#getting to arkham knight at last is Something

[eyepatchdate]

sorry about the continuing spammage.  i knew this would happen as soon as i started replaying arkham. sometimes i just need to get really into arkham knight again.  its mandatory.  jason todd‘s story in that game has imprinted in my brain since 2016.  every once in awhile i have to replay it

[fawnindawn]

Death Has No Right To You (arkham knight!jason todd x reader)

Summary: You're severely injured, but he's not letting you go. Even if you're not his to lose anymore. (a/n: angstcomfort? not even death can try to drag you away from him. tw: mentions of blood/near death)

Jason has not felt such fear since his time in the warehouse, where the very thought of metal scraping concrete conjures phantom stings in his scars, and a gutting-drop in his heart. After him- after everything he's been through, he was close to believing nothing could ever be worse than the past he buried deep down, which he stifled with hatred-filled revenge.

Shaking fingers cradling your limp head, he can't believe he was ever foolish enough to think life had enough of him to let its dreaded claws loose. He had thought he was done with attachment to his past, to his mantle, to Bruce, to you.

"Please, don't take her away from me." He pleads to no one, because no one ever listens to him when he begs. Not when he was caged in that warehouse, not when he pleaded to be found, not when he pleaded to die.

He knows the scent of death like the back of his hand, coated on his hands when he kills, coated in the haunted look that stares back at him in the mirror. You- you're covered in the scent of it.

You're barely holding on, your grip on his neck falling looser only for him to snap at you to wake up whenever your eyelids shut, forcing you out of your stupor. Stay, stay, stay- his voice commands you.

When he reaches the base, he's barking orders and there's a flurry of movement as his militia move aside for him, all eyes on the limp body in his arms. "Get a fucking doctor- or I will make sure everyone in this room pays." His modulator renders his tone cold, but he can hear his desperation echoed back to him. Thankfully, no one notices and someone finally listens and makes a move.

He places you down on a flat surface, heart dropping when he can finally see how much blood you've lost under the fluorescent light. He grips your hand that reaches out for comfort. "You're going to make it." He mutters to himself, because he simply refuses anything other than your survival. "Because you're not someone who gives up. You're a fighter, you can fight this. I won't let you go under, you understand?"

You wince and heave with every breath, but there's confusion etched into your expression when you listen to his words. You try to find familiarity through his altered voice, something of memory to his armour, but you find none.

"Was I someone- were you someone to me?" You finally dared to ask.

There is no sound from his modulator, no flicker in those illuminating eyes, but somehow, you can sense the tension in his shoulders, the way his breath stops at your question.

"No." He answers. Not anymore.

The silence stretches, and footsteps are nearing.

"Then." You struggle through your next words, vision blurred till he leans in. "If I don't make it," You notice his fingers tighten around yours. "Will you bury me near Jason Todd's grave?"

The Arkham Knight is a powerful figure, with connections and a motive no one understands. Yet, if he was willing to put all this effort to save you, maybe he would listen to your final request.

"I promised him." Tears filled your eyes. "I'd always be by his side. I failed to before- Promise me, that you'll let me."

Jason stares at you, and he fights back the urge to scream. Don't you know, that by finding your Jason, you'll be leaving him? He had thought that whoever he became the day he escaped Joker's grasp couldn't possibly be something you could love, so he had left you alone. Or at least, he had convinced himself that it was the right decision. Now, even on your deathbed, your last words are of him, for him. Wrongs after wrongs after wrongs, it seems to be all he's capable of. But not this time.

He's not letting you go.

"I promise."

When you wake, you feel a strong hand covering yours. Your head pounds, and you try to recall what happened. A gunfight, a crossfire, a stranger, a promise-

The Arkham Knight. He saved you, didn't he?

You turn your head to see who was sitting beside the bed, expecting a robotic suit and glowing eyes, only to meet pale blue. Your heart recognises the colour before your mind does, seizing uncontrollably as if possessed.

"Am I dead?" You ask, laughing humourlessly. "Is that why you're here, Jay?"

He gives you a sad smile. Your Jason smiles at you. It's solemn and heartbreakingly haunting, unlike anything you've dreamt of since his death.

His hand moves to rest over your pulse, which beats over his calloused thumb. Life. Then, you're.. alive? You notice then, how he's not really the Jason you remember. There's a deep scar engraved into the skin tissue of his cheek, a crookedness to his nose from a punch gone wrong, and how his eyes hold secrets you can't uncover.

He's not your Jason, but he still looks at you the same way.

"I told you I'd keep my promise." He finally answers. "And now it's your turn to keep yours."

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 8

"What has been happening in Gotham?" Bruce being a dumbass that's what.

Ch9 has more of The Grayson family interaction and I think I will follow the timeline of the comics for the death of guardians- that way there'll be more time for Nolan's A+ parenting.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 8 >>next

Gotham Heights has seen better days.

It’s been years since the rogues simply went mad, declaring war on specifically Bruce Wayne. It’s been years since Selina and Jason stopped talking to him, Catwoman did her best to avoid him while Red Hood seemed to revert to his Arkham Knight days, pure rage running through his veins.

Bruce doesn’t know what happened, what tipped all the rogues over the edge to deem Bruce Wayne, of all billionaires, enemy number one. He tried to look back and figure out what he did- if he said anything- as soon as he realized that they were teaming up and weren’t planning on stopping anytime soon but he found nothing beyond the media calling him a neglectful father to his youngest girl, which he found absurd. He loved Cassandra, went to every ballet show, and was so proud of her, so he didn’t bother to read what they were actually saying, deeming it as nothing but useless gossip. If only he glanced at the context…

Batman couldn’t keep up with the attacks, so everyone was out all year round, the man even having to ask Nightwing for help more than once or ten times. He didn’t like this. His kids still had school, and Damian still had so much to learn- fighting criminals nightly wasn’t helping set the no-killing rule into the boy and the sleepless nights weren’t helping his mood at school.

The man was getting tired. But the rogues did seem to take a day off every month, on the thirteenth. The first two months he didn’t recognize the pattern but by the third, he thought they were planning something big, and when the next day was just like the past two months his brain was racking with questions about the possibilities, fear running through his spine and making him so paranoid he could barely sleep.

It took him so long to find out where they all met on the thirteenth- it was embarrassing honestly, but he still did it. All rogues, separately mostly, would stop by flower shops, buying bouquets of lilacs and narcissi flowers. The next stop after the shop would be Gotham cemetery where each one of them would put a bouquet on a lady’s grave, a nobody, with no ties to them, the woman could barely keep a job as a waitress when she was alive. And the last stop would be Red Hood’s territory.

Batman knew that as soon as he and Robin stepped a toe on the territory, Jason would know, so while Bruce followed the main lead, Damien became the distraction. It took a while to find the rogues, and the image that was presented made him more confused than anything.

The rogues were in the alley between a hospital and an orphanage that opened about six or seven years ago, both walls of the buildings in the alley had big painted murals, both depicting Lady Gotham in the background while the foreground had soft, happy-looking people in different styles helping each other, “To a better community. To a better Gotham.” written at the bottom as a graffiti. He assumed the scribbles he couldn’t make out on the sides of the murals were the names of the people who drew them, though, a style predominated the others, it was safe to say that it was a collaboration.

Harley was making balloons for kids, mostly dogs, crowns, and swords as Grundy sat by her, holding the equipment and letting the kids climb him. Killer Croc and Bane seemed to be focused on bringing tables and chairs to set them down in an orderly fashion, as Two-Face and Riddler helped the older ladies carry the food. Penguin was busy talking to a nurse while his goons shared care packages to the patients and kids, all the while Ivy was reblooming the plants around the building. Mr. Freeze seemed stuck on ice cream making duties while also keeping the refreshments cold.

Batman had more questions than answers.

“This may be neutral ground, Bruce.” Jason’s voice behind him made Batman freeze before he slowly turned to face his son. “But you’re not welcome here.” His second oldest finished, his hands at his side, clenched tightly, itching to fight, to punch him.

“Since when is Red Hood territory neutral?” The older man couldn’t help but ask, but Jason didn’t answer him, instead telling him to leave once more. “Or I can just tell all the rogues down there who you really are. I’m sure they’ll be happy to kill two birds with one stone.”

Bruce frowned beneath his cowl as he felt Jason’s anger in his bones. They both worked hard to reconcile- but now the progress was back to zero once more. His inquiry about what happened between them both only seemed to anger the younger man even more, but Jason’s anger snuffed out as realization washed over him, laughter bubbling up instead.

Batman could only watch in confusion as Jason laughed at him. “You really don’t know, do you?” The younger man chuckled lowly, shaking his head as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Goddamn Bruce, I know you deem protecting Gotham more important than your kids, but this is low even for you.”

“You’ve been missing a bird for almost six years, Batman. If you can’t connect the dots, then maybe it was the right decision to leave.” Jason turned his back to Bruce, walking away from the man. “I made mistakes. Like you. But when I came back, I rectified them, I don’t think you’ll be given the chance.”

“Leave. We’re being peaceful, fulfilling a promise we made to a kid. We can fight tomorrow.” Were his last words as he jumped down from the building, making his way to the little party as well while Batman’s eyes lingered on his back. Jason was just as exhausted as Bruce.

“You told him too much, kitten.” Selina purred from inside the orphanage, the kids inside too busy fawning over the fluffy cats she brought to pay attention to them. She was met with the blank mask of Red Hood. “And somehow, I’m sure it’ll still be a while until he figures it out.” Jason scoffed.

Batman sighed with defeat, calling Robin to the rendezvous point and telling the others to meet him in the Batcave, not giving them more of an explanation. He wasn’t missing anyone- he was sure. Dick, Jason, Tim, Barbara, Cassandra, Duke, Damian, even Stephanie- he just saw them, he just heard them. The drive to the Batcave was silent, Bruce lost in his thoughts while Damian was frowning, pouting really. 

Bruce made sure to count heads once more when everyone was present as he told and showed everyone what he discovered. “We should attack while they aren’t expecting us. They’ll surely talk then.” Damian was quick to interject, completely overlooking that Todd said there was a missing person. “No way!” Duke closed the idea before anyone had a chance. “There are too many civilians that will get caught in the crossfire-”

Cassandra could only watch as her family argued and tried to come up with a solution, as they tried to find out who Jason was referring to. Her brows furrowed behind her mask. He couldn’t be talking about- no. Bruce sent her away like he mentioned that one time to Alfred. Her little sister is safe in London- Bruce surely remembers... Right?

A few states over, Joker is laughing while he falls from miles in the air, three figures looking down at the crazy clown. Like Batsy hasn’t tried this trick on him before, they’re not even as intimidating, wearing those silly costumes. But then the ground kept coming closer and closer, his gleeful expression turning into a shocked frown. “Oh boy-“ The Joker gulped.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji

A/n: Special thanks to @fightmebissh for putting the idea of murals in my head- I won't be able to let it go :))

Also- the flowers I specifically used for their meanings. Lilacs of shades of purple to reflect spirituality and a specific lilac color that is associated with one’s first love or the first time one feels love for someone, and Narcissi for rebirth and good fortune, awareness, and inner reflection.

I always feel like I'm forgetting something when I post these...

[yandere-wishes]

.ᐟ𖹭~ Ciao Amore ~𖹭.ᐟ

⭒⌒★ Yandere!Batfamily x CatFam!Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒'𝓈 𝒟𝒶𝓎 ♡ ｡ ゜

✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗♡✗

𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

Dick kisses each candy heart before pushing it past your lips. His smile is saccharine, the lite of his voice pure sugar. His presence gives you cavities. You thought you'd run away from him, freed yourself from your nocturnal life. But here he is again pinning you to your couch as he gives you your valentine.

His sweetness sinks into you, pushing through your bones until you feel him rotting your marrow. Even the bonbons in your mouth taste of him, you swallow each one while looking into his perfect midsummer eyes. He pauses on the last candy, slips it into his tongue before kissing you, he guides the blue heart into your mouth along with every ounce of devotion his body holds. Be mine the candy reads.

Be mine

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب سرخ - جیسون تاد

You are a narcotic laying heavy upon his tongue, plaguing his brain with your essence, your image glimmering within every vertiginous thought. Jason pulls you closer strong hands grasping at your bones. You can feel the frenetic beat of his reanimated heart, it almost seems to scream 'I love you'. He falls to the ground taking you with him, he won't leave you ever again, no matter what you must die with him. Your legs straddle his lap, forehead resting on his. He has full control of you, maneuvering your body how he deems fit. His lips trace the curve of your neck and shoulder.

There's a dreadful chill creeping up your spine, skin sizzling under every kiss, you can't move, can't breathe. When you open your eyes again he's still there, Jason is always there. Red shadow following your every move until he has you locked away between his arms. He's like poison flooding your veins, killing you slowly, softly, and dubbing every ache 'love'. Slowly his lips ghost over yours, locking too suddenly, you're drowning again.

All while Jason is high off you.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلح��ور آرکام - جیسون تاد

You look so cute like this his precious little pet curled up on his bed. The Arkham Knight stalks forward his shadow rattling you from your light slumber. You whimper miserably pulling the covers closer to your bruised frame. Poor little kitty cat he thinks mesmerized by the sheer fright glistening in your eyes. "It's Valentine's Day you know" his synthesized voice bellows. He's sitting on the bed now, too close, iron-clad fingers patting your head, fingers lacing roughly through matted hair. "Since we're a couple now, I guess I got to get you something."

You hiss, pulling back, you really are a cat he realizes, a pretty little housecat who's strayed too far from home. The switchblade slides from his wrist, he taps it lovingly against your lips. He doesn't fail to notice your exhausted sigh as he carves a heart intercepting your collarbone. His thumb pinches your cheek, all boyish hijinks and remnants of puppy dog love. This is correct he thinks finally you are his, all his.

Mine Mine Mine

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

There are matrices inside your eyes, celestial stars dancing between each blink. Tim watches as you click on his email, pretty face illuminated by the computer screen. ILOVEYOU the email reads, blue bold strokes dulling under your curser, you make the reckless mistake of clicking, of forgetting how potent three simple words can be. Your screens flicker, bleeding Red Robin red, candied words flood the screen. I Love You.

Tim creeps into your room, heart on his sleeve beating, he swears he's not a stalker or a creepy fan. He's just a little lovesick, just a little bit too obsessed. How could he not be? You're an ethereal equation he's spent countless nights studying from behind a screen, something so distant, empyrean, like trying to pry out secrets from lost galaxies.

