stop to let him catch his breath in the shadow of a tall building, he nods at you in acknowledgement yet still gives you a scolding look after he leans himself up against the scratchy bricks behind him. “master (name), tim is young. leave it alone.”

you shoot a glance at tim and watch him worriedly peering around the building looking up and down the street while biting his lip, he’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet right now…you sigh quietly as you look away, awkward guilt curling in your gut like a parasite. goddamn it all.

“….yeah i know, that’s my bad. sorry kiddo.” you quietly call out to tim at the end of your sentence, you need to get a damn grip on yourself.

he glances over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows and quickly looks away, he’s quiet for long enough that you assume he’s not gonna reply but you just barely catch him quietly saying something after a few moments. “….don’t worry about it.”

some screaming down the street interrupts your little break so you sidle up beside tim to peek around the building corner, the orange glow getting brighter and reflecting off windows and metal signs let’s you know exactly what’s happening less than a block away. the gun feels all the heavier in your pocket when you realize the men are molotov-ing a storefront.

the infinity stone must have given you absolutely shit luck or something because how the hell do you keep winding up in situations like these here? if it’s not natalia pushing you to be a hero it’s your own stupid sentimental attachments to children and mean old butlers. you nudge tim’s shoulder with your own and gesture down the opposite street with your head.

“let’s go while we can, let alfred take point i’ll follow you both.”

alfred huffs loudly behind you and pushes off the wall to place a surprisingly firm hand on your shoulder. “this isn’t the titanic, mx (name). the elderly don’t need to be given priority. master tim doesn’t need to just follow us around as we want.”

in response you just pull the overcoat open and gesture at the gun handle poking out of the pocket. “i’m armed, i can give you two cover.”

you didn’t expect alfred to pull the edge of his shirt up and gesture at his belt. “i’m also armed.”

well shit, you had no clue he was a concealed carrier. you frown at him and cross your arms over your chest, is this really worth arguing about right now?

“well that’s all the more reason for you to take lead, you set a pace you can manage and we’ll both watch out for tim.”

tim loudly clears his throat and tries to step between the two of you before you get distracted. “i’m not a little kid that needs to hold someone’s hand, i’m literally a grown man! let’s just all try to find somewhere safe, i’m sure there’s police barricades everywhere?…”

you and alfred both shush him though, this ain’t about that.

“master tim, we’re simply just trying to deduce the most efficient way of traveling right now-” alfreds words are cut off by something shattering overhead as all hell breaks loose in the alley.

you don’t even have to look up to know what it is so you just immediately grab both of their arms and yank them out into the street, glancing them over for evidence of any glass or burning fuel on them. once you’re sure they’re probably okay you pull the gun out and point it in the direction the molotov was thrown from. catching sight of the familiar dark coat from earlier, guess you took too long figuring shit out.

the man’s lighting another bottle and there’s definitely more of his allies down the street if the various screams echoing between the buildings is anything to go by, you shoot one last glance at tim and alfred before you make the split second decision to shove them both the opposite direction before you throw yourself over a car hood and start running the other way.

you hear shouting behind you but you just hope the two of them aren’t stupid enough to play hero and chase you. After all you've got enough stupid for the trio, what the hell is your plan? You're not a costumed freak running around with a bone to pick with crime itself, you're just a killer with the wrong hands.

All thoughts of how stupid you are slip your mind as more glass shatters, this time just feet away from your shoes. Oh goddamn it! You go up and over another car hood and scowl to yourself, do they just have backpacks full of fuel bottles? Where the hell did they even get this much!? You force yourself to quiet down and breathe slowly and just focus.

This is what you're made for, you've gotta complete this just like any other mission you've ever been on. You're not allowed to fuck up. You listen closely, drowning out the other sounds of the city and wait.

As soon as the steps get louder you glance under the car and watch for them, glass crunches underneath a boot and that's when you move.

Throwing yourself over the boot of the car is easy, so is kicking out at the man and slamming your heel into his sternum and knocking him to the ground with a loud and pained grunt. You might've cracked something under your steel toe boot if the way he gasps and gags on air is anything to go by.

