#telltale batman two face x reader

[okchijt]

Just noticed you've updated your masterlist and I just knew I had to make this request

Can I please ask for some basic headcanons of Harvey Dent from Telltale Batman???

Author's Note: Thank you so much Anon for the request! I love this man, I love him so much in this game. If there was a Harvey route then you might as well say I went for it all the way lmao. I have such brainrot for this man so again, thank you so much for wanting me to write for him! Also, all of these HCs take place before Harvey gets drugged cause he didn't deserve to go through all of that and not get an antidote😔 And lastly, go ahead and check out my masterlist if you like what you just read and if you want to request anything yourself, thank you, and enjoy!🩷

Harvey Dent Romantic Headcanons

🪙 Harvey would be the type of boyfriend to worship the ground you walk on. Well, maybe not that extreme but it's close! If his ''relationship'' with Selina is anything to go by then you just know this man is devoted and head over heels in love with you! He's super soft and romantic with you, wanting nothing more than to make you the center of his universe. He's basically the dream boyfriend type of guy.

🪙 As much as Harvey adores the idea of Gotham City knowing you two are together, he'd begrudgingly make sure to not show you off in front of cameras, paparazzi, and reporters. It's all for the sake of your safety, with all the stuff that came out about the Wayne's he doesn't want the same thing to happen to the two of you if by any chance anything ever came out against him. He doesn't want you to be caught in the crossfire, no matter if you'd be involved or not in anything he does when it comes to making political choices. He just doesn't want you to go down with him because he loves you too much to allow yourself to get hurt like that by anyone, he won't allow it. Ever.

🪙 Because of how tall Harvey is in this adaptation compared to his other versions I just have to say he would totally use his height as an advantage in the relationship. He doesn't care how short you are or by any chance actually close to his height, Harvey will still view himself as the protector in the relationship because of his height. As cliche as it is he'll sometimes put things on higher shelves and wait till you call for him to get the said object because no matter how hard you try you can't reach it. Harvey knows he's above average height and will use that against anyone who tries to harm you or makes you uncomfortable. Usually, his height does the trick because despite being fit he won't punch for shit. So he relies on his height to scare someone off as he stands in between the person that upsets you and you and either gives them a silent glare to back off or tries to defuse the situation with his words. He loves it when you depend on him, or specifically his height, it makes him feel useful to you. Also, it's adorable to see you either pout at him for using his height against you or smile up at him gratefully for his help. It always makes him feel so smug and lightheaded afterward to see you like this.

🪙 Doens't matter if you're into politics or not Harvey will, from time to time ask for your opinion before he makes a decision. He never asks you anything complicated or talks about subjects that could put you in danger or you have no idea about. He'd only ever want to know your opinion about the good stuff, like: What should he name the new child hospital or how would you improve some of the run-down parks to make them better suited for the public again. It just makes him feel all warm inside knowing you've also helped to make Gotham better, no matter how small the contribution was, Harvey is immensely proud of you for your support and the care you put out when helping him no matter how big or important the issue is.

🪙 Ever since meeting you, Harvey's goals have changed somewhat. He still wants to fix Gotham's endless corruption and crime, but now that he has you, he wants to change Gotham for you. Obviously, his other motivations still stand, but you're the main one now. Someone as amazing as you deserve only the best, so Harvey will make sure to make the city fit those expectations. He'll change the city to fit the mold, that mold being you. He'll make the new and improved Gotham not only for the people but for you, it's the least he can do after you've stepped into his life and made it something he could only ever dream about. He can't wait to make Gotham a safe enough place to finally feel free to worship you openly for everyone to see.

🪙 Harvey's love language includes quality time and physical touch! Honestly, I see Harvey as having all of the love languages so it was hard to decide his main two, but looking back at the game I say these two fit him the most! There have been two instances in the game where Harvey wanted to spend some time with Selina because he wanted to, they didn't arrange any meet-ups together, it was all him so I say quality time fits him well. If Harvey could he would spend his whole day by your side, he wouldn't let you go out alone at night and would always insist on driving you home himself. He'd often visit you unannounced at random hours of the day just to spend time with you cause he missed you, offering to go out to lunch together or to stay in and cuddle and watch a movie. If there's no work to be done and there are even five minutes of free time he can have to himself, he will either use that time to quickly drive to your place for lunch together or just call you on the phone to hear your voice if he can't afford the time to be physical there with you.