He pushes the heart-shaped bag forward, practically melting it into your hands, watching eagerly as you pull the zipper to open his gift. Laying atop the cacophony of chocolates and cosmetics is a simple slip of paper scribbled in red.

I Love You

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

There's an engraving in his heart that bares your name, rugged laceration that ever only stops to bleed when your claws collide with his sword. Damian harbors his legacy between his bones, feeding it, letting the expectations fester until they crack and reshape his body. But he needs you to do it, needs you close by when he finally inherits his bearings.

But sometimes, sometimes when nobody but the moon is around to witness his exhaustion. He haunts you down for the sole purpose of being near you. To inhale the airy scent of your perfume and stare into those bewitching eyes. Tonight, he sprints from rooftop to rooftop trying to find

and when he sees you bathing beneath the pale moon's rays, Damian swears his heart stops. He clears his throat prideful even when he's all so desperate for a sliver of your attention. When you turn your head to face him ethereal eyes glimpse at him, he hurriedly presents you with a gift. A single dagger oriented with a little bow around the hilt. It's almost like presenting you with a part of his DNA, only problem is you can't tell if he's challenging you or proposing, both thoughts make you sick. Before you can speak he's disappeared into the night, heart rattling his ribs as his face grows painfully hot.

You Better Appreciate The Gift.

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

The moon is his witness, the best wingman in town. He thinks it's funny how in so many ways he's made every creature that roams through the twilight streets. The mayer once called the nightmares of Gotham 'his', 'Batman's' and Bruce could do nothing to stop the way his heart skipped an anguished beat. Because they were his, his rogues, his gallery, and someone how, by some mistake somewhere, he had turned you into one of them. His little villain, his little kitten, prowling through the night.

There's retribution in the way he kisses you, his tongue tastes of cathartic desperation as it rolls between your lips. His grip on your forearms is so tight you feel your arms go numb. He's let you slip through his fingers so many times under the moon's watchful gaze, he refuses to let it happen again. This time he has you, this time he won't repeat the same mistakes. You are his.

His Forever

₊⁺₊☠︎︎₊⁺₊ The Batman Who Laughs - Bruce Wayne | بتمن که می خندد - بروس وین

You snort the blood from your nose trying to crack the broken thing back into place, the black menace only laughs, his long tongue rolling out to lick at the crimson substance. "You're so pretty when you bleed" he insists as his lips marr your flesh, teeth abrading at the veins hunting for more blood. You try to push him away but he only grips you tighter talons sinking into your skin, your blood under his nails.

The monster kisses you, splitting your lip in the process, iron floods your mouth before he slams you onto the ground. You look so seraphic bleeding beneath him, feline eyes darkened over with a vicious glare. But it only serves to make him laugh, he dedicates each giggle to you, his perfect little pet. You turn and bite his wrist, but the monster only laughs harder. He leans down again spiked mask puncturing your eyebrows, dragging over your eyes slicing the optic, and traversing the valley of your cheek. You scream not from the scorching pain but from this manic comedy, you've been doomed to.

Happy Valentine's Day

༻¨*:· Terry McGinnis - Batman | تری مک گینس - باتمن

Terry's kisses are heavy monstrous things. Hungry and careful, sweet contradictions that leave little lovebites in their wake. You squirm against the brick wall grip tightening on the bag of stolen compartments, daring him to try and pry it away. But the caped crusader only seems focused on you.

Terry longs to see your face, you shatter that dreaded helmet and look into your eyes. He chews on your flesh, claws at your body anything to feel closer, anything to feel loved. He dreams of too many 'one days' of holding your hand and walking through the city, neon hearts bleeding overhead. But for now, he lays content in the dark, holding you and feeling the feverish pounding your your heart against his.

Please Just Love Me

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

The Facade of You

I wanted to write him off putting and cocky at the same time, but that sure is a fine line. Reader is a bit of a spitfire when they probably should keep their mouth shut. (And I love that) ~2.3k words

When the Arkham Knight wants something, he gets it. Driven. Focused. Torrent in his mission and desires. You knew it from the moment you met him. Knew it the second you swung the aluminum baseball bat at his head, and he stopped your swing without even a flinch.

This was going to be a problem. Well, more of a problem than it already was.

Most of Gotham had evacuated because of whatever insane plan Scarecrow had crafted. Most, but not all. You had shored yourself up in your apartment, ready to ride out whatever happens from the comfort of your own home.

Was it the smartest decision? Maybe not. But you had survived blizzards in July, streets lined with living plants, and some guy who liked to run around hosting tea parties while wearing a top hat. So, you think you could be forgiven if you thought you could handle some threats of fear gas and anarchy.

And honestly, you probably could have. If not for the figure wearing armor worth more than your whole apartment breaking through your window.

On any other day, you probably would have screamed at the sight of the stranger standing in your living room. But tonight, there's no neighbors to call the cops, no vigilantes with time to spare patrolling the streets to hear you cry for help.

So you swung. Swung your bat right for his weird, glowing helmet with all your strength.

His fingers caught and curled around the metal before you even registered him moving. Everything seemed to go still, your instincts practically screaming at you to flee. You didn't need to see his face to know that he's smirking at you, head tilting like what you did was interesting, but pointless.

The silence stretches as you try to tug the bat from his hold, but the man doesn't even seem to move. No, he only starts to laugh at you, laughs like this is the last he expected, like the entire situation is ridiculous.

It draws a scowl to your face. So what if he's covered head to toe in armor and weapons? He broke into your apartment to what? Revel in your misery? Make fun of you? And you're just supposed to take that?

You open your mouth to confront him, to demand answers, when he laughs again, low and still full of disbelief, "Of course, of course you're still in this damned city. I shouldn't be surprised. Always in places you shouldn't be, aren't you."

He punctuates his words with a low, long drawl of your name, the letters falling off his tongue and through the modulator of his helmet as if he's said them a million times.

He drops his hold on the bat, but it hardly matters when your own grip starts to slack at the sound of your name, "Who are you," You demand, every hair on edge as the stranger starts to pace your apartment, almost as if he's looking for something to occupy himself with.

"You aren't supposed to be here, you know," he murmurs, picking up a framed photo, "It's not part of the plan. But I suppose I'm to blame for not expecting this of you."

You step forward, anger clouding your better judgment at the sight of him picking over your things like they're his own, "Put that down."

He turns his head towards you, lifting the photo to your field of vision, "This? It's hardly important."

You grit your teeth at the sight. It is important. More than he could possibly understand. Yours and Jason's smiling face shines from the picture behind the glass, your figures illuminated by the rare summer sun Gotham gets. It's one of the only pictures you have of him, some of the only evidence he was ever in your life.

You lunge forward without warning, dropping your bat in a bid to grab the frame. He easily side steps your desperate attempts. Something seems to shift in the air as he practically purrs, "whoops," and drops the photo from between his fingers.

The breath leaves your lungs as the glass shatters, leaving the photo in a pile of shards and broken wood. Your gaze snaps back to him, outraged, "Who do you think you are? How dare–"

"You can call me The Arkham Knight," he cuts in simply, stepping on the shards– on the photo of Jason– like it's less than nothing.

"What do you want," You hiss, biting back insults over how insane you think he sounds. You match his step forward with your own backward motion, keeping space between you.

"To make Batman pay," he drawls, honest and never slowing his steps towards you, even as you rapidly run out of space between you and the wall.

You shift your free hand to your pocket, trying to fumble for your phone without him noticing, "Then why are you here? I'm not Batman."

He finally stops stalking your every step as your back hits the wall, lingering only an arms length away from you, "No," he relents, "You're not Batman. But he does feel responsible for you."

"He feels responsible for everyone," You protest, fingers tapping blindly across your phone. Your voice shakes, even as you try to hide it. But it's hard not to be intimidated by the man towering over you, by the unblinking whites of his mask shining on your face.

He sighs, like whatever game he's playing suddenly went dull, "It's a shame you were here. Really. It would have been better if you'd left the city."

You press send on your phone. At least, you hope the (ideally) coherent message you're trying to get to Babs without seeing is sending, "Are you going to kill me?"

He recoils like the idea repulses him. It's the first bit of proof you've gotten that he even has feelings outside of whatever front he's been putting up. But he settles back into that lazy, uncaring pose, nodding towards your pocket, "Go ahead, sweet thing. Call Barabra. Call Dick. Call Bruce, even. They won't help you. Even if it wasn't such a busy night, you've never been their priority."

You tense, frozen under his unwavering gaze and the revelation of his words. His jabs don't bother you. He's clearly trying to get under your skin. But, he– The Arkham Knight– knows. Your mind races as your breathing shallows. He knows about Batman– everyone. But how much does he know? How much could he know? Their identities, that secret, it always felt untouchable.

It nearly makes you tremble. Is that why he's here? To get back at them somehow through you? It hardly makes sense if it's true. Jason's the one that cared about you– that wanted you to be okay.

His words feel like a trap. The idea that he wants you to call for help is just another game he's letting you play. But you pull out your phone anyway, your eyes never really leaving him even as you dial a number with trembling fingers.

The line rings. And rings. Then, "Hi, it's Barbara–"

"Babs, I need–" You start, only to be cut off by the continued message.

"I can't answer the phone right now, but leave a message after the tone, and I'll be sure to get back to you!"

Your heart drops, and you don't get the chance to consider your options before the Arkham Knight is plucking your phone out of your hands to end the call. He tosses your only hope of getting help towards your couch.

His voice is mocking, when he speaks again, "See? They can't even save themselves. How could you think they'd bother with you?"

"Why are you here," You ask instead, desperate to ignore the growing pit in your stomach, the fear creeping up your spine.

He hums, and reaches up to grab your chin, turning your face this way and that to study you. "A lapse in judgment. Curiosity. A weakness for the past. It hardly matters," he mutters, more for himself than you, "What matters is what to do with you."

"You could leave me here," you suggest quickly, grabbing at his wrist to keep him still, "Pretend you never saw me. I won't get in the way. I'm– I'm no vigilante. I won't be any trouble."

He scoffs, dropping his hand from your face, "This city would eat you alive. You can't handle what's coming."

"And what's it to you," You snarl, sounding braver that you feel and driven by the annoyance course through your veins. You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. (Just not necessarily against military trained rouges)

That seems to snap him to attention, and you regret your words immediately. You've essentially given him a reminder that you mean as much to him as the photo he left broken on the floor. And if he wanted to send a message to Batman, it would be easy to start with you.

"It's nothing to me," he hisses back, but even the modulator in his helmet doesn't hide the tightness– the near lie– of his voice, "You're in over your head, doll. If anything, you should be grateful I'm showing you the truth."

Your blood runs cold, your tone sharpens, and your eyes narrow. He doesn't have the right. Jason's the only one that's ever nicknamed you doll. His eyes always seemed to shine when he said it. "Don't call me that," You warn, words dripping with malice.

He honestly snorts at you, unimpressed by your threat, "What's wrong, doll? Hit a sore spot?"

You throw yourself at him, aiming a fist for his dumb helmet as your heart pounds in your ears. If he's going to make an example of you, use you against Batman, you're not going to lay back and just let him pick at your wounds.

He catches you like he expected it, hauling you into the air as you scream obscenities and curses, kicking and hitting your fists against his armor until he dumps you unceremoniously onto the couch. You scramble for your discarded phone, and he's quick to pin you down, his knee braced to your stomach to keep you from moving as he knocks your phone out of reach.

He huffs as if this is just a minor setback, reaching down to fix the wrinkles forming in your clothes every time you struggle, "And here I thought you liked being called doll."

"Not by you," You practically spit, all rationally thrown out the window as you continue to squirm. You bring your nails up to his arm, trying to dig into any weak spots in his armor for a chance to escape, to make him hurt.

"Only by me, sweet thing," he coos, and your world stills to a halt as he clicks the faceplate of his helmet back.

Jason Todd is grinning at you. It's not quite right. His eyes are wilder than you remember, his smile too forced, too tense. There's more scars across his skin than you recall there being. A stark white brand stands out on his cheek. But it's him. Undeniably him.

"Now where'd all your fight go," he questions, fingers trails up to rest on your throat, "no need to look all surprised, doll."

All you can offer is his name falling from your lips, eyes wide, and face shell-shocked.

He tuts, fingers flexing ever so slightly against your pulse, "Is that really all you have to say?"

"They told me you were dead," you choke out, unable to fight the tears threatening to well in your vision.

"They lied," he says simply, as if that answers anything. He lifts his hand from your throat to press his thumb against your lower eyelid, the light pressure forcing your tears to spill onto the fabric of his glove.

"Jason–" You try again, wanting answers, comfort, anything you can latch onto.

He only shushes you, "I don't blame you, sweet thing, for falling for it. That's just what they do. They lie. Change the narrative to fit their twisted perceptions. But I'll help you. I'll tell you everything you need to know. All you need to do, is come with me."

It's a bad idea. You feel it down to your bones. Jason, your Jason, isn't the one digging his knee into your stomach, isn't the one collecting your tears on his glove like they're a trophy. But he is Jason, and he's only ever done what's best for you. So going with him has to be right, has to be what you're supposed to do.

You nod. What else could you do? How could you even think to deny him when his face lights up in the shadow of how he used to smile at you?

He stands, and it takes every bit of strength you have not to surge forward and beg him not to when he clicks his helmet back shut. The Arkham Knight– Jason– offers you a hand, and you don't need a second thought to take it.

You shouldn't. You really shouldn't. He said it himself, he didn't plan for you to even be here. But his grip is steady in yours, and he keeps turning his head to check on you as he leads you across your apartment and to the window.

Relief clouds your mind, the idea that everything could be okay as long as he's back. So you follow him, don't ask questions even as he leads you down the fire escape and towards a suspiciously armored truck.

You don't press, even as he barks orders at the driver that's dressed more like a soldier than a chauffeur.

You let him tell you that you made the right choice. That he's going to fix all of this, that you being here will help in the end. You let him guide you through Gothams ruined streets, far away from your home, from where the memory of him is shattered on the floor.

And if you left your phone ringing over and over again on your couch in a frantic attempt to reach you, you're far too blinded by the echo of the boy you're chasing to care.

[arkham-bunniii]

Third Times the Charm

⌖ Three times you meet the Arkham Knight on his takeover in Gotham—twice you lose… one you don’t.

x: reader is fem, with no use of y/n.

xx: slow burn, sexual/romantic tension, enemies to lovers

The pain faded after the third hit, a dull throb that blended into the ache in your ribs, your arms, your jaw. 