Someone rushes you and you just barely avoid the wildly swinging crowbar with a sidestep, you're not so lucky to avoid the first guys wild haymaker to the Gut though.

You have to fight the instinctive doubling over and only just manage to keep yourself upright enough to avoid the other man's attempt to smash a bottle over your head. You grab his wrist and twist it behind his back hard enough to sprain it and as soon as he drops the bottle you snatch it up and pull the rag out, the morons gonna light himself and his friend up waving an opened Molotov cocktail around all night.

“ow-fuck! Let go of me you cun-” you slam his head into the nearest wall to shut him up, you don't even feel bad about the teeth when you look around at all the lit up windows and screaming civilians around the block.

You're really in the middle of it huh, hopefully Tim and Alfred got the hell out of Dodge…

Fuck, fuck where the hell did the other one go!? Another bottles tossed nearby and the resounding burst of bright flame nearly has you doubling over squeezing your eyes shut, it's too bright, too hot. And now you're murderously pissed as well as panicking.

The other dark clothed attackers seem to be targeting windows and store fronts at the moment so you drop the knocked out man and let him pitifully slide down the wall so you have room to shred a part of Alfred's overcoat and make a makeshift mask, it won't protect you from smoke but it'll slow down inhaling some gas fumes at the least.

Another bottle thrown and you hear them whooping excitedly, you think you're starting to itch for your gun as you watch them target an apartment building next, you'd think a group seemingly targeting the rich wouldn't go after civilian life.

As soon as the closest one to you looks down to prep another bottle you dart around the corner of the building and throw another throat punch, if it works it works after all. He gags audibly as you pull him in front of you to avoid the second one swinging a knife at you, he awkwardly avoids his partner which gives you time to kick him between the legs, hard. Once he curls forward you throw another kick at his head.

A set of arms wraps around you from behind as the first man tries to bodily lift you off the ground, you're more surprised he shook off a punch to the Adams apple so quickly but whatever, you curl your legs up towards your chest like you're doing a crunch and then quickly kick out to throw him off balance with your weight, it works and as soon as he stumbles you plant your feet on the ground and drop all your weight, slipping out of his arms and stepping under his shoulder to get behind him so you can slap your hand over his ear as hard as you can. You know the stinging pain in your hand is nothing compared to what the now screaming man nursing his eardrum on the ground is going through.

The hell's that? Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of a barely-visible spotlight in the near dark sky. It confuses you enough to pause in your step for just a second for a doubletake, these people are so weird about bats.

You need to get out of here, more importantly you need to find out where the others are. You pull your phone out and unlock it so you can pull up Bruce's contact, just as your thumb hovers over the press call button you hear rustling above you, you barely catch sight of the cape before you duck you drop kick aimed at your face.

The surprise heavy fist that followed slams into your jaw so hard you swear you feel all your teeth compress into your gums, the pain is near-instant, a combination of down-to-the-bone aching and the sharp, almost cold sting of your lip splitting. You'll be feeling that for a long time.

Another ones aiming for you so you grab the arm and throw your leg over it, twisting your body around to throw all your weight into the man's shoulders, your thighs squeezing around his neck. The dark figure grabs at your calves and slams himself backwards into the wall behind him which knocks some of out of your lungs, thoroughly pissed off you throw your weight forward and slip off him into a roll, stopping in a crouch a few feet from him, he tries to move after you just as quickly, angling himself for a kick that might just cripple you if it lands on your back so you use the near-empty Molotov bottle you still have in your possession and splash the remainder of it in the open part of his cowl, aiming for the mouth and nose.

As soon as he chokes and wipes at his face you smash the bottle on his head and use the jagged neck if the glass to swipe at him, aiming for the gaps in his armor around his armpit.

He tries to disarm you, gloved hands prying your struggling fingers open so you let him, as soon as your hands empty you pull the gun and use the barrel to strike him in the jaw. A kick to the kneecaps gets him to buckle so you knock him down and pin him with the gun pressed to his head, you've just pinned down Batman.