🪙 I picture Harvey as being extremely touchy with the person he loves, and that person just so happens to be you! He just can't get enough of you! You drive him crazy! Of course, he needs to have you in his arms 24/7! Not so much in public though, as much as he would love to show you off to the world he knows the dangers that come with it and he'll never forgive himself if you got hurt. That's why as soon as you're out of sight and in private, personal space will be thrown out the window. The stress of his campaign can only ever go away once he gets to have you all to himself. He'd cuddle you during the night, never once letting you go till the morning finally sets in and it's time to get up, it'll take a lot of convincing and kisses for Harvey to let you go and get up himself so you two won't be late to your respective jobs. When you're in the kitchen, making dinner Harvey has his arms wrapped around your waist as he buries his face into your hair. Or on the rare chance that Harvey gets to work from home, he'll have you seated on his lap as he does paperwork, making the normally stressful and boring job of signing and reading papers all the more enjoyable because he has you. Sometimes he can't help but get distracted though when he has you like this because he'll stop working every few minutes just to shower you with praise and kisses.

🪙 PDA is out of the table. As much as it pains Harvey to not have his hands all over you when out in public, he just can't afford the media going after you. Running for office already brings him a lot of attention, if people saw him with the person of his dreams out and about holding hands and kissing, there's no way you wouldn't be getting harassed by the media for it. That's why it's rare for you two to hang out in public, the only exceptions are dates when Harvey makes sure there will be no paparazzi or reporters to disturb you during your time together. Outside of that you two are total strangers/acquaintances in the public eye if Harvey can help it, though he dreams of announcing to everyone who his beloved is one day as he proudly shows you off. But he knows that day will never come, so he sticks to showering you with his love in private to make up for his neglect in public.

🪙 Since your relationship is a secret, at least to the public, Harvey will grab any chance to kiss you if he knows no one is watching. He's not that stupid to act out on his desires in a place full of people, so he'd be sure to think of an excuse to get you two alone with no people or cameras around so he can show you just how much he yearns for you. Harvey's kisses are always desperate, sensual, and passionate, he wants you to feel all of his love for you with a single kiss that will leave you both satisfied till you have to depart again. Though in private expect a lot more heated and longer kisses because it's just you and him and no one else to catch you. Outside of your lips though, Harvey's other favorite place to kiss you is your forehead, mainly because there's less bending over involved to get to your lips so forehead kisses are just easier. But putting that aside he loves it because it's just so soft and innocent, his arms wrapped around your waist as he leans down and kisses your head before nuzzling into your hair as he whines about how much he has missed you is just the sweetest thing.

🪙 Cuddles with Harvey are a mandatory daily activity, you cannot escape once this man has his arms around you. I imagine Harvey being the big spoon that does not mind being a little spoon occasionally. And by that I mean that it's almost impossible for this man to be a little spoon, not because he doesn't want to, he does, it's just his height that's the problem. Harvey cannot imagine himself being cuddled by you without crushing you. So his version of the little spoon is just you clinging onto his arm or sides like a koala and hugging him as hard you can. The action never fails to make him smile, making all of his worries disappear instantly, replaced by his love for you. As a big spoon though, Harvey would either be lying at his side or on his back as he hugs you tightly against his chest, burying his face into your hair as he breaths in the scent of your shampoo as well as kiss the top of your head from time to time as he whispers his love for you. During those times Harvey truly feels safe. You're his rock, the only thing that can ease the stress of it all, it all just feels so nice he could fall asleep like this with you forever. Always cuddle with a blanket around if it's a colder season though, this man's body temperature is built for the summer not winter, so just keep that in mind before you cuddle. Summer is great though, you've basically got a cooler that won't let you go unless he absolutely has to! Now that's what I call heaven!