You’d been tied to a chair, with rough ropes cutting into your wrists and blood dripping from your split lip.

The sting barely registered anymore, not after the sun had dipped well below the horizon. Your focus was on the data hidden inside your boot, pressed against your skin like it’s the last thing you’ll ever own.

A couple of the thugs crowded around you, sneering at the blood on your knees. “Thought you could take us on, huh? Thought you could steal from us—that you could with fire and not get burned?” 

One of them kicked the chair, and you bit back a grimace. You’d been so close to getting the intel, the evidence that would expose them all. It was supposed to be easy. In, out, done. 

But now you were trapped, left with nothing but your wits—and your fists, if you could get a chance. And you would get a chance.

“You’re gonna regret crossing us, doll.” Another blow landed hard, right to your gut. 

Your vision swam, but you focused, digging in. You’d find a way out. You always did.

“Enough!” The ringleader held up a hand from across the room as he took another puff of his cigar. “If she doesn’t have the data, kill her. We don’t want any loose ends.”

Panic gripped you, flooding your chest with icy dread. Your breath quickened, the cold steel of the chair digging into your back as you struggled against the ropes, but the thugs were closing in. 

“Get away from me!” you snarled, but their sneers only grew wider.

You fought harder, thrashing against the ropes, heart pounding, the taste of desperation on your tongue. You couldn’t think long enough to make an escape plan—this was the end.

But before they could reach you, the door crashed open.

Gunfire erupted inside the room, ricocheting across the warehouse as a steady stream of fire sprayed from the doorway. The thugs fell instantly, their bodies dropping to the ground like ragdolls.

You ducked your head low and squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the bullets would miss you—or hit something vital, something that would end your misery before you felt the blow.

Then came a new voice, deep and commanding, but strange, distorted. “Hold your fire.”

You froze in the chair as what looked like a fully-geared militia crept through the doors, sweeping their rifles across the abandoned warehouse.

They checked every corner of the room, scanning the bodies of fallen criminals, taking in the blood splattered across the floor and the crates of explosives.

You were there, still bound to the chair, but you weren’t sure if they noticed you so pathetically slumped in the chair.

“Clear,” one of them called, and the militia lowered their guns.

Then the doorframe seemed to darken, and a figure stepped through, taller than the rest. 

His silhouette was encased in dark, angular armor. A black helmet, sleek and curved, covered his face, but the visor—glowing a dark blue—surveyed the room without an inkling of emotion.

“Gather the explosives,” his voice rose above the others, cold and commanding. “Move fast. We leave no trace.”

You blinked. Who were these guys? Armored and trained, that’s for sure. But why? Most of the population had escaped Gotham by now, even the criminals had slinked out of town the moment Scarecrow announced he was going to release his fear toxin on the city.

Were they… working for him? Their insignias weren’t familiar, and none of them matched any of the criminals that had escaped Arkham City after Joker’s death. 

You didn’t get a chance to chew on everything, not before their leader faced his faceless visor toward you.

“Whose this?” He tilted his helmet, scanning the bruises across your skin.

You didn’t reply, so the soldier nearby spoke for you. “Looks like they were torturing her for information, sir.” 

Your pulse raced. Please, don’t let him kill me. Don’t let him kill me now.

His visor flickered, but the leader didn’t flinch, he just watched you curiously.

“Then she must have something of value,” he remarked. “Search her.”

A couple of soldiers stepped forward, and you fought against your restraints again, ignoring the flood of pain as the ropes dug deeper into your wrists. 

Your stomach churned in panic, and you glared at the men as they came closer.

“Don’t even think of touching me—!”

One slapped a hand over your mouth, sneering. “Quiet! Unless you want the Arkham Knight to show you who runs these streets now?”

The ‘Arkham Knight’? Your gaze flicked to the unfamiliar insignia on his chest again. That name was unfamiliar, too. But at least you had something in this confusing mess.

The others began their search, moving rough as they rifled through your jacket, your pants, ignoring your quiet gasps. The cold metal of their gloves brushed against your skin with each pass, and when one prodded too close to your chest, you snapped at him with your teeth.

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt one of his gloved hands slide down to your boot. Panic clawed at your chest, and your breath hitched in your throat. You tried to move, to react, but it was already too late.

His fingers brushed against the hard drive nestled against the inner lining of your boot, and you gritted your teeth. That was my evidence!

For a moment, all was still when the drive was handed to the militia’s leader. His visor tilted down to the small, seemingly insignificant object in his hand. 

The hard drive, the very thing you had fought so hard to keep hidden, even as you were being beaten to death.

He stared at it, his visor betraying no emotion, no hint of what he was thinking. The seconds stretched on as he examined the drive in his gloved hand, his silence almost suffocating. 

You sat there, pretending innocence, but it didn’t take a genius to know what he was wondering. How did someone like you—someone who looked like they should have been nowhere near gangbangers and child traffickers—end up in the middle of it all?

You kept your expression neutral, but frustration at your helplessness bubbled within. If only he knew what you were capable of.

The rest of the militia continued working, gathering weapons, ignoring you completely. But their leader kept his visor fixed on you as he turned the data in his palm. What was he thinking? 

Then, the Arkham Knight raised a hand, signaling his men beside you. “Let her go.”

You barely registered the words at first. Why would he let you go? You weren’t an ally. You weren’t even a threat anymore. He could easily kill you if he wanted.

When the militia’s hands released you, the Arkham Knight stepped forward, unhurried, taking his sweet-ass time—like he already knew exactly what he was going to do to the stranger trapped in the cage full of angry, mauling bears with machine guns.

As he reached you, he knelt to your eye level, bringing himself face-to-face with your battered form.

His gloved hand reached for the hard drive, lifting it between the two of you like a trophy. He held it up, inspecting it in the dim light, then slowly, almost as if savoring the moment, he spoke.

“Is this yours?” His voice was cold, the distortion of the helmet making it sound even more machine-like.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“Too bad,” he chuckled, turning it between his fingers. “It’s mine now. All of it.”

He shifted forward, the reinforced plating of his armor brushing against your scraped-up knees. His presence swallowed the space between you, the scent of gunpowder and steel clinging to him like a second skin.

“You know why I’m letting you live?” 

Oh, great, here comes the speech, you thought, scoffing inwardly. Let me guess—because you’re some twisted hero with a soft spot?

The Knight didn’t wait for an answer. “Because killing you would be mercy.”

The hard drive disappeared into one of his pouches, tucked away like it was nothing. Like you were nothing.

“You get to walk out of here and live with the fact that you lost. That everything you bled for, fought for, meant nothing.” He tilted his head. “And that? That’s gonna hurt worse than anything they did to you.”

The Arkham Knight rose to his full height, and turned away without another glance. Around you, the militia moved quickly, packing up the last of the weapons and explosives, erasing any trace that they’d ever been there.

One by one, they filed out, leaving nothing behind but the bodies cooling on the floor.

At the doorway, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. 

“You should have gotten on one of those buses when you had the chance.” His tone was almost…pitying. “Because by nightfall, this city will be mine.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, you were left there, bound, alone, empty-handed… but alive.

The pain in your limbs flared as you struggled against the restraints, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers trembled, but you kept fighting, pushing against the ropes until they finally loosened. 

With one last yank, they snapped free, and you stumbled to your feet, breathing heavily. You rubbed your wrists, glaring daggers at the doorway the Arkham Knight had so easily waltzed out of.

The room was silent besides your labored breaths of pain. But the fire in your chest burned brighter as you heard the sound of screeching tires fade into the distance.

The next time you crossed paths, you’d make him regret keeping you alive.

The air reeked of gasoline and rain-soaked asphalt as you sprinted across the docks, following the echoes of heavy, armored boots that skirted just out a reach.

Ahead, the Arkham Knight weaved through the maze of shipping containers like he’d been here a hundred times before. He probably had.

You weren’t far behind, and you weren’t thinking of slowing any time soon. He should have never let you live.

“I know what you’re planning, Knight!” you called. “Blowing up the shipment? Real original!”

A deep chuckle came from ahead, distorted through his helmet. “I’d be more worried about catching up, sweetheart.”

Your teeth clenched, but you pushed harder, closing the distance between you. The bastard was fast, but you’d spent years chasing Gotham’s worst before you ditched the badge.

Leaving the GCDP had been a good decision. Here, in the underground, you were a hunter, taking out cartels and human traffickers on a smaller scale than the bat-themed vigilante grappling across the skies above you. 

But this job? This was bigger.

You’d been hired to protect the arrival of high-powered weapons—gear meant to combat the growing militia presence. 

It should have been simple. Escort the shipment, keep it out of the wrong hands. 

But every time the Arkham Knight showed up, he managed to win. Every damn time, he outmaneuvered you, slipping through cracks you hadn’t even seen, cutting down every layer of security like it was nothing. 

And now you were chasing him, angry that he was trying to outsmart you again.

Because this time, it wasn’t just about a stolen cache of weapons.

This time, he wasn’t just trying to sabotage the GCPD’s rare import of military-grade gear.

He was taking out the whole damn dock.

Explosives were already planted along the shipping yard, tucked between crates, hidden under trucks, blinking red in the rain. You had expected a crew, mercs to handle the heavy lifting, just like Scarecrow preferred.

But the Arkham Knight was different. He liked getting his hands dirty, getting a taste of the action. It’s as if he had been doing this kind of a thing since he was a kid.

Good thing the criminals around here had the firepower and armor to match Gotham's newest mysterious villain.

There was no time to think as he suddenly pivoted, twisting mid-step and pulling his gun to aim straight at your forehead.

But you saw it coming.

Before the Arkham Knight could pull the trigger, you ducked and lunged, grabbing the barrel and yanking it downward just as the shot fired. The bullet sparked off the concrete, missing your foot by inches. You used the momentum to drive your elbow into his side, but he was already reacting—twisting his body to lessen the impact before slamming his knee up, nearly catching your ribs.

You barely dodged, stumbling back.

“Don’t start making me regret letting you live now, sweetheart” he said, his breaths barely labored. “You think you’re some kind of hero? Don’t tell me you’re one of Batman’s newest sidekicks to throw headfirst into enemy fire?”

You grinned through the exhaustion, wiping a trickle of blood from your lip. “Nah. I work for pest control—the rats in this city are overrunning the place… don’t you think?”

His visor flickered with anger, and his fists clenched tighter. “You sure you want to keep talking? I don’t mind getting a little rough.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen rough yet,” you shot back. “But you’re about to.”

This time, the Arkham Knight didn’t hold back.

You barely had time to duck before his fist swung at your head. You twisted, countering with a sharp jab at his ribs, but he blocked it, catching your wrist and twisting. Pain flared up your arm, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you used his grip against him, yanking hard enough to send both of you off balance.

He recovered first, shoving you back against a metal shipping crate with enough force to rattle your teeth.

You grinned through the impact, wincing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like getting me up against walls.”

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you like pissing me off.”

The air between you crackled. Charged with something neither of you would acknowledge in this hour-long chase of cat and mouse. 

Then you moved.

Using the crate as leverage, you kicked up, planting your foot against his chest and shoving hard. He stumbled back just enough for you to break free, dropping low and sweeping his legs out from under him.

For a second, you thought you had him.

Then, like the stubborn bastard he was, he twisted mid-fall, rolling onto one knee and bringing his gun up again.

You dove before he could fire, grabbing the wrist of his gun hand and knocking it skyward. The shot went wild, shattering a hanging floodlight above you. Glass rained down, and you shield your head from the shrapnel.

You were close now. Too close. His chest nearly brushed yours, breaths ragged, shoulders tense.

Your lips curled. “If you wanted me up close, Knight, all you had to do was ask.”

His visor flickered for a moment—maybe surprise, maybe amusement. His grip loosened slightly, enough for you to slip free.

You moved quickly, sidestepping and swinging for his legs. But he was faster. With a grunt, he kicked out, forcing you to roll to the side to avoid his boot slamming into your ribs.

You barely regained your footing before his fist was coming at you again, this time aiming for your face. You ducked, but he was already shifting his weight, elbowing you hard in the side.

This time, you saw stars.

“Getting tired, sweetheart?” He sounded almost too smug.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back through gritted teeth, blood starting to well at the back of your throat.

You shifted into a crouch, anticipating his next move. Sure enough, he lunged, but you were ready. As he came at you, you grabbed his arm and swung him into the nearby shipping crate with a force that left a satisfying thud in the air.

The clang echoed through the empty docks, and you took a moment to steady your breath, watching him stagger upright.

It was easy to out-pace him, the Arkham Knight seemed trained to take down foes twice your size and strength. 

You were nimble, he was like a bumbling oaf. For once, you had an advantage.

“Looks like a draw,” you breathed.

His helmet tilted. “You sure about that?”

Then his free hand gripped the back of your collar, yanking you forward. Before you could react, you were airborne.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs as your back hit the hood of an abandoned car nearby. Rusted metal groaned beneath you.

“Shit—”

The Knight was on you in an instant, pinning you down with his weight before you could fully recover.

You blinked up at him, head spinning. “You got a thing for throwing me around, huh?”

“Only when you make it fun,” he said, and damn if you couldn’t hear the smirk in his voice.

Your fingers twitched toward a second knife hidden in your boot. 

Before you could grab it, he shifted, pressing his knee just hard enough against your thigh to pin it down.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You exhaled sharply, annoyed. “You suck.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

His visor flicked upward, tracking something behind you. You didn’t need to look to know what it was—the detonator, blinking a bright, steady red only a few feet away.

The light pulsed, quickening with every second the Arkham Knight was near, and the sound of a faint mechanical whir grew louder, like the ticking of a bomb just waiting to tear through the night.

When he finally turned back, you could almost picture the shit-eating grin behind his helmet as he said, “Well, looks like you’ll have to live with your failure again, sweetheart.”

Your stomach dropped. 

“You son of a—!”

Then the world exploded.

The shockwave hit you first, rattling your bones, sending fire and debris into the sky. But before the blast could swallow you whole, a boot slammed into your chest, kicking you back—

Right off the docks.

You hit the water hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, the icy current dragging you under before you could even curse him out.

By the time you clawed your way to the surface, gasping, the docks were in flames.

And the Arkham Knight was gone.

You treaded water for a moment, watching the inferno rage above you, heart pounding against your ribs as you glared at the blaze of your defeat.