“Fucking…. What the hell’re you doing…?” Your words are coming out weird thanks to the punch, bit he seems to get it well enough as he suddenly stiffens under you just as you cock the hammer.

“….(Name)?”

“Yes?!” his shocked tone would've been downright comical if you hadn't just kicked each others asses, you yank your makeshift bandana down so you can properly scowl at the masked hero, licking the blood off your teeth.

“I…what are you doing out here?” he pushes you off him, though his hand stays on your shoulder as he seems to be examining you closely.

“Trying not to get set on fire that's what, my car got firebombed…. Well technically it's my husband's car.” you stand up, ignoring his offered hand of assistance even as your body protests the movement, damn your head hurts…you lean up against the brick wall and pocket the Glock before wiping at the blood dribbling down your chin.

He clearly takes the hint and gives you your distance for the moment. “I thought you were…the mask and the bottle didn't…how bad is it?”

He wipes at his mouth again almost awkwardly, his body language clearly conveying guilt as he leans towards you subconsciously.

“Dunno, my face is going numb. If I lose teeth you're paying for it.” your words are more reflex than anything, the type of thing you'd say to Natalia or Captain Rogers after a harsh training session gone a bit bruised and bloody. It happens.

Surprisingly he nods quickly at that, good. You selfishly almost hope he feels bad. You'll probably feel that way until your jaw stops aching.

“I'll take care of it, anything actually. I'm just…. I'm sorry.”

“I'll live, shut up. Barnes punches me a hell of a lot harder than you anyways.”

you don't even realize what you've done until he suddenly grabs your shoulder, masked head tilting as of he's studying ever inch of your whole face. His voice drops deeper and gruffer than you've heard him before.

“who the hell is Barnes?”

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: I'm so tired y'all IDK if there's any mistakes in this, I'll spell check tomorrow✌️ hopefully it's not too long, hope y'all have a good day/night and enjoy a little treat for yourself today ❤️

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#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batfamily x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman fanfiction #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x gn!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #black widow reader

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gh0stly-pages · 9 months ago

Text

Out of Our Minds (Part 1)

Ledger! Joker x f!reader (18+)

CW: just swearing for now :)

Summary: You’re a psychiatrist at Arkham, and have now been assigned to the most recent of Batman’s enemies, the Joker. You’re already barely getting by, but this new patient poses a challenge. If you can get him to show progress he’s getting better, then you might get a raise. If he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere, then you’ve lost your job. You’re prepared to work extra hard to help him but the Joker is nothing like what you’ve expected. Everyone warns you how he’ll get inside your mind, crawl under your skin.

They might be right.

Next part

Notes: I’m not sure if there’s an audience for this, this is lowkey kinda just guilty pleasure for me, but I hope some other people will enjoy this series :) I’ve always wanted to see a Harley Quinn in the Dark Knight universe, so in this fic, you are Harley (well, similar to her, lol). Obviously there’s no cannon Harley-type character in the Dark Knight trilogy so this is all made up, and I’ve taken bits and pieces from different DC Harley’s, plus their relationship with Joker, so look out for that :) So, just have fun with it, hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time seems to move slower at Arkham.

You adjust your coat, having barely swiped in just minutes ago but already it feels like hours and you’ve only just gone to the main office space and grabbed a cup of coffee. The coffee tastes disgusting, but you’re running off little sleep, so you down it quickly. Even from the office, you can hear the screams, cries, and rambles of the Arkham patients in the distance. You’ve been working here for two years already and still haven’t grown used to the constant roar of madness. You’re not upset over it though. You’re here to help these people, to help make sure the people in your city of Gotham are well. So, in a way, you welcome the noise. But that doesn’t mean you're fond of it, nor does it mean it lets you sleep.

