#stbotdi anniversary special

[summercourtship]

81 and 28 with jonathan and reader, if its not too much trouble? maybe it would take place after he’d found out she had slept with edward. sort of one-off, not really canon type thing. thank you for all you do <333

So I'm gonna combine this with this other request because they're pretty similar and they work very well together. and I gotta let y'all know that you will get some jealous/possessive jonathan in the actual STBOTDI canon. and thank you!!!!!!! <3

warnings: possessive behavior, some infantilizing and degrading language, rough sex, minimal proofreading lol | word count: 998 words

stbotdi anniversary special

Of course Jonathan would find out. 

Arkham was colder than usual. Maybe it was the weight of his icy stare as he looked over his glasses at you, or the way his stance was carefully composed as he leaned against his desk with his arms crossed. Maybe it was the way the door of his office loomed behind you, closed shut and an impassive obstacle to escaping this confrontation. The only way out is through, right? But that thought wasn’t as comforting right now as it usually was. 

“How long have you been sleeping with Nashton?” 

You blinked at him, the question taking you aback before you realized that it really shouldn't surprise you. Why wouldn’t Jonathan know about your tryst? 

You could tell him the truth, easily. It was a one time thing, it was an act of desperation. But your conflicted feelings about Edward kept you from believing those words yourself. So you said even more unbelievable ones, the excuse no one ever got away with.

“We’re just friends.” 

Jonathan narrowed his eyes slightly at you, his head twitching to the side for a moment before it righted itself. 

“...Just friends.” He repeated, weighing each word on his tongue carefully. He spoke like he was putting your words on display to show you just how foolish they were. He pushed himself away from the desk, slowly stalking closer to you before he started to speak again. “You know what I think?”

With each step he took towards you, you took one back until he had pushed you back to the wall. When you had nowhere left to go, only able to look at him and plead with your eyes for mercy, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I think you’re a desperate little girl who spread her legs for the first man to look her way.” Heat crept across your face at the degrading words, but more frustratingly, you felt the familiar twinge of arousal in your core. “This one just happened to be a felon.” 

“No-” You tried, weakly, to protest his accusations, to push back against his harsh words. But it was too late, Jonathan’s hands caressing your body until they came to rest on your waist, his touch effectively cutting your thoughts off. 

“I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”   

With  his hands gripping your waist, he flipped you around so you faced the wall. Your hands flew up to brace yourself against it, and with a press of his hand on your back you leaned forward, pressing your cheek against the cold cement block. Your body was malleable to his whims. He nudged your legs apart with his foot, using his hands to pull up the skirt you’d decided at last minute to wear to work. (Whether that was a lucky or unlucky choice was yet to be seen.) 

His fingers found their way to the top of your tights, gripping the elastic and pulling it down. You noted that he wasn’t being rough enough in his movements to rip the delicate fabric. You doubted this was because he was actually being careful with your body, but rather so you could continue to work once he was done taking out his frustrations on you. 

When your underwear was finally exposed to him, your tights bunched around your ankles like a makeshift restraint, he pulled that down too without bothering to feel if your arousal had soaked through. It was clear he wasn’t planning on taking his time with you. 

Jonathan’s hands caressed the skin of your ass, gripping hard for a second before he slipped one of his hands between your legs, his fingers sliding through your folds until they brushed against your clit. You inhaled sharply, but he pulled his fingers away, wiping them on the skin of your thigh. 

You didn’t open your eyes, content to keep them closed with your cheek pressed against the wall, even as you could hear him pulling himself out of his pants a second before the tip of his cock pressed against your opening. He thrust slightly, just enough to rest the head inside of you, stretching you but not enough to deliver any relief from the desire running through your veins. 

Jonathan lingered there for a moment, as if he could tell that you desperately wanted to push back onto him but were waiting for him to make the first move. He was letting you wonder if he was going to drag this out or if he was going to press forward and finally fuck you after months of you holding out on him. 

Then, like he was done making you question him and with little teasing, he began to push into you, faster than you were expecting, your eyes flying open and eyebrows furrowing at the intrusion. Without giving you any time to fully adjust to his size, Jonathan pulled back out and slammed right back into you, his length dragging against you and the head of his cock hitting you in a way that forced a whine from your lips, though you tried to hold it back by clenching your teeth. 

You were at war with yourself- a fight between the desire to acknowledge that the way his cock filled you so perfectly right now was quenching a fire that had burned with no recourse for months and the knowledge that if you gave into him, you’d never escape again. But each thrust, each brush of his fingers against your clit weathered your ability to resist giving into him completely. 

Then he delivered the final blow to your resolve, leaning forward to hiss in your ear after a particularly hard thrust: “I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget about anyone but me.” 

And you realize, against the dull pain of his grip on your waist and the rough scratch of the wall against your face as he held you still, that you might have fucked up. 

[summercourtship]

To celebrate the anniversary of Stay to Burn (Only to Drown Instead)’s first chapter, I’m taking requests from this list of prompts for the next week!

They’ll be short (under 1000 words) and must be for one of the STBOTDI guys (Bruce, Jonathan, or Edward). However, you can specify the scenario as much as you want and it doesn’t necessarily need to be in the STBOTDI universe. You can be as creative as you want lol. These aren’t canon either way, just for funsies. Also, even though these are smut prompts, I can't guarentee that the piece will be super smutty or hot lol. You know me, I like the build-up more anyway.

[summercourtship]

I have almost 2k words of a cooper howard/reader thing written that i need to get out of my system

[summercourtship]

Hiii, I love your work!