🪙 Harvey is a super clingy guy, so it's no surprise that he gets jealous or threatened from time to time when it comes to you, and can you blame him? Only your most trusted friends know that you're together so it's not like he can fault some rando's trying to get a chance with you, but it's not like he'll allow it either! Harvey is sensible enough to realize when a person is flirting with you though, so if it's just a friend or they're not pulling any moves on you, he doesn't mind. Heck, he would even join in on the conversation and gradually direct it toward his campaign to promote himself some more or he'll just watch you with a smile from afar as he lets you have your fun. All of that goes out the window once Harvey realizes that the person is actually flirting with you, he knows he has to be careful though with the way he handles the situation to keep your relationship a secret and not raise any suspicion. Harvey's mood gradually sours and his eye twitches with irritation as he surpasses the urge to glare at the person, knowing he can't just yell at them to back off. He'd try to come up with an excuse to get you away from them instead. He'd walk up to the two of you, mustering up his best smile as he says: "I'm so sorry for interrupting, but (Y/N) is needed in the meeting room right now, please excuse us''. To which he'd immediately gesture for you to follow him as he holds out his arm to you like a true gentleman before he escorts you to the said ''meeting''. As soon as you're inside the room, Harvey locks the door and is immediately all over you, arms wrapped around you as he kisses you all over, growling to himself how you're his and he won't anyone take you away from him. Either that or he'll wait till you two get home to do the exact same thing if he can't do it immediately because of the lack of privacy. The point is, that Harvey will make sure to remind both you and himself that he's the only man for you during those times. Feel free to interpret that however you want.

🪙 Harvey takes dates extremely seriously. He always puts his all into them, making sure they always feel special and different from the last one. The dates are always arranged in a way where you won't get caught because Bruce is such a good friend he'll rent out entire restaurants for the two of you to spend time together without a worry. Both Harvey and Bruce agree you only deserve the best so it's always the best restaurants the city has to offer where you'll be enjoying your dates. Either that or your favorite place to eat, no matter how fancy or non-fancy it is, as long as you're having fun Harvey has nothing to complain about. Though casual dates are also his favorite, whether it's just you two staying at home and having dinner as you watch a movie, or going to coffee shops together for breakfast or to relax from your jobs for a bit. Coffee shops only work because you can always excuse it as an out with a friend or it's work-related, it helps Harvey feel more relaxed because of the believable excuse.

🪙 You are the pinnacle of Harvey's happiness and existence. Your well-being and happiness are the most important things to him and he'll make sure you get the most love and devotion he can give you. Every day is just a new day of Harvey reminding you how much you mean to him, it makes him perfect for anyone who just wants to have a safe, secure, and loving relationship. He does get paranoid from time to time, but with you by his side, he knows he can accomplish anything. Whether that is changing Gotham or himself, he'll do it all just for you, his only reason and motivation to live.

[saikoucorps]

HARVEY DENT

♱ KEY ┊FLUFF — 🥝 ANSGT — 🍇 SMUT — 🍋‍🟩

✘ FICS

— none yet

✘ DRABBLES

— none yet

✘ HEADCANONS

— none yet

✘ THIRSTS

— none yet

✘ SMAUS

— none yet

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

How would Riddler (which one is writers choice) react to a SO who drops those slightly infuriating jokes? (I just saw a post asking how you make an egg roll and the answer was 'push it' and I just think his reaction to those kinds of jokes would be hilarious)

"Groan-worthy" Riddler Party x Reader

Dude I'm such a sucker for Riddler's it's so difficult for me not to wanna go "my choice? all of the above" when it comes to that man. So you're getting all of them short and sweet!

TW: None

60s

Gotham

Takes him a second. Oh, you like puns? He gets that sheepish little smile and compliments how clever you are. It's much harder to come up with those than one would think! You have to have a good sense of word play, formatting of the joke and-

Oh, he's rambling. Yes. It was good! If it's a particularly bad one or he's stressed, he might give you an annoyed look. But normally he'll just smile.

The riddler who appreciates it the most! A lot of his riddles dance along the line of being riddles and those kind of jokes. Part of why he's always laughing! Puns and double entendres are his bread and butter.

The two of you will have each other hyena cackling to the point people can hear you from another room. There's definitely a jealousy amongst others that the two of you can find so much joy in each other over something so goofy.