Most people you talk to (which is very few, considering you’re always working) tend to judge you for choosing Arkham of all places to work. And, you’re honest with them, it certainly wasn’t your first option, but they pay well enough so that you can rent a decent apartment and you’ve quickly grown to enjoy the challenge it poses. It’s the higher-ups and the fear of being fired at any minute that makes the job truly a chore at times. But people will be assholes, and you’ve come to accept that.

When you’re done with your coffee, you toss the cup in the trash, grabbing a folder from out of your bag. It holds all your notes and the files of all the patients you deal with. You’ve got quite a few patients to meet with today, each with their own unique problems, their own unique story. You look over your notes, leaning against a wall when one of your bosses enters the room.

“Hello, y/n,” says Robert Dale, hanging up his coat on a rack to the side of the room. He’s a squat little old man who helps manage the asylum, keeping track of all the psychiatrists. He certainly isn’t the kindest of bosses, and you’re sure he only keeps you around because you’ve learned to just go with whatever the hell he and the other big Arkham bosses say. Sure, you can be easily submissive, but it’s that or the streets. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You frown. That can’t be good. Everytime Dale talks to you, it’s either to demand, critique, or complain. “Good morning to you too, Mr. Dale,” you mumble.

He takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been watching the news, I presume?”

You nod. Who hasn’t? You live in Gotham, for crying out loud, and there’s almost too much crime to keep track of as of recent. Especially ever since that Batman showed up, some kind of masked hero who you never got the hype over. “Of course.”

“You see all that stuff about…the Joker?”

The Joker. The Clown Prince of Gotham. Chaos incarnated. A rowdy clown criminal facing up against Batman. He had just been caught by the Bat a week ago, and the news had been all over the case, wanting to know where he was sent next. Where he was being held. If he would ever come back… “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“See, he’s been being held up in Blackgate, but he is now officially joining our little…family.” He said the word darkly, snorting. Your breath hitched in your throat. The Joker? “Anyways, he is a bit of a, and I'm sure you know this, tough nut to crack. He arrived here yesterday, in a solitary, high security cell and we’ve been looking for a proper person to… attend to him. We sent in a few of our other psychiatrists as a sort of test, seeing who he fits well with.”

“Right,” you bring yourself to say, even though your whole mouth feels like it’s filled with sand. The Joker. Here. At Arkham. “And?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “Every single one of them left that room different. Some were crying, others looked shell shocked. Batman told us Joker was going to be hard to deal with, but we weren’t quite expecting something of this level. He bends the mind, tries to break you. Twists the way you think until you don’t even know who you are. Gets under your skin. So, let's just say, we’re looking for someone strong enough to take on our special little patient.”

You know where this is going, and even when Dale says the words, your mouth still drops. “I’m assigning you to the Joker, Miss l/n. You’ve always been up for a good challenge, and are very good at listening to our orders.”

Right. So I don’t get fired and end up homeless or working for some crooks. “Mr. Dale, I have other patients I need to attend to today and I have no room to fit in-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I have already swapped your ten o'clock appointment so you can meet with the Joker. This is very important, Miss l/n, and you wouldn’t want to fail us, would you?”

As easy as you find it to work with your patients, the higher-ups are much harder for you to manage. “No…”

“Then it’s settled, you’ll be meeting with Joker at ten today, every other day, or more if necessary. You’ll file reports after every session on how your patient is doing, and if we see any progress, well, we may just have to raise your salary.”

Now that catches your attention. You didn’t even know a raise was possible. Especially not for you. You’ve been working so hard your whole life for what feels like nothing but now? Now, maybe all that work will finally pay off. “Mr. Dale, thank you. Thank you so much-“

“Don’t get too excited. If our patient doesn’t show any progress, well… we might have to let you go.”

At that, your entire face falls, your shoulders slumping. “What…?”

“Well, we’ve been needing to make a few cuts on psychiatrists and anyone might be subject to getting kicked.” He smiles and pats your shoulder. “But don’t worry, I have full faith in you.”