Then you swiped a hand down your face, slicking your wet hair back, and exhaled sharply.

“Asshole…”

Gotham’s skyline sprawled beneath a shroud of ink-black night, its bright, colorful spires rose to the heavens, piercing the clouds that smothered the full moon’s glow.

At the edge of the city, where the streets thinned into silence and the glow of neon faded into darkness, the old GCPD communications outpost loomed ahead, a relic long abandoned to the city’s decay—until tonight. 

Someone had breathed life into its dormant servers, and you knew exactly who had dared to trespass into this forgotten domain.

The Arkham Knight.

Perched near the rooftop’s crumbling edge, you watched the dim blue glow seeping from the outpost’s cracked windows below. 

He was in there, hunched over the monitors, his armored fingers likely dancing across keys as he sifted through encrypted data—data valuable enough to drag him out of whatever hole he’d been brooding in. 

Whatever it was, it was big. And though your loyalty was no longer to the GCDP, you weren’t about to let him walk away with something that could hurt everyone.

You had loosely tracked his steps across Gotham since nightfall. From the docks, then Kingston, the clock tower, and now to this abandoned building.

How could one soldier get so much done in one night?! It was ridiculous! You weren’t sure how many more caffeine patches you could stick to your skin before you finally crashed from exhaustion. 

Unfortunately, you seemed to be one of the only good guys left on the streets. Nightwing was only ever sighted in Blūdhaven, Robin had gone completely dark, and Batman was elsewhere, fighting even uglier battles than you. 

You had even heard over the police scanner that Barbara Gordon had been kidnapped, and that made your stomach turn. 

You had known her a short time, just long enough to see the sharp mind behind her easy smile.

But you had known her father longer—and you knew he would tear Gotham’s streets apart to get her back.

Was the Arkham Knight involved in that? Probably, his militia surely was, being used as expendable bait for the city’s gliding guardian as he used the distraction to hack into the GCDP.

Your breath steadied as you secured the final piece of your trap. A reinforced cable, thin as a whisper but strong as steel, rigged to snap taut the moment he stepped into its invisible snare. 

No crazy gadgets, no complicated mechanisms. Nothing the Arkham Knight could pick up in that fancy helmet of his. 

Exhaling softly, you slipped through a shattered window, landing in a crouch on the dusty concrete floor. 

The building was a labyrinth of cracking walls and exposed beams, the kind of place that had long since given up on standing tall. 

One wrong step, and you’d be a smear on the concrete ten stories below.

Distant thunder covered your footsteps as you crept through the halls of broken glass and scattered files. 

Ahead, half-shrouded in shadow, the Arkham Knight stood with his back to you, the cold glow of his visor throwing colorful reflections over the broken glass at his feet.

Beneath the armored plating, the suit clung to broad shoulders, tapering to a lean waist. He was built for both power and speed, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the strength behind those arms, the sheer force he could bring down if he wanted to.

The plan was to get all of muscle man’s attention focused on you. That was the easy part. 

The real challenge—though you considered it more of dumb luck—would be to keep the Arkham Knight moving in the right direction, all the way to the snare.

A loose shard of glass, nearly invisible beneath layers of dust.

The crunch beneath your boot was barely audible, swallowed by the distant rumble of thunder. But it was enough.

The Arkham Knight’s head snapped up from his work, visor glowing faintly in the darkness. He didn’t move at first, only tilting his head, listening.

You stilled, pressing into the shadows, holding your breath.

A beat passed. Another second of suffocating silence..

Then, he reached for the pistol at his side, and you grimaced.

…So much for subtlety.

You exhaled, just loud enough to carry. And it worked.

The Arkham Knight turned. He met your gaze from behind the visor of blue pixels, an eerie, unreadable beacon in the low light, locking onto you like a hunter sizing up its prey.

“You again,”  he huffed, and his hand left the pistol at his waist.

You smirked, letting the curve of your lips carry a taunt. “Miss me?”

A chuckle. “Why would I miss the headache?”

Ouch.

You feigned a pout. “But I came all this way just to have a little alone time with you! You're breaking my heart, y’know...”

He stepped forward, just enough to close the gap between you. “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart. I’m not here for games.”

You grinned back at that stupid, expressionless helmet of his. There was an itch in your bones to reach up and throttle him now, if only in a vain attempt to smash that visor to bits over the Arkham Knight’s actual head.

Instead, you flicked your wrist, sending a throwing disc spinning toward the server bank. It struck, and sparks flared on impact. A controlled shockwave rippled through the system, enough to scramble the hard drive and his precious data into digital confetti.

The Arkham Knight twisted his helmet to glimpse the scatter of sparks and hiss of wires catching fire. The smugness on your features grew, and you lifted your chin victoriously.

Then, he chuckled, and your smirk faltered. It was a sound that threw you off, a response you hadn’t expected. 

He raised his hand, and in the light of the fire behind him, you caught sight of something small between his fingers: a tiny USB, gleaming mockingly against the orange blaze.

“You really think I didn’t plan for this?” The Arkham Knight stepped. “I’m almost hurt that you’d think I'm that stupid.”

Your eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter how many backups you have. I’m not going to just let you walk out of here.”

The USB disappeared into a hidden pouch of his suit, and the Arkham Knight tightened his stance. “I never expected you to.”

When he lunged, you were ready.

You darted to the side, feeling the air rush as his arm passed just inches from you. You slammed your palm into his chest, forcing him back a few steps before you twisted around to land a quick kick to his side.

He was a wall of strength, but you were liquid lightning, slipping through his grasp even faster. This time, the advantage was yours. You tasted it in the air every time his hits landed a little less sure.

The Arkham Knight swiped for you again, his armored hand snatching at the fabric of your jacket. His fingers closed around your wrist, and before you could yank it free, his grip tightened like iron as he pulled one fist back.

You caught it. The slight pause. The fraction of a second where, instead of following through with a punch that would have had you seeing stars, he hesitated.

That was all you needed. You planted your hands on the desk behind you, using it to propel yourself forward with both legs, sending him stumbling right into the snare.

His legs tangled, lifting off the ground with an almost comical jerk, and you exhaled a gasp of relief.

He was still dangerous, and his hands, both free, grasped for anything to steady his wild swinging. You could see him working out his next move, calculating an escape as he reached for his waist.

Before he could grab his pistol, you rushed forward and closed the gap. You caught one of his wrists, ducking as he used a free hand swing at your head before slamming both of his hands onto the floor.

You had to press your entire weight against his arms to keep him from wrenching his hands free from your hold. Your fingers found the wire you had stashed in your jacket, and you looped it tightly around his wrists, pulling it taut until it bit into his skin.

It was secure, but not anything that would cause unnecessary pain. He was strong, but now his hands were useless, bound against the cold concrete floor.

“Gotcha,” you purred, savoring the moment.

“Clever,” the Arkham Knight conceded, tilting his helmet to inspect his bindings.

“I’ve been studying you.” You crossed your arms, letting the smugness drip into your voice, “You’re too predictable when you get riled up. You make mistakes.”

He scoffed. “You think you have me all figured out?” 

“Not figured out. Just enough to know you’re not as smart as you think.” You stepped closer. 

His fingers flexed against the restraints, testing their give. “Give me ten seconds.” 

You leaned in, lowering your voice just enough to needle him.

“Or… you could just say please.”

A moment of silence passed, as if the Arkham Knight was left stunned.

Finally, he spoke. “You really think that’s gonna work?”

“I don’t know.” You reached out, brushing your fingers over the edge of his helmet. “But this might.”

His body went rigid, and in that distraction, you slid your other hand across his armor.

“I’ve always wondered what’s under here,” you mused, scraping your nails against the bright, blue display.

His voice dropped. “Not happening.”

“Why not?” You hooked your fingers around the edge, tilting your head. “Afraid I won’t like what I see?”

The Arkham Knight didn’t speak, and you lost interest. Your real target was somewhere in his armor

“What about over here?” Your fingers danced across his chest plate, prodding for anything out of place. “Would you mind if I took a peek?”

The wires binding his wrist threw sparks as the Arkham Knight’s metal gauntlets writhed against their hold. You smiled. Each little shift, each frustrated pull of a response gave you a clue of where that drive was as your fingers continued their search.

“Watch your hands!” He growled warningly as your thumb brushed against his belt. “Stop poking around.”

You glanced down, feigning innocence. “Just making sure I don’t miss anything. You sure this isn’t where you’re hiding it?”

“When I get out of here,” he growled, the restraints straining beneath his shifting muscles. “I’m going to make you regret everything.”

Just as the words left his lips, you felt the faintest bump beneath your fingers, something solid and small tucked into the armor’s seam.

Your heart raced for half a second, then you carefully pried the tiny USB drive free, holding it up in front of him.

“Well, look what I found,” you said, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “Maybe you should’ve been more careful about where you stash your secrets.”

The Arkham Knight’s gaze burned through his visor, but he didn’t speak. 

You inspected the drive before turning away from him. This hadn’t been so hard,

The escape was sudden, seamless, a twist of his frame that turned the cables’ tension against them. His weight shifted, shoulders rolling as he slipped one wrist free. A flash of metal—a hidden blade—sliced through the remaining line, and before you could blink, he reversed the game.

You hit the wall with a soft gasp, concrete cold against your back. He closed the distance in an instant, his armored form looming, the heat radiating off him swallowing the space between you. 

One gloved hand braced beside your head, pinning you without touching. Your breath hitched, and the Arkham Knight leaned closer.

His voice dropped, velvet wrapped around steel, teasing in a way that made your pulse stutter. “I think you have something that belongs to me. Be a good girl and return it, won’t you?”

You lifted your chin, meeting that glowing visor with a stare that refused to bend. “Oh, you’re going to have to beg for that, Knight.” 

The Arkham Knight went rigid. His shoulders squared, his breath barely audible through the modulator, but you could feel the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You really think you can run from me?” His words were rough, barely controlled.

You held your ground, pulse hammering but expression cool. “I don’t run.”

A creak whispered beneath your boots. Barely there, but enough. Your eyes flickered down, and through the haze of debris, you saw it—fractures splitting through the old concrete, widening like veins.

You pressed your foot against the cracks, and felt the floor waver beneath your feet. The Arkham Knight’s visor followed your gaze, and when he pressed closer to keep you backed against the wall, you heard the groan beneath his shifting weight.

So you moved first, stomping hard onto the split concrete, forcing the fractures to buckle beneath you. The floor gave way instantly. Cracks splintered outward, then collapsed in an avalanche of dust and stone.

For a split second, you could have sworn he moved—an arm jerking forward, fingers twitching like he might reach out to catch you. 

But then he didn’t, and you were falling before the breath could escape your lungs in a gasp.

The last thing you saw was his silhouette standing at the edge, visor glowing through the dust.

Then you were gone.

[igotanidea]

Somebody's watching me : AK!Jason x reader

Request: AK! jason hears y/n’s name from his opponent and just goes nuts like he goes home looking for her.

A/N : the requests is a little twisted, as usual, but I hope you'll still like it anon :D

***

It was gone.

His old life was gone.

And with it, everyone he knew before.

All that was left was revenge, hate, rage. And this unstoppable need for killing someone, destroy something, wreck havoc on every single person who did him any wrong.

Bruce.

Fucking Batman.

He was the Arkham Knight now.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Focused on building his position so that no one, no fucking one, would ever hold any power over him.

And if that meant keeping tabs on everyone under his watchful gaze so be it.

And if that meant putting some pressure on everyone who dared to do as much as step a toe over the line, so be it.

And disturbances?

Defnitely not something he was about to allow.

And now he was holding a gun to one of his goons head.

"What did you do?" he hissed, his voice distorted by the helmet

"Sir, I --"

"What did you do?" Jason repeated pressing the metal more into man's head.

"I-- I disobeyed--"

"You disobeyed. And do you know what happens to people who disobey me?"

"Sir, please this is--"

Jason shot in the air and the man almost fell to his feet.

"It was-"

"I'm not going to give a warning shot again"

"I was-"

"I'm gonna count to three now. One."

"There's this girl."

"Two."

"Her name is Y/N."

"thr-- what?"

"She is very distant family, but --"

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, his face twisted with rage, not that anyone could see his expression hidden under the metal. "Shut the fuck up you hear me!" it took him two steps to be in front of the man, yanking him up by the collar and pinning to the wall with brutal force, half-chocking him "you ever do as much as think her name again and I'll kill you and put your head on a stick as a warning to anyone who dare have a thought of himself. YOU HEAR ME!?"

"y-ye-yes..."

"now get the fuck out of here!" the man was violently thrown on the floor, getting up as fast as he could and rushing out the door. It was truly a miracle he lived to tell the tale, cause Arkham Knight was not known for his leniency.

But Y/N.

Someone from his past.

More than someone.

A girl, a woman, he was once in love with.

A woman, whose name he forgot in the pursuit after Batman.

Or rather - tried to forget.

She was the only one who ever got him. The only one to accept him fully, with all his flaws.

His Y/N.

His Y/N who betrayed him just like anyone else. Who forgot him. Who moved on without giving as much as a single thought to him when he was lost. Who was never looking for him.

His Y/N.

It;s been years since he heard anyone mention her. Years since he swore to never get manipulated again.

And then.

Just a few letters mixed together. Just a few sounds.

And she was right behind his eyes, just like he remembered her. Because even his dark side refused to let go of the rememberance of their time together.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her eyes and freckles from the sun, as fleeting as the summer days they were spending together. Her calmness, care and tenderness when she was patching up his woudns, tiredlessly putting on bandaids and stitches.

Fuck!

He didn't need that.

Just another phase of brainwashing. If not from his capturers than from his own men.

Hell no.

He was going to say no to the past life once and for all.

Hunting her down, wherever she may be.

See her for the last time.

Pour hatred in his heart, destroying all the remaining piece of useless softness and caring he carried in his soul.

Burn the last link connecting him to the past down.

***

She was spending the night in her old apartment. Sitting by the same desk, with the same lamp, in the same posture she ever did.

One leg half bent and folded under her ass, the other hanging loose in the air.

"You're going to end up with numbness..." he muttered to himself, watching her from the opposite rooftop.

Obviously she couldn;t hear him, but something made her raise her head and look outside the window while simultaniously changing the position.

Jason smiled despite himself.

His heart skipped a beat and sudden warmth spread in his chest.

Only for a second though, since he rememembered why he was here in the first place.

Look at her.

So fucking good.