Capullo

You would think he'd be way too cool for that and genuinely, he will attempt to act like he is. Try to fool you.

Then you tell just the right joke that's incredibly cheesy and he doesn't guess the punchline before you say it. You hear this deep ugly snort and then he's covering his mouth.

His jokes aren't necessarily groan worthy, they're just really fucking nerdy in a way that makes you roll your eyes when you get it.

Telltale games

BTAS

Audibly groans. You think that's cute, don't you? Then you notice he's smiling. He can't help it, you ARE cute. Even when you're being silly he can't help it. It's charming!

He likes to think his jokes are higher end but... they're verbose and require just a tad more thought. Still slightly infuriating.

Just looks at you. You can feel the judgement seeping into your soul.

If you REALLY enjoy them, he'll tell you dad jokes that are just awful. Terrible. But he tells them with a completely deadpan face reminiscent to "and don't call me shirley."

Batman 2022/Nashton

Arkham games

ANNOYED. Particularly if at any point he thought the joke was a real riddle or a genuine question. Yes. Ha ha. Word play. If you excuse him, he has real work to do and you're distracting him.

If he actually hurts your feelings with the attitude... he does an incredibly tired sigh, "I was going to tell you a joke about time travel.... but you didn't like it." Mini jazz hands. There. Did you like that one? What? Was that one not bad enough?

Autism. Look okay, we can say that for almost every riddler to an extent but this is the kind of shit he hyperfixates on. You've seen his cards? "I'm mad about you" "but it might spoil the chemistry" with a mad scientist on the card? UGH. He loves it.

Rhyming, puns... he gets SO excited. You know, he's never had someone to share these with, so once you do with that first joke... you see his eyes practically dilate like a cats. His time has arrived. You're about to get SO mad.

[half-dead-writer]

|| Best Pals ||

[ John Doe / Joker x masc Reader ]

After John figured out he likes you more than Harley, he's determined to swoon you over. Discreetly, of course.

🌈 || John Doe / Joker [Batman: The Telltale Series] 🌈 || 1,8k words 🌈 || masculine (& mlm) reader

sequel to this. wow ok I wrote like the half in one go some time ago, lost all motivation/inspo, just now finished it altho I still feel like it could be better, I cannot be such a perfectionist or else it will never be posted thank you everyone who was so patiently waiting for the final chapter of my stupid writing 😭 who doesn't know how to end their fics? me. (crossposted from AO3)

"Y/N! Just the face I wanted to see" John's sudden voice behind you caught your attention.

"Oh- Hi John." You quickly responded with a friendly tone, although some hesitance inside was pulling you away from being so casual.

You weren't sure what it was, as the last time you two spoke he quickly left without an explanation and didn't bother to elaborate further. His behavior remained casual, albeit now less irritable by you standing close to Harley. It was as if nothing ever happened. Which only made you even less sure of what you and John were. Well, at least you were aware he thinks of you positively, but that's about it.

"What's up?" You pushed your thoughts about the confusing situation away, instead pointing your focus on his grinning expression.

"I'm glad you asked!" He was quick to respond. "I was just thinking- We haven't hung out much lately, did we?"

"Uh... I guess not?" You remained neutral and casual, but you were curious whether John had a reason to mention it.

"Yeah! You know, we had this whole discussion about me being jealous over Harley and whatnot, and I just wanted to show you that's not a thing anymore." He explained happily, leaving you even more curious. "So- I wanted to celebrate that with some ice cream, maybe? What do you think?" He looked at you with the eyes full of glee, waiting for your approval. He was sure you'd agree.

"Um- Yeah, alright." You shrugged, keen on the idea, yet still unsure of John's true intentions behind the offer. "Why not."

"Great! Let me just get-" He stopped for a second "-my cool guy glasses." He showed you a silly grin as he rushed to his Ha-Hacienda. After a few minutes he came back, now truly looking cool. 

John looked somewhat happier today. Did he really achieve his nirvana when he realized he wasn't in love in Harley anymore, and just wanted you as his best friend?

Well, you weren't about to make things weird by asking possibly awkward questions for the both of you. Things were fine as they were, John didn't hate you, you still got to hang out with him. Nevermind the fact that you were forced to now carry a constant mix of emotions around him.