His words do nothing to soothe you as your heart pounds heavily in your chest. The toughest patient, all your responsibility, and you have to make him better under a certain amount of time or else? Shit. They were practically setting you up for failure. No. No, you can’t think that way. You’ve dealt with tons of patients, and every single time you’ve managed to get good results. This will be the same thing… “It- it’s a wonderful opportunity, thank you. I won’t let you down.”

He laughs and walks off. “I sure hope not.”

___________________________

“I’m here to see the patient.”

The guard looks up at you through his sunglasses and smirks. He uses the gun in his hands to point at you, and you step back. “Ah, so you’re the one they decided on to fix up this lunatic?”

“We don’t refer to them as lunatics, sir. And, yes, I’m Doctor y/n l/n.” Digging into the bag on your shoulder, you pull out your ID and hand it to the guard.

He glances at it once, bored, before grabbing his walkie talkie. “It’s Doctor y/n l/n you’re expecting, correct?”

The garbled voice on the other side responds back. “Correct.”

The guard looks back up at you. “Gimme your bag, please.”

You’re a bit startled, but give him your bag. Already, before even getting to this checkpoint, you’ve been through two whole security checks, and were definitely not expecting another. This Joker guy really is trouble. That just makes you panic even more. Trouble is hard to tame. The guard rummages through the bag a bit before nodding and handing it back, clicking on his walkie talkie again. “Doctor is clear for entry.”

A click noise sounds, and the door opens, leading to yet another room with another door with two more guards standing beside it. You jump as the door behind you clamps shut, and the two guards hardly flinch. The one to the left moves forward, holding something out in his hand. “This is your panic remote. See the green button right there? Press that when you’re done with your session or you need to get out. Got it?”

You grab the remote, looking at it closer. “What about the red button?”

“That’ll set off a gas that’ll knock the Joker out cold.”

Oh. That doesn’t sound good. You’ve dealt with some pretty nasty people but nothing ever this intense, nothing that needed this level of precaution. “Okay… Wait, won’t the gas get to me too?”

The guard shrugs. “Eh, yeah, but you’ll be fine. The doctors will fix you right up.”

You tuck the remote away in your coat pocket. “Right. Thanks…”

The other guard who hasn’t spoken a word until now enters some kind of code into the pad on the door and it swings open. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes you cringe but you step forward and bow your head. “Mhm.”

As soon as you step inside, the door slams closed, and you’re left to face the man everyone has been whispering about.

And there he is, sitting behind a table, looking up at you. The first thing that strikes you is his face, which lacks any makeup, and you don’t know if it shocks you because you’ve only ever seen him with his makeup on or because he appears human. Not quite the monster he’s made up to be. His skin is slightly tanned, his eyes brown and dull, his hair curled and askew down to his neck. Although he doesn’t have his makeup, there’s faded green hair dye still at the tips of his hair. His signature purple coat and suit has been swapped for a straitjacket. You try to look only into his eyes, but instead you flush and look at his mouth. His mouth, gosh. Without the smeared red makeup, you can see his scars so clear, the mangled flesh titled up into a smile on either side of his lips. Whatever caused those was nasty. Always smiling.

Bringing yourself to move, you carry yourself to the table, sitting down in the chair across from him, and you try and pretend your heart isn’t hammering. As you sit down, his eyes trace your everything. It makes you feel like some kind of animal. Is he studying you? Plotting your death? Horrible, but who knows with a man who is all unknowns? You clear your throat. “Uh, hello there, Joker. Can I call you Joker?”

He frowns and licks at his lips, smacking them together. At first, you don’t think he’ll talk, but it just takes him a second. “Well, what else would ya call me?”

You’ve heard him speak before, on the television, in those frightening hostage videos, but it’s more chilling in person, his distinct voice causing you to shudder. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “R-right. Joker. I’m Doctor y/n l/n. Feel free to call me y/n, though.”

“Y/n,” he says slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. You resist shuddering again. “You’re the one they assigned to, ah, fix me up?”

You nod. “That’s me. But please, don’t think of it as fixing you. Think of it as helping you.”