Could I request something like prompt 96 (“You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”) and expanding on Jonathan being very excited about the reader being his patient at the asylum 😳

Thank you!  Okay, so what I imagine happened here was that Jonathan managed to get her committed to the asylum after the whole ‘helping Edward escape and keeping him in her apartment and also stealing medical records’. Does it make sense that she’d be committed? Not really, but this is also Gotham and he’s also very persuasive (see: Batman Begins). This backstory doesn’t matter but I like to have it. Tbh might have to expand this bc I’m obsessed with this (not me thinking about writing an AU of my own gd fic)

Warnings: dubcon, obvious power imbalance, restraints, possessive behavior, a solid mature rating. minimal proofreading.

stbotdi anniversary special

 Jonathan watched from outside of the cell, his face carefully composed and expressionless as he looked through the small window into the derelict room. Any passing nurse or orderly would think he was just observing the patient inside, doing his duty before deciding on her treatment. After all, her transition into the asylum had been shaky and he was her doctor. Not that any nurses or orderelies would be passing by her room, anyway.

Bracing himself, he entered the cell. 

At the slow metal creak of the door opening, her head lifted up off the bed, taking in his appearance for a second before her expression twisted into a snarl, her teeth bared. 

“Get me out of here.” She was carefully still now, though he knew her mind was almost entirely preoccupied with the restraints on her wrists and ankles keeping her virtually immobile. But she was being a good girl, staying still and trying to show that she could be trusted enough to be untied. He sighed her name, looking down towards the thin folder he had clasped in his arms which was labeled with her name and patient number.

“You committed some pretty heinous crimes-”

“Heinous, my ass.” She spat, dropping her head back on the flat mattress with a dull thud. “You know I don’t belong here, Jon-”

“Dr. Crane.” 

“Fuck you.” 

She’s lashing out like a fox with its foot caught in a trap. 

Jonathan blinked once at her, letting silence fall over the tiny cell again until the only sound was the slight hissing from the rusty pipes that ran along the ceiling. With his eyes, he traced the lines of the pipes around the room, his head tilted back so he wasn’t looking at her when he spoke. A perfected imitation of distraction, one that worked all too well on her. 

“You look a bit tied up right now, I’ll come back later-” He turned, lingering at the door handle and counting down the seconds until-

“Wait!” He looked back over her shoulder at her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of completely turning around. She was struggling against her restraints again. He preened at the fact that even though she hated him- but only in that moment, she’d come back around to her infatuation- she was desperate to keep him in the room with her. Afraid of being alone. “Can you-” She fell back against the bed, exhausted. The sedative they’d administered upon her arrival must still be in her system, though it was clearly working its way out if her earlier viciousness was anything to go by. “Can you at least untie me?”

She’d put an affectation over her voice, something she’d used a few times when they’d been intimate before. Pitiful, pouting, pleading. Jonathan weighed his choices carefully, torn between the trust he would gain by releasing her with the control he would maintain by keeping her tied up. 

But then again, he had her here indefinitely. He had plenty of time to try both options, and more. No one wanted to be the one to defend the girl who helped the Riddler escape. Not even the Batman was coming to save her from the shackles she’d forged herself. 

Deciding then and there, he spun around. 

Jonathan could practically feel her sigh of relief as he sat at the edge of her bed, placing her file on the floor next to it, even though she was pointedly not looking at him. He reached down to her leg, running his hand down her bare calf. He could feel her shiver beneath his touch, though she was barely acknowledging his presence. 

He fiddled with the ankle restraint, moving his eyes from the leather strap up her body. She was staring at him now, her chest rising and falling steadily like she was carefully regulating her breath. Deftly, he undid the restraint before he could change his mind. But instead of letting her leg go, he kept it in his hand. He brought her ankle to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the tender skin before finally placing it onto the bed. 

Turning his attention to the other restraint, he repeated the process. Caressing her leg, undoing her binding, bending to place a kiss on her skin. She watched, the entire time, lips parted. 

He shifted, moving so he lay halfway on top of her, slotting one of his legs between hers.

“What about my arms?” She said, once his face was close enough to hers that she could get away with whispering.   

“I think I’ll leave them bound.” Jonathan whispered back, watching as her face turned from confusion to dread. “I thought about this months ago, before I even took you home that first time. Locking you away, where only I could get to you.” He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her sweaty face, her eyes bewildered as she looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her lips. 

His hand moved down her body, briefly lingering on her breast before venturing to the hem of the hospital gown they had her wearing. He much preferred the gown on her than Arkham’s typical uniform, especially since it made it so easy to slip his hand underneath and find her clothed cunt, already damp from her arousal. 

Her legs, no longer bound, fell apart at his touch. Jonathan pushed the fabric of her underwear aside, exposing her wet folds to his touch. She gasped, a loud inhale, when he finally ran his fingers over her with no barriers to soften his touch. 

“Jon-” She stopped speaking at the sharp look he gave her, quickly correcting herself. “Dr. Crane.” 

He wondered if she could feel his hard length pressing against her thigh, if she could feel the way it twitched when she called him by his earned title. 

“Fuck me, please.”

Oh, he was glad to oblige her request. 

And he was even more glad that she had been put at the end of a seldom-used hallway in the asylum, so that when he fucked her so that the bed creaked against the screws it was secured to the floor with, that when her gasps became shouts, that when his possessive whispers turned into low growls, no one would be around to hear it.