. . .

"Great, it's all going how I imagined it!" John thought to himself.

He finally got you! He was sure of his feelings now! And it wasn't like with Harley. 

He had a hard time coming to terms with the thought that he did, in fact, liked you more than her. And that you was the reason why he was feeling so miserable all the time. John's feelings might have been a mess past this few weeks where he has been confused, but now he knew it.

You were made for him. And you even said you liked him! Well, you liked boys, you liked John to the point of being best pals... He didn't just wanna assume you're into him, though. That's why he took you out to that pal-hangout. To get some answers. But of course, he didn't wanna make you uncomfortable if you weren't into him at all. That's why he didn't tell you that when he had the chance.

A voice in his head was telling him that there's no way you'd ever love him back, even if "all the clues were pointing to that". But he was determined to proceed with his plan.

While he was babbling about unrelated things, he kept observing you. How you reacted to his jokes, his topics, careful to see if he ever bored you. But seemingly he didn't. You were just casually listening to him, never making him feel not appreciated. That's what he loved about you. He didn't see it sooner, as his usual fixation on people was, well, usual. He couldn't deny that he was starved for attention. His therapist told him that, hence why he didn't wanna assume everyone he likes is whom he loves. But now he was sure his affection for you was greater than previous one he had for Harley.

After a deep, long and meaningful session of thinking to himself, he concluded that he'd rather spend the rest of his life with you than with her. If only you'd reciprocate the feeling...

"Well, here we are!" He proudly pointed to the Café Triste.

"I am dying to get my favorite drink. Coffee, with ice cream. Can you believe what they come up with nowadays?" He said, playfully starting the topic.

You saw him looking at you, smiling politely and amused, yet still casual as ever.

"John, I think it's been a thing for some time now..." You reciprocated the playful remark.

"Damn, Always smart as ever!" He didn't hesitate to give you the compliment and grinned even wider, making you involuntarily smile from lighthearted flattery.

He carefully thought about saying it ever since he left his house. And a day before. Okay, he planned this whole thing from A to Z, ever since he figured out he had a crush on you. There was no room for fails, and so far it's all been going perfectly. 

He saw you shaking your head in amusement, to which he grinned widely and proceeded to finally buy you both whatever you wanted. "His treat".

Once you both received your orders, you sat yourselves at the nearby table. You couldn't deny the meeting felt somewhat like a date, although you quickly shunned yourself for thinking like that - you really didn't want to disappoint yourself if it wasn't.

"Y/N, so, I was thinking... Who's the closest person to you, right now? No, too weird. But I've been told to just be myself, and Y/N likes me for that... What if he doesn't like the true-true me, though?"  The flashbacks from his thinking session kept haunting him as he watched you carefully sit down on the opposite side of the table. He couldn't ignore how much he liked being around you. And he wasn't able to tell if you knew. The fear in his mind about being perceived as too obsessive or "creepy" towards the person he saw as the most precious was slowly eating him out from the inside, which he tried to shut down by casually taking a sip of his drink.

You noticed a smallest change in his demeanor, which wasn't uncommon with John, although you had a feeling he seemed somewhat worried. His gaze was just out of it for a moment, which you could only assume signified that he was in deep thought. After hesitating for a while, you decided to speak your mind. Calmly, of course.

"...Is there something on your mind?" You slowly approached the topic with a soft, patient, and a bit unsure smile.

John rapidly straightened up, almost yelling in response.

"Yes, actually!" His hurried words mixed with the volume made you flinch slightly, you didn't expect him being so open about it - but nothing out of ordinary when it came to John.

"Oh-" You quickly pulled yourself together. "Go ahead then, I'm listening."

You saw his face melt into a mix of anxiousness and giddiness, and by this point, you were at the edge of your seat, awaiting what he's gonna say.

John cleared his throat and started fiddling with his hands.

"So- Y/N, you're not seeing anyone, are you?"

The question stuck in your head for a few moments. You got your hopes up, yet your face looked like a deer in the headlights, which John took as a negative reaction and continued.