“Help,” he spits out the word. “Whatever ya wanna call it. Sure. What ever happened to those other people they sent to see me the other night? They were all just so fun to play with.”

His words have a lot of bite behind them. Dale warned you about this. He was going to mess with you, and have fun doing it. “I believe they weren’t prepared to attend to you.”

“Awwww, did I hurt their feelings?” His voice is dripping with pure sarcastic sadness. He even feigns a frown. Then he breaks into a wide grin, giggling madly. “Well, if words are gonna hurt them that badly, maybe, uh, they’re in the wrong work field, huh?”

You make sure your face doesn’t move a bit. Play. It. Cool. Besides, progress doesn’t come from backing down. “We all have our strengths. It doesn’t matter what happened to them though, what matters is that I’m here now.”

“They really threw ya to the wolves, Miss l/n.” His tongue traces across his teeth. “Lucky for you, I won’t bite. Yet.”

You try very hard to ignore him. He probably does bite. “Today is gonna be a short meeting. Testing the waters. Now, we’ll be meeting every other day, so don’t feel like you need to open up to me immediately-”

“Me? Open up? If ya wanna open me up, you’re gonna need a big knife.” When your face falls, he leans forward and laughs harshly, a laugh laced with insanity. “Ha! Tough crowd, it seems.”

Already, he’s testing your patience. But you’ve faced worse. Or at least, you’ll pretend you have. “Mr. J, please-”

“Mr. J?” The Joker sits up straighter. “Heh, I like that. Makes me sound, uh, all fancy and stuff.”

“Mr. J,” you say again, this time harsher. “Today, I just want to get to know a bit about who you are. This is our first session so I’m not expecting too much. We don’t have to dive into the crimes, or your past, but I just wanna get to know a bit about you.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I’m trying to help, Mr. J. I can’t help you if I don’t know… well, you. Not to mention, we have absolutely nothing on you. No files. No previous history. You’re a bit of a mystery.”

“Ah, a mystery.” He licks at his lips a few times before licking at the inside of his cheeks, no doubt tracing along his scars. “And you wanna solve me.”

“No, I just want to learn a bit more.” You reach into your bag and bring out your clipboard and a pen, clicking it once. “Now, where would you like to start? Maybe your childhood? Your job before your crimes?” His face contorts, and his nostrils begin to flare at such personal questions, so you try and tone it down. Before he lunges at me and chokes me to death. “It’s okay, we can start small. What are your interests?”

His shoulders drop a bit. He rocks back and forth in his seat, humming in thought. It’s weird, really, to see him like this. Not blowing something up, or filming himself raming about some kind of new evil plan he has. “Hmmm, well, I like, uh, a good joke every now and again. I like, hm, ah, a good tussle. Blades. TNT.”

You scribble it all down, right with a question mark and a frowny face. None of that sounds promising. “Right…”

“What’s wrong, doll? You seem…” He smiles gleefully. “Upset.” His T’s are pronounced harshly.

Doll. You should definitely correct him, to tell him to call you by your name, but you decide to let it slide. “No, I’m just… taking it all in. So you like weapons. Jokes. Is that how you decided on your name?”

He smacks his lips. “More or less.”

“Okay. Right. And the whole clown thing, your persona-?”

“Persona? Ha! This is aaaallllll me, dollface.”

“Right. So, the clown thing, how’d that come about? Your makeup, what’s the reason for it?” As you say it, your eyes fall to his scars, the way his lips lick along the very edge of them, and when he catches sight of this, he glares.

“Ah ah ah,” he coos darkly. “We won’t be getting into that today.”

You swallow hard. “Okay. It’s fine. One day at a time.”

He nods and leans forward, and it’s like his eyes can see into your very soul. “Ah, enough about me, huh, doll? Tell me about little ol’ you.”

You frown. “We’re not here to talk about me, Mr. J.”

“Oh, you’re not, but I would like to hear a thing or two about the person I'll be spending lots of, uh, personal time with.”