So fucking calm and happy, while he-

fuck!

traitorous bitch.

Maybe it was her plan from the very beggining. Conspiring with Batman only to get rid of him, so they could both be free of the burdening presence of a man once known as Jason Todd.

Y/N...

Regardless of how sweet her name may have tasted on his tongue he would rather cut it off than fall down that rabit hole again.

He was cold as ice. Brutal. Cruel. Ruthless.

And it was not going to change because he saw her.

Not in the million years.

She was the reason of his fallout. She should have stopped him from going on that stupid mission. She should have made him stay, showed him she cared enough to keep him grounded.

It was all her fault that that after being captured all he could think about was how she was going to survive without him. How her heart would break into million pieces, instead of figuring out a way to free himself.

It was all her fault that he became the Arkham Knight. Cause inhumanity was equal with survival. And survival meant living. And living meant keeping his legacy.

So yes, he hated her.

He hated her, because every single thing he did and every little thing done to him was because and thanks to her.

She was the reason of him getting on top, but also the person responsible for his failure as a person.

She was nothing.

She was everything.

And for the first time since capturing, torturing and tranformation Jason felt conflicted.

Y/N...

His Y/N...

Not his anymore...

***

When some force made her stand up and come to window all she saw was a blink of metal on the rooftop. And since she spend half of her life with vigilantes, it was easy to realise that this must have been one of them.

But the silhouette of a running man couldn;t have been Dick nor Tim nor any other hero she would recognise.

And despite herself, she felt a shiver running down her spine.

Someone was watching her.

[miks-delusional-blog]

HI HI HI if you take emoji anons I’d like to be 💚!!!!

can i request something with arkham knight jason x male or gender neutral reader?? it would be so so sick if you could do something where reader is arkham knight’s medic or something, something something “you have to learn to be more careful”

sorry if this is disrespectful and you dont have to do it, but thanks for listening and best of luck with your writing !!!

Personal Medic- AK!Jason Todd x GN! Reader

A/n

Hi! You may be 💚 anon! You’re actually my first anon request :)

Also it’s okay to request what you requested, it’s not offensive at all. I’ve never written male reader before so for this request I made it GN! Every x reader that I write is GN! Unless specified as fem! Though I do wonder if I’ve accidentally coded them as fem…

I hope you enjoy this one shot, I struggled quite a bit with the ending, and I did try out another type of storyline in my drafts but this felt like the best one? Lmao if you wanted to know what the other draft was about feel free to message 🫶

Enjoy! 💞

Disclaimer! I’m not a medic/know nothing about medicine so do not take any medical advice from this post please.

Tags: fluff, strangers/friends to lovers, there’s a smooch, w.c 1623

You have to learn to be more careful.” You grumble, sewing up another bullet wound chipping his shoulder.

This has become a nightly routine.

You’d come home after a 12 Hour shift, and maybe he’d already be waiting for you in your living room with a giant slash or a gaping wound. It’s a good thing you don’t have a white couch. Just a brown, very worn down, probably older than you, couch.

“What’s the point in all this armour if you still end up like this every night?” And like every night you complain while he sits quietly watching you at work, his hand kneading the armrest.

He doesn’t usually talk too much. You’re not sure if it’s because he doesn’t like you, but he must tolerate you to always come back.

“Are you almost done?” He asks in a low voice, strained but almost soft. Not how he used to talk to you.

When he first fell on your fire escape he was covered in blood and pushed a gun at your chest, threatening to kill you if you even touched him. Now he was in your living room quiet as a mouse, no longer too shy to keep his helmet on as he let you work.

Of course you knew who he was. At this point, who in Gotham hadn’t heard of the Arkham Knight? You don’t know why you hadn’t called the police on him. You suppose it’s because he wasn’t so scary like this.

And the fact that you happened to keep finding hundred dollar bills on the coffee table after he’d left didn’t push you to really want to. Student debt and the cost of living crisis is a real bitch, some of us have to eat.

It’s probably a bad idea to have a man like this in your apartment.

You finish closing the wound, “almost good as new. Don’t tear this one. Let me see the one from last week.” you take off your gloves and set your tools down in a tray as he stripped off his chest plate.

You crouch in front of him analysing the wound. Gently pushing at his chest, “Sit up… relax a little.” Your finger brushes over the stitches. “Might have to keep them for a few more days, especially considering you tore them before. Would it kill you to have a few days rest? The more injuries you get, the harder it is for old wounds to heal.”

“I can barely take the time to sleep.” he finally looks into your eyes. Blue, almost gray. And you realise how close the two of you are, as if you weren’t just sticking a needle and suture in him.

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“... Few hours.”

“Few hours? Should be at least six.” You roll your eyes with a slight playfulness. “Though with your injuries, maybe eight…You need to look after yourself better.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Well excuse me, you’re the one who keeps me up. Why do you keep coming back here? Hospitals are 24/7.” You move to sit more comfortably on the couch. Your knee bumps his for a moment as your head lulls to the side, pressing your cheek against the couch cushion. A small wave of tiredness hits.

“I think you know why I can’t just go to a hospital.” He huffs. “ And you get the job done.” He sits back, his breath hitching a little from soreness.

“With a lot of complaints.”

The corner of his lip twitches up, “Certainly with a lot of complaints.”

“This isn’t exactly the most sterile environment. And I know you could easily find someone to do this more efficiently, and not in their pajamas.”

“Suppose that’s true.”

“So why do you keep coming back?”

“Why do you keep treating me?” He turns to you.

“I can’t exactly say no when you’re bleeding out on my floor.”

“But you’ve never called the police on me.”

“...yeah…so?” You get a little embarrassed.

He smiles, it’s almost wicked.

“You’re good at bribing me.” you huff softly, “I’m in debt, I was living paycheck to paycheck. Now I can buy triple-ply toilet paper and buy a sweet treat once a week without breaking the bank.”

“What’s your ‘sweet treat’ this week?”

“... It’s stupid.”

He raises a brow. “Just tell me.”

You cross your arms, and shy away. “...Lego.”

“Lego? How old are you five?” he teases.

“Well five year olds shouldn’t play with Lego cause it’s a choking hazard. And I told you it was dumb.” You feel the heat rise to your face.

“So…That’s it?” he raises a brow.

“What do you mean ‘so that’s it?’”

“I don’t know… thought you’d get yourself something nicer.”

“Those things are nice. It improves my quality of life.”

“Lego and Triple-ply is improving your life?“

“My ass appreciates it. The tripe-ply, not the Lego.”

He chuckles. A real laugh. It’s the first time you’ve heard it and it almost makes you freeze.

It’s deeper than you thought it might sound. Though you’ve never really thought about what his laugh might sound like. But seeing him smile, a genuine amused smile… your chest feels warm.

After a beat, you sit up. “You never said why you keep coming back here. Like why you really come here.”

He take a moment to think of an answer. “I don’t really know… maybe because I know I shouldn’t… and I know you’ll never turn me away.” He almost sounds ashamed, no, guilty.

It catches you off guard. To think a man like the Arkham Knight can feel guilty. Especially after watching the news recently. But, the more you think about it, he was quite considerate of you.

He’d always try to help clean up after you’d treat him, which you’d have to push him back to the couch if he had a particularly gnarly wound. He’s never forgotten to give you money after seeing you. Always enough to replace the medical supplies used plus at least a hundred dollars.

“So… what I’m hearing is that you like my company?”

“Yeah.” He can’t seem to look at you.

“You know… I’d rather see you without so many injuries.” You say quietly.

“But then I wouldn’t-“ he pauses before looking up at you. Those eyes. You see he tenses a little before trying to relax. “I wouldn’t be able to see you… if I wasn’t injured.”

His admission makes you soften. The Arkham Knight wasn’t one to be vulnerable with you, or anyone you figure. Even though you’ve seen him without the helmet a hundred times, he’s always worn an emotional mask, and he’s never told you his name. A sarcastic nonchalant barrier, which you weren’t sure was to protect you or him.

You take a breath. “You can come here when you’re not injured too.”

“…Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“I mean, why would you want me here? I’m not exactly good company.”

“You’re alright.”

“Just ‘alright’?” He feigns offense, but the corner of his mouth twitches up.

“I like your company.”

“Not just the Lego and the triple-ply?” He’s teasing you.

“I like those things, but… I think I’d be okay without them…” Your gaze wanders to the window. “Though, if you were to just never come back again… maybe I wouldn’t be okay with that.” You sigh, reflecting. “You’ve been coming around here for a while now… a year in a month. I think I’d be… quite sad if you decided to never come back. But I’d understand. I’m not the best medic out there. Sometimes I struggle with treating you… and I worry that what if there’s an injury too bad that I can’t treat here in my apartment? I really wish you’d be more careful, that I didn’t have to treat a wound every time you came by.”

You take a breath you’d hadn’t realised you’d been holding. “I’d hate it if… you died here… or if you died at all. I find myself watching the news more, so I know you’re okay. You probably think it’s stupid… some rando-person you barely know always so worried about you…”

Sometimes you say things you don’t mean to admit. But he’s always been a good listener.

It’s quiet, other than the hum of your fridge and cars passing by your apartment. Now you’ve done it, haven’t you? Said too much. Weirded him out. Annoyed him. Been too—

“You’re not some random person to me.” He places a hand on your knee.

You look back at him. Even he seems a little surprised by his gesture, but he decides to commit, scooting closer to you.

“I like your company too… I like a lot about you.” His eyes almost avert before he catches himself, staring deeply into your eyes.

Maybe his eyes are a little more blue than grey.

“I’d… never come here with something you couldn’t fix…I wouldn’t do that to you. And I don’t plan on dying here or anywhere else so you don’t gotta worry about that.”

You nod, falling silent.

He’s so close.

Your eyes lower to his lips before averting away. There’s no way you just thought about kissing him. That would be insane, right? But before you can even be embarrassed, he cups your jaw, turning your face to him and kisses you.

You freeze, not fully processing what’s happening. When you stiffen, it scares him and he pulls away.

He lets go of you in a panic, “Sorry- I thought-“

You stop him, taking his wrist, “Don’t- don’t stop…please.” You lean in close again.

Jason cups your jaw again before pressing his lips against yours. And it makes you think, maybe being his personal medic wasn’t so bad.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (arkhamverse)

—

Jason w/ an S/O who has locs (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

SFW, 18+, minors dni, some smut, the reader-insert’s hair is long - some Caribbean-American!Reader as well

Pic source — Batman: Arkham Knight video game & Batman: Arkham Knight - Red Hood Story Pack DLC

Jason first sees you when you're coming out of the corner store, and he might be in a rush, but he remembers your hair: long and full with little naturally formed curls at some of the ends from when he’d knocked into you a little as you were going in and him out.

You’d sucked your teeth and cussed at him a little under your breath, but ultimately didn’t kick up much fuss after his low grunt of an apology.

He’d taken note of the accent, and the voice accompanying it, that had rolled off your tongue when you’d cussed at him though. Which he capitalized on the next time he was in your area of the Alley, recognizing you by your voice enough to strike up a conversation with you even though he’s in the middle of bulldozing through what’s left of the stubborn stranglers of Black Mask’s old operation.

Jason probably shouldn’t be hitting on you, but he doesn’t care and you don’t know any better. He is embarrassingly rusty at regular (non vigilante) socialization and too blunt at times. He’s pretty though, and with his scar relatively covered by the shadows cast by the big hood he slips back over his head part way through your conversation after you start fully watching him, and a little concealer, you don’t question the trouble he might get up to either. He’s able to secure a promise to meet up for coffee after giving you the number of his least incriminating burner like he’s a real boy or something too.

Some of the members of his militia (before they disbanded) that he was closer to had tried urging him to form some kind of life outside of ‘work’, so he figures he’ll at least try something casual with you now.

Eventually he’s been seeing you for long enough that he knows how much he finds your untouched hair and new growth adorable and knows about all the hangups you have with people automatically assuming your hair is dirty when you don’t have a fresh re-twist.

He likes to plant his hands in your hair and scratch at your scalp whenever you’re just chilling when you’ve got new growth best. Your roots are soft like that and he likes maneuvering around the bundles where each of your locs are sectioned off. Plus, how you shiver and press into his touch or bare your neck for him like there isn’t a knife in the sleeve of his motorcycle jacket that could be in his hand in seconds and groan happily is more therapeutic than he’d ever thought something so small could be.

After one long day of your stilted responses Jason comes up to your flat expecting to find you asleep during the last two hours left in the afternoon. What he finds instead is the aftermath of you having worked your ass off that Saturday and you using the last of the sun's rays to your advantage to dry your thick head of hair so your head doesn’t end up smelling like a wet mop at the end of the day.

You’re clearly a little tired when you greet him and Jason is a little shocked at just how much effort you put into your locs and their maintenance.

He’s seen you get ready most other days and do little more than oil your scalp, moisturize your roots, and rub the remaining oil on your palms over the actual length of your locked up hair to tame some of your locs’ fuzziness. The level of work you put into bigger more comprehensive wash days is definitely unexpected for him based on that.

It’s after that that he just asks if he can accompany you when he isn’t busy on your wash days so he isn’t being deprived of you for ‘no good reason’. It’s not too long after that when he asks if he can help you out, especially once he sees you getting ready to strip down for a shower.

Something which is only possible if Jason is comfortable with you seeing the ‘J’ brand carved into his cheek at all.

Acts of service, especially, are what he’s best at when it comes to connecting with you, but he might have to cajole you to agree. Being with you, also, is a reprieve from his skull busting as the Red Hood. A reprieve from the steaming piles of shit he faces every night. He actively cherishes and looks forward to his time with you even if you can’t always tell due to how hard Jason’s grisled face is to read.

Rough as his hands typically are (especially with you sometimes, when you’re hooking up) a part of Jason craves the open excuse he has to be soft with you when dealing with your locs.

He likes the show of trust from you, too, even if he’d hardly even admit that you being so open with him makes his stomach hurt and makes him want to duck his head like a nervous school girl with a crush.

The feeling of you relaxing into him more when his hands are so close to your throat is so overwhelming that first time that he has to grit his teeth so he doesn’t tear up anymore than he already is. He’s not a killer around you, not a mistake or a pawn or one large walking bruise, he’s just Jason; sometimes that can feel like a curse but that day it feels like a gift he won’t ever be worthy of deserving.

Good thing for him that he’s a selfish vindictive bastard and doesn’t care about what the universe thinks. It’s taken enough from him as is, he isn’t looking to defer to it for anything so ridiculous as permission.