"Just asking, out of curiosity- I mean, you can tell your old pal, right?" His rambles started getting quicker. "I- I need it, for a dating advice."

The last sentence made you rethink your thoughts again - was he really asking for a dating advice?

"Uh... no, I'm not seeing anyone." You responded truthfully. "Can I ask how does this relate to, uh, dating advice?"

"Hah, of course, of course-" His focus travelled from his drink, you, to all of the environment around him. "So, you see, I was thinking-"

He stopped talking for a moment to take out something out of his pocket. You carefully watched as his hand pulled out a rectangle shaped object and held it to you closer so you could see it. It was a card with the picture of a door and text under it saying "I A-DOOR YOU".

You tilted your head a little, but the card made you involuntarily smile at how cheesy the line was. Before you could say anything, John quickly intervened. 

"Do you think it would be a good way to show someone you wanna date them?"

"Uh..." You took a moment to respond. "Well, it depends on a person."

John waited a moment before clearing his throat.

"What would you think of it?"

"Personally, I think it's cheesy - cheesy, but cute."

"Okay, that's all I needed to know-" He quickly took the card back into his pocket, making you want to ask what was the point of all of this, but you were interrupted.

"Now, pretend you see it for the first time!" And so the silly thing was on the table again, this time closer, he passed you the card instead of just showing it.

You took it into your hands, processing what happened in every possible way, you weren't sure if you got his shenanigans right - was it for you?

"Well?" The anxious grin plastered on his face made you confirm your thoughts.

"Oh- Is- Do you really, like, like me?" You couldn't help but reciprocate the anxious smile of his, you didn't expect such turn of events, but it was warmly welcomed.

"Yes, buddy!" He beamed, stretching his arms, but there was still a slight hesitation in his voice, since you didn't say you liked him back yet. "Is that, uh-- alright?"

The expression on your face turned playful (or bashful, some could say) as you held onto the object with adoration.

"Shit- I'm not prepared, I don't have a card with me-" You watched as John intently listened to your words, his smile growing even wider - which you weren't sure was possible at this point - and you put the card behind your back, before showing it to him "anew".

"Pretend you see it for the first time." You repeated his words, hoping he'd catch on what you did.

John's face turned into one of a simulated surprise, looking at the card and holding his palms together in a gleeful gesture.

"Oh my, Y/N! It must be destiny, because I feel that way as well!" He played along, already overwhelmed with thoughts about how he's gonna reminisce about this moment for a long time.

[summercourtship]

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter one: water to tread [part II]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual themes | word count: 6.3k words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

previous part

The next morning, your alarm goes off too soon for your liking.You could’ve sworn that you had just put your head on the pillow when the shrill tones from your phone yanked you out of your slumber, reminding you that you had a life to live. Even if it was pitifully boring. You can’t help but wonder, as you stare at the ceiling listening to the alarm, if the most interesting moment of your life had passed by the night before.

Finally you cracked and snatched your phone, shutting the alarm off and sighing at your lack of notifications. What had you been expecting, you chastise yourself as you put it back on your bedside table, wincing as your haggard muscles scream in protest.

Your entire body is sore and practically creaks as you move, a low groan escaping your clenched teeth. You briefly considered skipping class, especially since it’s just an elective and not a necessity for you to graduate. But the professor was a hardass and you’d already used your one allotted excused absence for a dentist appointment. And despite it not being required, you needed to do well. If just for yourself and the pride of seeing your GPA remain above a 3.4.

Maybe he’ll give back our midterm today. It’s an idle thought to get you out of bed, taking your time and hissing as dull pain radiates through your body when you practically slip out of the covers like a boneless mass, just barely catching yourself on your feet.

You cross your narrow hallway to the bathroom, flicking on the light and flinching immediately when you see yourself in the mirrored medicine cabinet (which had plenty of painkillers tucked away inside, thank goodness).

“Fuck.”

You stared at your reflection, gaping at the telltale bruises and cuts. When you’d washed up last night, it hadn’t looked good but what you were looking at seemed much worse. It was like they all decided to puff up and swell overnight, turning colors that you never wanted to see on your skin ever again. Worst than that was knowing that everyone who saw you today would know you’d been beaten up. You’re not sure which is the grossest part of your face: the sizable black eye you're sporting or your busted bottom lip- which has swollen to twice its usual size.