The way he says personal time, with an almost ferociousness to it, makes you break out in goosebumps, and you’re thankful for the coat covering your arms. “Hm, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, ya know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” He tosses his head around. “How’d you end up in a shithole like Arkham?”

You take a deep breath. Does he seriously care to know? Or is he messing with you? Knowing what you know about him, you’re sure it’s the latter. “Well, it’s always been my passion to be a psychiatrist. I love Gotham and I wanna help its people.”

Joker leans back. “Hmmm, you’re one of those little doctors, huh? Wanna get everyone all fixed up so you can feel like a little saint?”

That takes you aback. You resist the urge to glare. Stay calm. You’re trying to help. “No, I don’t want to be a saint. I just want to-“

“Make yourself feel better? Wanna, uh, be able to give yourself a pat on the back and say ‘look at how amazing I am’? Puh-lease. Nobody really wants to help because they’re selfless.” He leans in. “We’re all selfish, every last one of us. So don’t lie. Nobody likes a liar.”

If you were anyone else, you might have wavered. So this is what they meant when they said Joker was a tough case. He had flipped the tables and started trying to analyze you. Well, you were tough enough, and you weren’t going to back down. You look him right in the eye. “You have a very interesting world view, Mr. J. But if I was just doing this for myself, we wouldn’t be seated here today.”

“Oh, but you didn’t choose to be here, they stuck ya in with me.” His eyes widen. “Seems your bosses aren’t too fond of ya, doll. Or are you just so stuck beneath their boots that you didn’t even question them?”

Now he was really reading you. How could he tell? Was he just that good at digging into people, or were you just too much of an open book? Whatever it was, you pushed it aside. Don’t give in. You’re not doing this for your bosses, you’re doing this for you. “You’re very observant. But again, we’re not here to analyze me. We’re here to talk about you.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna say, doll. But don’t worry,” he says, licking his lips, “I’ll figure you out before you even get anywhere with me. In fact, I think I’m already getting a good guess.”

“Please, Mr. J, I’m the psychiatrist here. Now, our session is coming to an end-”

“Pity.”

“-but I have one last question before our session ends.”

“Go ahead, doll.”

“If you were to describe yourself in one word, what would you use?”

“Ha! Easy. Chaos.”

“And, why does this word define you? Why do you want to be chaos? What do you get out of it?”

He shakes his head. “Ah ta ta, that’s more than one question, doll face. Now, before you leave, lemme, uh, ask you the same thing. What word would you use to describe me?”

His question takes you slightly off guard. There were tons of things you could say. Insane. Wild. Crazy. But those would describe the Joker he was outside, the man that fought the Batman. Whoever you were looking at now was clearly more than that. “Intriguing.”

With that, the Joker's face split into a wide smile. “Ah, now that’s a new one. I think I might actually come to enjoy these, ah, little sessions.” He tilts his head. “I expect you’ll be going now?”

You reach into your purse and grab the remote. “Yes, Mr. J. Thank you for your time. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He’s smiling so wide now, the tips of his scars almost touch his ears. There’s something about his smile. It’s not horrible, not at all. It’s mesmerizing.

“I can’t wait.”

___________________________

That night you can’t go to bed, but not for the same reasons as usual.

Most nights, as you settle down, you’re pulled from sleep by the phantom echoes of the screaming of Arkham patients. Other nights, you’re up for hours thinking of different ways to help your patients. But tonight, you can’t be bothered to think about anyone but the Joker. Dale was right. Already, he’s creeping into your mind, settling beneath your skin. You should be frightened, really, but your mind just wanders with fascination. No, you definitely will not be getting sleep tonight. Instead, you grab your laptop and type in your patient's name. If he won't tell you anything himself, then you’ll get to the bottom of it.

You end up reading about him for hours. Intriguing, indeed.

End notes: see you next time ;)

#dc joker #joker x reader #L! joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #heath ledger joker #ledger joker #dark knight joker #dark knight joker x reader #Heath ledger joker x reader #dark knight #dark knight fanfic

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