You’re nervous and embarrassed as hell about soaking your hair in apple cider vinegar around him for the first time. It’s not just that the smell of diluted vinegar mixture in and of itself makes your nose permanently scrunch until you’re done and has you sneezing for just as long either; you’re detoxing your hair and getting rid of any product and/or dirt buildup, the liquid mixture in the basin won’t exactly be clear afterwards.

Jason doesn’t even give a shit, though, and is mostly just worried about the position of your neck as you’re soaking your locs. He knows it’s only twenty or so minutes but he’s worried anyway, and don’t let you start cracking your neck afterwards either, you’ll send that man into a frenzy.

He gives you a massage afterwards, calloused hands inexperienced and far too touchy for a masseuse, but effective enough to have you moaning. His voice gets low and breathy when you give way to him like this, and Jason ends up nursing a chub for the better part of the rest of your afternoon together.

He’ll do your locs outside if you prefer (so long as there’s shade for him to hide in while you take in enough sun for you both), but mostly you just go outside to let the sun catch the top of your head while you do some work so you don’t have to sit up underneath a dryer or hold a dryer up to your head for way longer than you’d like.

If you are outside though (for whichever reason) Jason always humors the neighborhood kids walking around or playing, even more than you’d initially thought he would. Anyone older who strikes up a conversation with you, too, Jason will passingly interact with, even if he leaves most of the conversation up to you and only really engages with the other person whenever you cue him into the conversation in some way.

He doesn’t tend to look at people head on when they’re actually paying attention to him, and it’s less so from anything like shame and more so because he’s angling his head down so nobody sees the scar, the brand. The gawking pisses him off so he’d rather just avoid it entirely.

Jason is also just fine with being the one to hold your hair dryer up to your head and move your locks around so every bit gets dry the way you need them to.

You help him figure out the direction that your locs twist (either clockwise or counter clockwise) so he doesn’t mess up the strength of your roots by twisting against their natural direction and thinning them out; he follows through with all the rest of your locs immediately.

You can see him contemplating whether or not he’s supposed to take the rat-tail comb to your head in order to retwist your locs before you slip it from his fingers and apply oil to his hands yourself, demonstrate how to palm roll your locs yourself, and then letting him have at it.

Even at his big ass age Jason’s legitimately terrified he might mess up your hair (and of your tears and retribution thereafter) and so he’s paying extra attention, but he also keeps having to rub his palms dry on his pants when you’re going over everything.

You might laugh at him about his nerves a little, but you’ve got a whole very specific and very purposeful hair care routine going on, he’s just trying to concentrate.

Despite how much you tease him for worrying about messing up your hair you still make sure to inspect the first of your locs that he oils and retwists — two mirrors, aerial pictures, and all — just to make absolutely sure he’s really got it.

Jason’s brows climb high up his forehead and he whistles when you pull out the bag you keep all of your hair supplies in.

He still makes sure to note the brands and the unique labels of your hair products just in case he wants to get you some later; he does not want to end up bumbling around the beauty supply store racking his brain for what you use and having to interact with more people than he definitely wants to.

He scoffs a laugh the second he realizes most of the bag’s contents are hair jewelry and beads. You just smile at him.

When one of your relatives sends over homemade coconut oil and you offer him some he nearly passes away he’s so frazzled. You hord that shit like it’s gold, he’s flattered you want to share with him.

He loves the way your hair supplies smell too, though he wasn’t quite ready for the smell of homemade coconut oil.

More often than not Jason will pull you close just to catch a whiff of the products you use. Usually though it’s when your scalp is free of your more heavier products and the natural scent of your scalp is prominent that he’ll stop you in the middle of you walking somewhere or come up behind you when you’re busy to wrap his arms around you and just plant his nose in your scalp for a few moments.

The first time he did this you called him a freak and then laughed so hard you started to hiccup. You love it though.

Jason carries oversized hair ties with him once you start regularly seeing each other in case you need a backup and so that he can put your hair up himself whenever need may be without having to worry about the elastic snapping.

Whenever you’re riding him he prefers for you to leave your hair down and let your locs hang around your head for as long as possible. Loves how you look above him with your hair haloing your ecstasy strewn face and the little curtain of intimacy it gives you two.

How solidly he’s able to fist your hair and pull is something he appreciates about your locs too. If he knows some of your locs are thin or otherwise in recovery he won’t pull on your hair though.

If you’re doing a bigger or more complicated style with your hair he likes to sit and watch you when he can. There’s likely something else he was supposed to be doing too but he can’t help but stop to watch how your lips purse in concentration or your eyes cross as you’re trying to look at the back of your head in the mirror.

He doesn’t typically interfere — and really he couldn’t if he wanted to considering he can barely put your hair into a decent looking ponytail no matter how effective they are at staying in — but if you’re struggling to get a loc in place or to wrap a bundle of your hair and he sees you getting frustrated and tired he’ll move to hold your arms in place to give you a break from holding them up to your head for so long. He might not kiss you but he will rub little circles into the brown of your skin to help ease how your muscles ache.

You get Jason some sympywyby (ie: an aloe plant) as a gift because it’s supposed to be low maintenance and because he’d mentioned certain grounding techniques people used in passing. Given how absentminded he can be, especially if he tells you about being the Red Hood and/or the Arkham Knight, you get him the plant to help ground him. It’s immature when you gift it to him and generally allows him to track the passing of time if he loses himself to the weight of his memories and doesn’t want you coming to visit him just in case he lashes out.

He goes out of his way to harvest some of the plant to make a gel for you to put into your hair. He forgets to cook out the toxins at first and so when you ask him about it and he looks at you blankly you laugh, fondly rolling your eyes with your phone to your ear, and just tell him you’re flattered anyway. The next night he’s got the toxins taken cared of and is brandishing a recycled jar of gel (from a past product you had that ran out) wrapped with a ribbon tied into an absolutely immaculate bow for you to take.

The first time Jason ever sees you put your hair up quick quick while you’re in a rush without a hair tie he squints for a few long beats. You take two-three of your locs and wrap them around the bundle of the rest of your hair in your fist and use those couple of stray locs like a hair tie before probably rushing in to help someone and his first thought is that you’re fucking amazing. His second thought is about why the fuck he’s been buying and carying around special hair ties for you if you could just do that the whole time?!

It’s because you don’t want to put too much tension on your roots, but he doesn’t know that yet.

If you’re putting hair jewelry or beads in your hair he always offers to help if he’s around. He likes helping you and inexplicably feels closer to you whenever he’s winding colorful thread around your locs or beading them or just helping you clip on decorations and jewels attached to spun wire.

When you jingle when you walk due to how much beads or rings you’re wearing in your hair he finds it more comforting than he’d like to admit that he’s able to pinpoint where you are instantly no matter how soft your movement. It’s good, too, knowing that you trust Jason so explicitly that it doesn’t even cross your mind to be worried about the fact that he can find you instantly when you’re around him.

Beads do make it harder for ayo to cuddle the way he likes though, so there is that downside even though he still thinks you’re pretty as fuck. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

The first time you lose a loc around Jason it’s because of stress, you’d been pulling at your roots and worn them thin, and when it just comes off in the middle of the two of you talking you’re so embarrassed you burst into tears right then and there. Jason panics hard and has no option with how incoherent you get through your tears but to fail at reassuring you there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and to throw every method he knows has cheered you up in the past at you until you stop. Breathing exercises are not off the table, and with Jason’s low cadence (even as boyishly overconfident as it could get sometimes) letting him coach you down isn’t too much of a struggle.

If you lose a loc just due to regular tension and traction then the same proceedings on Jason’s end will occur too, don’t worry.

Jason doesn’t hesitate to help you reattach and strengthen your loc(s) to the best of his ability. He’s gentle with your hair, fingers as precise as if he were connecting the wires of a bomb and his demeanor just as serious; his breath steady as it fans over the exposed parts of your scalp.

After he’s finished (and you’ve inspected his work) he pulls you onto his lap and you rest your head over his heart as he carefully massages oil into your scalp and curbs the urge he has to intermittently press kisses to your hairline by instead occasionally ghosting his lips over your hairline while you two talk.

He reassures you everything is honestly fine and when you pull him into an air stealing make-out session in thanks he grips you tighter and sighs into it, completely unphased when your hair knocks softly onto his face in turn. Even when your locs brush over the ‘J’ brand he doesn’t stop, can’t say he hates the feel of them catching against any of his scars in general and he’s got no idea why.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I honestly don’t have much else to say besides that.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[missbliss12]

Hi there! Not sure if my message was eaten by Tumblr. I love your art with Robin and Batman hugging it out against Batman's demons. You said that you have a head canon inspired by multiple comics that Bruce lives with mental illness — coping with symptoms like hallucinations all while trying to make the world a better place. I was wondering what comics those are and what mental illness you think Bruce has? I would love to check them out! Thanks ✨️✨️

Thanks for the ask, anon! And thank you for your kind words on the Batman and Robin mental illness-related art. This is such a compelling topic… here are our personal recommendations for Bruce Wayne and Wayne Family mental health-related comics. We’re sure we’re missing some -- in which case, we’d love to hear folks’ suggestions!

Bruce Wayne mental health-related comics:

-Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth (1989)

-Batman: Ego (2000)

-Batman: Failsafe (2023)

-Batman: The Imposter (2021)

-Batman: Shadow of the Bat/The Last Arkham (1992)

-Dark Nights: Death Metal (2018)

-The Batman Who Laughs (2018)

-The Killing Joke (1988)

-Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #27 — “The Destroyer” storyline (1992)

-Batman: The Brave and the Bold, Vol 2, #4 (2023)

For Wayne Family mental health-related comics: 

-Flashpoint: Batman Knight of Vengeance (2011) – for Thomas and Martha

-Justice League Vol 2, #25 (2014) – for Thomas Jr./Owlman

-Batman and Robin (2009) and The Return of Bruce Wayne (2010) – for Wayne Family in general

Keep reading if you’re okay with being a little spoiled on mostly old comics excerpts. Or if you want to skip ahead to what mental illness(es) we think Bruce has, scroll down to the very end, which is section 6!

Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth (1989)

This is our top recommendation for Bruce and mental illness related comics. It’s disturbing, plumbing the trauma around Bruce’s parents’ deaths, his fear of “sickness”, and how his Gotham villains are symbolic of his own inner demons. It’s also one of the most psychological stories — the other comics have Bruce compromised by injuries/toxins, etc., but this is just plain old bad therapy.

2. Batman: Ego (2000)

Another top recommendation with great art from Darwyn Cooke. Warning: from here on out, Bruce is going to be blurrily “crazy” or compromised by villains — we read any instances where he questions his sanity as opening up readings for mental illness. Here, Bruce hallucinates a Batman who taunts him about his guilt and fear — it’s a fascinating read.

3. Batman: Failsafe (2023)

This is a great comic about Bruce’s self restraint and his view of himself as something dangerous — in his words, “I am a gun.”

4. Batman: The Imposter (2021) - Batman: The Brave and the Bold, Vol 2, #4 (2023)

The other titles continue to explore the perennial threat of Bruce in Arkham, his fear of “sickness,” and we get some talks with Dr. Tompkins in the Imposter title. They’re not as dramatic as the top three recommendations but they continue to push a narrative that Bruce is haunted by (untreated) mental illness.

5. Wayne Family and Mental Illness

Now, in our ideal comics world, we could read the above Bruce-centered comics within the context of the Wayne Family’s struggles with mental health. This isn’t to be biologically essentialist or to say DNA determines destiny. But it would nicely build into the existing canon theme of Bruce wrestling with his family legacy. In this case, he wouldn’t just wrestle with his canonical duty to the city as an inheritor of old money, but also as an inheritor of mental illness.

The Batman and Robin 2009 run goes into detail about Bruce’s devil worshipping ancestors, and the Return of Batman 2010 issues show there are even witch hunters in the bloodline. We recommend reading those comics — you could google titles for Dr. Hurt, the mad first Thomas Wayne (maybe — or he’s a dark god or his father or…). We also highly recommend Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #27, which shows how Bruce’s ancestor, Solomon Wayne, channeled his fear of devilish forces to turn Gotham into a fearsome, gargoyle-filled city. Bruce’s own parents show signs of mental illness in the Flashpoint comics. Said comics cast Thomas Sr. as a cut-throat Batman (making one think of those associations between surgeons and sociopaths) and Martha Wayne as the Joker. It’s what the 2022 Robert Pattinson film references with Martha’s mental illness. Personally, we LOVE the idea that Thomas and Martha have mental illnesses — it gives their philanthropy and their tortured relationship with Gotham so much more complicated depth.

Lastly, there is Thomas Jr., Bruce’s sometimes older brother who almost goads Bruce into murdering their parents in another universe. Thomas Jr. is the evil Owlman or the Boomerang Killer depending on the earth we’re in. Following the logic that there’s some fidelity between universes — it wouldn’t be meaningful to confront an evil alter ego unless they reveal some inner demon you’d been trying to hide — Thomas Jr. brings up some interesting questions about mental illness with the Wayne brothers. We have plans for a story exploring a gothic Wayne Family in which Thomas Jr. and Bruce grew up with a meaningful somewhat horrific childhood relationship — in the meantime, we’d recommend checking out Thomas Jr. in the Forever Evil comics!

6. What Mental Illness(es) Does Bruce Wayne Have?

These comics open doors for reading several mental illnesses into the Wayne Family and Bruce in particular. PTSD certainly comes to mind — schizophrenia has also been name dropped as well as Dissociative Identity Disorder (called “split personalities” in Batman: Ego). Sociopathy is also alluded to, and the Joker taunts Bruce about being attracted to boys in a “sick” queer way.

We think there’s validity to the first few readings — not necessarily the sociopathy or the pedophilia. Personally, we’d like to read and write Batman stories that depict Bruce wrestling with PTSD as well as schizophrenia inherited from his mother. It fits our interests in family dramas, mother-son relationships, and humanizing depictions of female characters with mental illness. Regardless of the mental illnesses a Batman storyteller explores, they can do it in a nuanced and sensitive way. That’s not, admittedly, the MO in a lot of sensationalist and often ableist comics. But Bruce Wayne is a character who especially invites readings of mental illness — and showing him cope with mental illness while being a hardworking and empathetic hero could be inspiring for many readers, including us. That’s why we’re working on more Bruce Wayne, hero with mental illness-related stories and art we’re hoping to share soon!

Hope we could offer a few titles you haven’t read or re-read yet, anon! And thanks again for reaching out — we love getting messages from y’all about comics/media. Again, if anyone else has recommendations for Batman mental-illness related stories, feel free to comment or send a message!

[marks-bby]

ARKHAM KNIGHT THOUGHT

the lock pick in your hand fumbles and falls out of your palm as you crouch in front of the last door until you saw freedom. "what are you doing, little bunny?" you freeze, your whole body suddenly not being able to move.

the heavy footsteps creep up on you. "i know my little bunny didn't want to leave me, did she?" he stops behind you. you slowly turn around, worried as you see a mini group of militia behind him. the arkham knight eyes the lockpick by your feet before picking it up, twirling it around in his fingers as he examines it.

"where did you get this, bunny?" he turns his head to you, his mask concealing his face. "answer me!" "i-i found it in one of the vents." you stutter. "one of my past bunnies must've left it." he pushes it in one of his many pockets, his attention on you again. "i'm feeling generous. don't disobey me again and we'll have a good day." he pulls you onto your feet again by your chin, his gloved index finger curled under your head.

"i have a meeting soon. i don't trust you to be on your own so you're coming with me." you looked down at your attire. you were wearing a red and black oversized sweater with some black socks. you weren't ready for a meeting. "i-i'm not wearing any good clothes." 'it'll do." he yanks you by your arm close to him.

"do we understand the basis of the mission?" the arkham knight's booming voice sounds throughout the whole room. the militia's eyes were all on you. the arkham knight was known for making abrupt decisions but him bringing you was unpredictable.

your plump ass was fit perfectly on his crotch. every time you tried to adjust your bare thighs on his rough military pants, you could feel his cock hardening. "i'm tired of you teasing me." he seethes in your ear before lifting the bottom of your sweater up to your waist. you hated that he never provided you with underwear. you were always walking around the quarters without any panties. but he loved it. he could take you whenever-wherever and no one could say anything.

he didn't care of how obvious he was being with you. he was so quick to pull out his cock from his fly before bending you over, plunging in you. "you see this?" he chuckles as he hears you whine. "this little bunny has tried to escape. we don't want that. do we, boys?" the room fills with 'no's. the arkham knight grips your waist as you grip his arms, needing to hold something as he abused your cunt in front of his soldiers.

"she's mine. if any of you touch her-shit!" he groans, throwing his head back as he slaps your ass. " you're 's fucking tight." he laughs before continuing his sentence. "if any of you touch her without my permission, i'll kill you." he pulls his gun from his side holder, pointing it around the room.

then his attention averts back to you. he would never admit to anyone but he's growing fond of you. every time he took you, he secretly took notes of what sent shivers down your spine, what made your walls flutter around his length. he yearned to make you feel good during intimate acts. so for you leave him after falling for you left a sick taste in his mouth. "say you love me." he begins to thrust harder. "you're-" he seethes, "you're all dismissed." he had taken notice of his men palming themselves at the sight of him taking you apart.

the men beeline out of the meeting room. most likely rushing to their bunkers to relieve themselves, storing this moment in their spank bank. "say it." his mask was now fully off, the 'J' scar saying hello to you. "i love you..." you moan. you felt a ring of arousal around the base of his cock as you both release, streams of hot white cum painting your walls. "kiss me." he pants. he couldn't get enough of you. he was insatiable.

he shoves his tongue down your mouth, the tip of his tongue not letting any part of your mouth be undiscovered. "you're not leaving me. i'm making sure of it." he pants, putting your cheek as he sees you drift off. "understand me?" you nod, your eyelids heavy. "good. 'cause fucking love you." he huffs, rubbing your ass before pulling out.

[moonlit-imagines]

No One’s Sidekick

Jason Todd x teen!reader

warnings: needles and guns and death mentions ya know

a/n: ok i was gonna do headcanons for this but honestly it sparked a lot of inspiration so im actually writing a oneshot for it this is a ONE IN A MILLION CHANCE bc im very picky about when to write oneshots ily. might do hcs also just cuz arkham knight is my passion. (honestly i should have just done hcs idk if i like where i went with this LMAO)

prompt: anonymous: “hi idk if you write Arkham Jason Todd but if if you do is it possible if you can do a Arkham Jason Todd x fem teen reader and reader is his sidekick”

Imagine a life where you had nothing, you were the lowest anyone could go, and you were just a kid. Now imagine that there was someone standing in front of you, telling that same story, and offering you a chance to turn it all around because they knew how it felt to be you.

That someone was Jason Todd. You found each other by chance, somewhere in the Gotham slums. He walked past you down a dimly lit alley full of used needles and rotting trash, noticing a kid just a few years younger hiding from the world. You noticed a guy in a hoodie hiding a nasty scar on his cheek.

He reached out a hand, hoping you’d take it. He saw a look in your eyes that you’d been like this a while. And you might have noticed the same in his. Which is why after trusting nobody for years, you took this stranger’s hand. “I remember when I was a kid waiting in shitty places woth the hope someday it’d change. And it did one day. Someone found me and changed my life.” He explained after buying you a burger and fries.

“Was it for the better?” You asked him with a mouthful of food.

“I don’t know anymore.” He looked shaken himself, and you could tell by the bags under his eyes this may have been a subject that kept him up at night, maybe took up his waking moments, too. “How long have you been alone?”

“Practically forever. Every once in a while I felt like I was on steady ground and then…something always happens.” You sighed, taking a sip of your soda. “But I learned how to get by on my own. I had to. And I have to protect myself.” Jason raised a brow.

“You protect yourself yet you’re willing to go off with a stranger?” He asked, giving you a warm smile.

“Jason, right?” He nodded at the question. “Jason Todd?” His expression dropped. Before he could stammer out a response, you leaned back on your side of the booth and said, “everyone around here knows you one way or another, but everyone thought you were dead after you disappeared.”

“Did you know who I was when you came here with me?” Jason spoke lowly.

“Nope.” You flatly responded. “But I figured it out along the way. You used to live in my building when I was a kid, I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

“3B?” He asked.

“That’s the one. You remember?” You smiled.

“I remember a scared little kid with dirt all over their face no matter what time of day.” You both chuckled. “Wow, it’s been a long time. I guess I’m glad we ran into each other.”

“It’s nice. I just don’t know where to go from here.” You took the last few bites from your meal, averting your eyes from his gaze, nervous for what was to come, but also hopeful. At this point, you didn’t care what you did or where you went, as long as you had some kind of purpose. Spending your youth in sleeping in wet boxes or crashing on a sunken-in, stained couch was no longer something you could stand doing.

“I had an idea. A while ago. But I just didn’t know how to go about it.” He revealed with a long pause, mustering up better details to share. “I dont know. It sounds crazy, but maybe not anymore.”

“Can you get to the point?” You tilted your head, eager for a bit more.

“Yeah, yeah…” He gulped. “I talked to this guy, it was after some really bad shit went down,” he brushed his scarred cheek, “this high-profile assassin wanted to train me—work with me. There are some demons I have to face, but I need some help to get ready.” You stared blankly for a minute, fingernail scratching the tabletop as you thought about his words. “It’s out of the country, somewhere in South America.”

“You’re crazy.” You stated. “I’m in.” Jason’s eyes widened. “Anything to get me out of Gotham. And you’re Jason Todd, I’d trust you with my life, even after all this time.” His expression softened and he kind of chuckled, in disbelief of you and himself.

“I—I guess I gotta go make a call.” Jason knocked his hand on the table. “Go ahead and order dessert, I’ll be back in a few.” He stepped out the front door and opened his phone, scrolling down to a contact labeled “S. Wilson.” It rang twice. “I’m in, and one more will be joining us.”

“I’ll make the arrangements for your travels, stay on the line.” Said Slade, there were faint keyboard clicks. “I have a private jet that awaits you at eight a.m. tomorrow. I will send you the address, don’t be late.” The phonecall ended abruptly and Jason went back to your table, finding you eating a slice of pie.

“Tomorrow morning we get to fly in a private jet.” Jason saw your face light up. “Never been?”

—————

Venezuela was incredible to you, even if it was a bit more humid than you were used to. On the plane ride, Jason told you everything. He didn’t spare one detail, he didn’t care. You were another Gotham City orphan with a dark past and a bright future. You two were ready for anything.

It was grueling. It was incredible. It was nothing you’d experienced before. Which was terrifying. But invigorating. You could tell Jason felt right back in his element, but you were desperately trying to catch up. He’d had much training before this, relevant to the current situation. You’re training went as far as standard Gotham Slums scuffling. Your skills included switchblade maneuvers, aiming for the crotch, running from trouble and climbing from trouble. Nothing like this ever seemed possible for you. But Jason knew what it felt like to be brought from your level to his. And as Deathstroke brought Jason to his level, he’d make sure you’d catch up.

—————

“I think you two are ready.” Slade announced as both of you stood before him. Straight backs, eyes forward, and arms behind your backs. “The plan is to be enacted soon, and you,” he turned his attention to Jason, “it’s up to you what we do from here. Gotham City finally meets its match?” He suggested. Jason nodded his head once and you followed. And so it began, the planning phase.

—————

You looked at Gotham from down below. Smaller than you remembered. The whirring of the helicopter blades lulled you away from reality for a few moments before Jason tapped you, motioning for you to come up front with him. You slid your headset on and heard him begin barking orders at the militia before setting your comms to private. “How’s it feel?” Jason asked you.

“I don’t know, actually.” You replied, doing a final check to make sure your guns were loaded and secured. “What about you?”

“It feels like I’m finally getting my revenge.” His voice modulator sent a chill down your spine and you soon landed in Gotham. The plan went off without a hitch. Gotham evacuated, scum running loose, Batman distracted, and his allies scattered. It was exciting, but something was off. Scarecrow’s plan didn’t sit well with you. It was gruesome, even to you. You never really cared about anyone but yourself, but as Jason lost his humanity, you gained it. “I’ve got your back, y/n. You got mine?”

“Always, Knight.” He chuckled as the chopper began to descend. “Let’s kill the Batman.”

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @deanzboyfriend //

[fancyfeathers]

Hello Fancy!

This is my first time requesting something and tour work is so amazing! I saw that you were still taking requests for the Villian AU and I had a few things I was wondering if you could do/anwser.

The first one is how or what would happen to Dick's darling if Dick were to escape from Arkham Asylum? Would he be able to get his darling back and keep them from Bruce forever? I was wondering how that situation would go down.

The second is basically the same as the first, but with Damian's darling. How would he react if his darling was not only was able to get away from him, the heir to the League of Assassins, but goes straight back into being Robin (or working with Barbara in the paralyzed case)? If he were to get his darling back, just how crazy and possibly violent would he get with his threats and actions after the running away?

The last one is say Bruce died or didn't, but how would life for each of the darlings look like in the future? Kids? Married? No legs to run away with?

I loved the Pomegranate story for Damian. It was written so well and don't worry about the content being different then normal, I think it added to the story in that case.

So sorry that this is so much, but as I said above, your writing is literally so amazing! ❤️

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU

Honestly it is not a matter if Dick would escape from Arkham it is when he escapes from Arkham Asylum, when he does it is a whole mess, half of the patients dead because Dick knew what they have done and deemed them not worthy of simply living, they gave up their chance for life.

But the answer is no, maybe he manages to kidnap her for a few days and he has come close to killing Bruce once or twice over the years and getting to keep her, but either time one of her sisters were there to save them.

But after a while he would really succeed when he got Tim’s help, because the circus Dick took over is known to have worked with the Court of Owls in the past. I imagine that in this AU his darling’s day job would be something like a ballerina since her persona of Dove is the equivalent of Nightwing in this universe.

So with the help of Tim there would be a silent purchase and chance of management at the theater she works at and after months of no one meeting or even seeing the new owner she gets suspicious. So after a late rehearsal one night and she is about to go to her locker where she has her suit in her duffle bag, she finds that it is gone…

“Looking for something, baby?”

She turns around and sees Dick standing there holding her suit in one hand and the tracker that Bruce had on it in the other. She isn’t so strong without her gear, not when the playing ground isn’t in her favor. It really doesn’t take that long for him to subdue her and knock her out along with throwing the tracker into the river so it would at least slow Batman down if not loose his only lead. He keeps her in the attic of the theater and for those who have never worked in a really old theater, those things are so hard to access and so hard to get out of, you could scream at the top of your lungs and no one would hear you. So when she’s locked up and high on drugs to keep her not fully aware it’s impossible to get out, but then again she is nice and safe up there, away from anyone who would want to hurt her…

She most I could see her up there is maybe a year, a year and a half, because in the Arkham Knight game, Bruce couldn’t find Jason at all for the two years he was tortured. So by the time Bruce finds her, she just starts crying, because while for a captive, she was treated incredibly well, she hadn’t seen anyone besides Dick for over a year and even then she wasn’t even lucid enough most of the time to know what was happening.

(I also love the idea of in her vigilante costume, Dick’s darling wears ballet shoes, kinda like Spidergwen)

Now with Damian, he is absolutely enraged because the moment he turns his back, one of her sisters and or Batman shows up and rescues his darling, so he just comes back to a compound of unconscious assassins and hearing that his darling has been spotted back in Gotham again.

Now if his darling goes back to being Robin then he decides just to grab her while she is still getting back on her feet, but little does he know that she is a visual learner, so all the training he did with the League of Assassins that she saw, she knows, so she actually manages to hold him off until Batwoman, Kate Kane, comes to rescue her. So he is absolutely pissed off, so when he gets his hands on her again he is far from gentle, achilles tendons are slashed and he makes good on his first promise to her, cutting out her tongue. So when she is taken back by him, she is completely reliant on him to survive, if she needs something she just has to wait for him to give it to her, if she wants something then oh well, she lost the right to what she wants when she ran away.

Now after awhile, and I mean around a few months of good behavior, he may find it in his heart to lay his darling in a Lazarus Pit so her injuries will completely heal, but that’s only because he misses the sound of her voice and he has deemed that her punishment has gone on long enough…

Well he says that, but the truth is he was lonely without the person she once was.

“Don’t pretend that you were actually useful to them, I have seen the way he looks at you after you messed up, but that is one thing we both have in common, we are the Batman’s biggest mistakes.”

Now if his darling is paralyzed from the waist down, he is far more forgiving if you can call it that. At least she is not pretending to be a hero and like she is actually useful, Damian just knocks out Barbara when they are in the clocktower one night before knocking her out and wrapping his darling up in a blanket he brought like a little baby, then when she wakes up she is back at square one.

Now I don’t know exactly where each darling will end up, but I do think that if Bruce died then Batwoman, Huntress, Spoiler, Orphan, Signal, and all the other vigilantes on Gotham would look after the girls a bit more…

Like I imagine that Dick’s darling is very good friends with the Huntress, so those two team up together more and Helena is always looking over the first Robin. Dick’s darling may get more reckless without Bruce and that will probably end up with her getting kidnapped and no one hearing from her again and without Batman they can’t find her…

Jason’s darling would decide to put up the suit for good and just focus on school and she would almost graduate, but being in the wrong place at the same time has sort of become her thing and she gets kidnapped with the intention of being organ trafficked if it wasn’t Jason recognizing her unconscious body. It’s really a shame, she would have made such a good lawyer.

Tim’s darling is able to go on as normal for a while, after all it is what Bruce would have wanted, but then one day she literally just vanishes into thin air, she was sitting in her room at the manor, working on an art piece and Alfred checked up on her one minute and when he went back she was gone and the window was left open. Everyone searched for her all over the city, but no one could find her, little do they know that she is stuck wandering the Court of Owl’s labyrinth until her mind gives out and she is left broken and ready for Tim to piece back together how ever he would like.

Damian’s darling is the one I probably thought about the most, when Bruce dies, she goes and becomes Batgirl and becomes the sidekick of Kate Kane. Then if by some miracle she manages to avoid the League of Assassins with what she learned then one day, Kate sits her down and hands her a box with the Batwoman suit inside. She is now the new Batwoman.

I imagine with that she not only picks up the mantle of Batwoman but the empty space Bruce left behind in Gotham, becoming the city’s main protector. With all of her sisters missing she is alone and more closed off than when she was younger.

But she never did cut off the head of her own snake.

Her conflicts with Damian on grow more and more when he takes his grandfather’s place as the leader of the League of Assassins. She wasn’t as strong as Bruce was and she knows that, so even though she is able to hold her own in against against Damian, she never will be able to win…

Someone would be surprised how little pressure it takes to break someone’s spine.

[thesandsofelsweyr]

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 3/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

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

《WORDS》 1,484 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

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

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

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

《NOTES》

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

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Take care of yourself, Jason.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

A Glass City

Part Four of A Gilded Cage ~2k Words

You can't remember the last time you cried like this. The plush leather muffles your sobs, but it does nothing to loosen the tightness in your throat, to offer any relief from the reality of your situation.

You had been blind, entranced by the fact that Jason Todd was alive and filling your days with distractions that you had missed one simple truth. Jason Todd is the Arkham Knight, and you know nothing about what that's turned him into.

The cuff around your ankle weighs heavy, a cold, unyielding reminder to the fact that you're trapped. You've been trapped since he snatched you to that forsaken penthouse. It draws more tears from your eyes until you have none left to cry, leaving you a shaky, gasping mess of heartbreak and terror.

It's that very fear, the urge to get away, that drives you to mechanically push yourself up. Sobbing has left you feeling drained.

Your head hurts, every breath is a battle, and you have half a mind to blow your nose on the stupid throw pillow lying haphazardly on the couch. It's with shaky hands that you examine the golden chain securing you to the leg of the couch.

Despite its shiny, lavish appearance, it's well made. No amount of tugging seems to bend the metal, and the cuff latched around your ankle seems equally as sturdy. It's frustrating, and your fear starts to morph into anger with every pull of the chain.

It's humiliating. You doubt you could escape his base even if you had the opportunity to try, and the chain? It just feels like a twisted claim over you.

You rub hands down your face and towards your throat, exhaustion and fury warring in your mind as you try to calm yourself. The motion causes your nails to catch on the diamond choker. The collar.

Another way he tried to keep you. Disgust wells in your throat. How did it get this far? Where did you start to lose yourself? Start to lose him?

It's thoughtless, when you curl your fingers around the piece of jewelry and rip it from your throat, throwing it across the room and as far away from you as possible. You hope it's broken. Hope something in this room is more shattered than you.

You don't react to the knock on the door, but you do lift your head when it opens. There's a hiss, and you watch Bean dig his claws into Mack's arm before jumping to the ground and rushing to you.

Bean purrs as soon as he starts to nuzzle your ankles, and you almost want to cry all over again when you pick him up to clutch him to your chest.

"The boss wanted to make sure you got him," Mack grumbles, seemingly more interested in the diamonds scattered on the floor than the redness in your eyes.

"Where is he," You bite out, or try to bite out. Crying has made your voice raw and scratchy, but even if it hadn't, you doubt it would have threatened Mack anyway.

"Busy," he answers bluntly, "Need anything else?"

You stare him down sharply, Mack might not be your friend, but he has been guarding you for as long as you've been under Jason's thumb. If anything, he should at least show you some sympathy.

"The key for this," You huff out, lifting your leg to show off the chain, "And a phone." Bean meows, and you take it as agreement as you try to hide your jittery nerves. Mack finally meets your gaze, jaw clenching and unclenching as he studies your defiant gaze.

"I don't have the key," he says eventually, "and giving you a phone is asking for trouble."

You lift your chin, exuding confidence over the militia man you don't necessarily feel, "Aren't you supposed to give me what I want?"

Mack exhales softly, slowly, and you have a feeling being assigned to babysit you is not how he imagined taking over Gotham would be. He shoves his hand into his pocket, and tugs out what's clearly a cheap burner phone. He tosses it to you, doesn't even blink when you barely manage to catch it with one hand.

"Two minutes," he warns you as he steps out the door and nods towards the chain, "Just long enough for me to find something to pick that lock with, understand?"

You breathe out a thank you when he's already out the door. Huh. Maybe Mack does like you more than you thought. You file that away for later, putting Bean down in your lap as you carefully type out a number you've had memorized since the day Jason disappeared.

Nine digits. Your last lifeline. The clock tower. Babs.

The phone rings. And rings. You've nearly given up hope, your breathing getting shallower, more panicked, when the line finally connects.

"Oracle– don't hang up– please–" You start. You don't know what to say, you don't even know where you are, but she'll know what to do. She has to.

But it's not Oracle's familiar voice that comes over the phone. No. It's the sound of your name that cuts you off, said through the low, robotic modulator that lives in your dreams.

It makes your blood go cold. It's impossible. You dialed the right number– "How–" You choke out, defeat settling on your shoulders.

The Arkham Knight laughs, an easy, bored sound, "Oracle and I are having a reunion, sweet thing. I would have brought you if I thought you'd play nice."

"I wanna talk to her," you stumble out, eyes darting to Bean as he cuddles into your stomach, seemingly picking up on your anxiety.

"She's busy," he tells you lazily, and you hear the sound of something falling over in the background of the call, "Anything else?"

"I want to go outside–" You try instead, pulling whatever you can think of to hold his attention, to try and give Babs a chance. (If she's even still alive)

He hums like he has all the time in the world to draw the call out, "Mhm, now's a bad time to be out, doll. But you can walk around the base. Sound fair?"

"The chain," You force yourself to choke out instead, "I want it off. I can't– walk if it's on." Bean meows and licks your fingers, it almost steadies the beat of your heart.

He falls quiet for a moment, and the modulator sounds in your ear like he's letting out a sigh. "I shouldn't have– I wasn't trying to scare you earlier. You just needed to be safe."

Another crash sounds in the back of the call. "Someone will take it off," he says your name again, voice no longer the shadow of a laugh, "I need to go. Don't call this number again."

The line goes silent, and you realize you've accomplished nothing at all. Jason's either killed or kidnapped Barabra, and you're no closer to escaping than before.

It's almost terrifying. Jason– The Arkham Knight– is capable of winning whatever war he's waging. He is winning the battles he's picked. And you don't know where that'll leave Gotham, where it'll leave you.

You're still staring blankly at the phone when Mack returns. Neither of you says anything as he crouches at your side and works on the cuff around your ankle. It doesn't take long, but when the golden metal hits the ground, you don't feel any lighter. Jason can win, has planned to win, and everyone will suffer for it.

Mack straightens himself out, and carefully takes the phone from your hand, "C'mon. I'll give you the tour."

"Why," You ask quietly, and lift Bean to cuddle him close to your chest, "Why are you bothering?"

Mack shrugs like it's obvious, "It's part of the job." He doesn't elaborate, and you don't ask for the truth, as you push yourself to your feet to follow him out the door.

Mack leads you down a hall, and when it opens up to what seems to be a hanger, you're left in awe. Now that you're not lost in your own panic, you can see just how impressive the base is. Rows of drones, trucks and tanks, groups of soldiers, and helicopters take up the massive space.

It makes it clear how much of an operation this is, how much Jason has prepared for this night. It nearly takes your breath away. How can anyone go up against him? How could the city survive this? How could you even dream of getting away?

A couple of the men look your way, but they're quick to avert their gaze when Mack levels them with a look. Bean seems just as enthralled with the scenery, and he crawls his way up your arm to sit on your shoulder.

You settle on the sight of crates and crates of weapons, "Can I get a closer look?"

"At the guns," Mack asks, tilting his head at you. He gives you a look like he's picking apart your entire plan when you nod. (Which you find funny, because you don't exactly have a plan yet.)

"There's a range we can use," he relents, leading you away from the hanger and deeper into the base. You're not sure if he's doing this because he feels bad for you, or if you really can get away with whatever you want. But it's hardly the time to complain about his easy compliance.

The range he takes you to is nice. At least you think it is, it's not exactly your area of expertise. There's a skylight, some targets, and more weapons than you've ever seen in one place. You feel like maybe grenades shouldn't be among the choices, but Mack doesn't say anything as you look over each option.

Bean nuzzles your ear as you trace your fingers over what looks like a rocket launcher. You're scrambling a little. This could be your only chance to get away, and you don't have a clue what to do.

Grab a gun and threaten your way out with a kitten on your shoulder? Shoot out a window and hope for the best when you try to run? Try and knock out Mack and pray no one notices you when you try to sneak out?

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice the shadow that falls over the skylight. But you do notice when glass shatters down a few feet from where you're standing. And you definitely notice Nightwing dropping down to hit Mack in the back of the head.

Nightwing smiles at you, a pleased, proud sort of thing, and you stumble towards him like he's your last lifeline.

"Orcale is–" You begin, needing to share what The Arkham Knight has done, even if you aren't sure what's happened.

Nightwings smile falls, and he nods, outstretching his hand to you, "I know. Let's get you out of here."

"You know," you ask, voice going weak as you tuck Bean against your chest. It makes sense that he does, but your nerves feel like they're on fire, and you half expect Jason to appear from nowhere to drag you back to that chain.

Nightwing nods, voice soothing, "I know," he tells you, carefully pulling you to his side to shoot a grappling hook through the broken skylight.

Your feet hit the rooftop, but even still, it feels like you're flying. The air is cold, and Gotham is silent and screaming all at once. But you're free.

There's no Jason charging at you, no glittering collar around your neck. Just you, Bean, and the vigilante leading you towards safety.

"Where are we going," You breathe out, disbelief clear in your voice.

"There's– somewhere safe," he murmurs, guiding you through the shadows, "Robin's going to look after you."

"Oh," You mumble, following him step for step until he's helping you onto a motorcycle.

Helicopter blades sound in the air, as you hook your arms around Nightwings back. There's gunshots somewhere in the distance and muffled shouts lost to the wind.

You don't look back, you don't dare to, but it doesn't stop the chills that run down your spine as the bikes engine rev. It doesn't stop the feeling that if you did look back, you'd see The Arkham Knight and his heavy gaze digging into your soul.

[writers-wrongs]

Have you seen Arkham Knight VR? Riddler's self-aware in it! Could have some existential horror potential if you wrote headcanons or something for that version of him as a yandere >:-D (or just about self-aware Eddie from the mainline games...?)

as a ddlc fan, i love self aware game characters. and if anyone in arkham knight was gonna be sentient, itd be him. unfortunately, i havent seen AKVR, so this is just regular arkham knight

yandere!self aware!arkham!riddler x gn!reader

-edwards the most intelligent man in gotham, of course he noticed that his life was a game. and over time, he learned how to manipulate the game around him and "see" into the outside world

-the disc hes on was sold by the original owner, and now gets passed from person to person from secondhand game shops. the disc is always returned because somethings wrong with it. nobody puts two and two together and realizes they only start having game issues when they look up answers to the riddles

-then you buy the disc. edward is mildly interested in you, as he is with everyone who buys his game, but he assumes it wont last when you struggle with his riddles. whatever, at least he can enjoy messing around with your game

-but then you dont look anything up. he watches you intently, he even hacks onto your phone to check if youve been searching answers, and youre all clear. sure, you struggle at some of his puzzles (who doesnt?), but you never cave and look up how to solve it, no matter how long it takes you

-now that hes poking around on your phone, he sees that youre kind of a shut in. you dont have many contacts, and the one social media you have is tumblr. but it looks like you fixate on him a lot, almost to an unhealthy degree. its flattering- of course someone as excellent as him deserves sycophants! and he especially deserves one as devoted as you! youre smart, and determined, and oh lord, hes in love

-you have things to do during the day, you cant spend all your time with him on the disc, so he listens in on you from your phone. theres not much to do when youre not playing the game, so its his favorite way to pass the time. when you get home and start playing, he tries to interest you in his sidequest over everything else. he even keeps an eye on you as you sleep! he has to make sure youre safe, after all

-when youre not playing, he focuses on finding a way out to you (or bringing you in to him). he needs to be able to hold you, to keep you safe himself, and if he has to drag you kicking and screaming into the game with him, he will. not that he really knows how to do that, but he'll figure out something

-on your end, you dont notice anything at first. maybe his lines when you play are a little... flirtier? but other than that, the game is fun. you feel particularly drawn to the riddler sidequest, hes your favorite character after all. then, you notice that his lines are strangely specified to you, making references to your interests and personal life. maybe its just reading your console? yeah, a fun little meta thing!

-but then it gets concerning. he calls you by name. not the name on your console, your real name. hes talking like he knows you as a person. hes saying how much he needs you, how much he adores your dedication to his riddles, your dedication to him. you decide this is too weird, you have to return the game. so you go to take it out, and-

-you wake up in what looks like the abandoned orphanage from arkham knight. you try to move, but you feel arms squeeze you tight

-"there you are, my dear player. we're going to have so much fun together"