Everyone and their mother will know.

But no one will know who saved you.

It was, you had to admit to yourself, a little bit thrilling. To have had an encounter with the masked man who took down the Riddler when the GCPD couldn’t, the man who saved the city from all that mess he had planned.

And you realized as you carefully washed your face that you weren’t about to tell your classmates about it.

One, because they definitely wouldn’t believe you. (Really, who would? Why would the Batman save a random college girl from being mugged when he could stop more important crimes from happening, robberies and murders of people much richer than you? People worth saving? It didn’t make sense. Especially not to you.)

Two… Well, you wanted to keep it a secret. You wanted to pretend that you were the only girl in the entire city who had ever had this happen to them (ignoring that that was statistically impossible). You wanted to entertain the idea of everyone else being side characters in your story and this was finally, finally, the true beginning of your life. That this boring routine of classes and work wasn’t what you were meant to be doing, that there was some greater purpose waiting for you and Batman was going to lead you to it.

You grimace at your thoughts and your reflection as you grab your washcloth again, wetting it for the second time and gently patting your face, taking extra care around the barely scabbed over wounds. Maybe if you washed it enough times, you could erase your wounds completely.

When you finished having successfully avoided reopening your wounds and applying some antibiotic cream to the cuts, you quickly moved through the rest of your morning routine on autopilot. Your thoughts were elsewhere, stuck somewhere in the alleyway last night and events from almost a year ago. Really last night had just added another dot in a large star-map of Things For You To Overthink and Overanalyze.

Fifteen minutes later you’re out the door of your apartment, moving as quickly as you could with your sore body, your school bag slung over your shoulder. It was fairly light with only the printed PDF pages of the chapter you’d be discussing in class and your notebook. At the last second you had decided to grab a hat to put on, an old bucket hat you’d had lying around your bedroom, realizing you wanted something to shield your face from onlookers. To protect you from random people wanting to be a character in your adventure (people are attracted to spectacle and a busted lip and black eye are a walking billboard advertising personal drama).

It's drizzling outside, a light mist falling from the sky like an apology for what the torrential rain brought upon you last night. You peered up into the sky, enjoying the sensation of tiny droplets on the skin of your face, pulled taut from the swelling.

You lived close enough to your classes, with the campus of Gotham University being scattered throughout the city’s downtown, to be able to walk and have no need to rush to get there in time. Yet you move fast anyway, swiftly weaving your body through the crowd when you arrive in the center of downtown. The fastest way to your class was through the busy intersection, Gotham’s own Times Square. With every step, you’re hyper aware of every person you pass, how their eyes must linger on your face, how their mouths part in shock.

“Oh my god,” You heard it as a whisper carried by the wind as you passed two girls chatting. You’re certain that the next minute of their conversation will be them speculating about you and whether or not your boyfriend did this to you.

In response, you pulled your hat further down on your head, lowering your chin.

Duck your head, keep the hat pulled down. Get to class, suffer for ninety minutes in a closed room, go home.

It was a pathetic mantra but it’s the only thing that was keeping you from turning around and finding refuge again in your apartment.

Finally you made it to your class, inside a squat brick building with a permanent mildew smell on the first floor. Luckily for you, your classroom was on the second. Your stomach was turning into knots as you climbed the stairs, your anxiety about the prospect of being stuck in one classroom with no escape from questions and stares building with every step.

The classroom itself is small but luckily has a back entrance. You duck into the first seat you see in the last row, not your normal seat in the second. No one sits back here, anyway. You doubt anyone will care that you’re back here today (if you decide to participate today, it might give them a chance to answer questions before Dr. Crane acknowledges your hand).

Dr. Crane.

Notorious hardass, great psychology professor, a captivating man you had definitely not masturbated to on a few occasions (but you would only admit this after a few too many drinks). This wasn’t your first class with him as your professor, but your first had been a larger class of a hundred students. This class had twenty. It’s more intimate in a class this size and there’s something erotic, you think, about him knowing who you are now when he didn’t before.

He swept into the room and passed you with barely a minute to spare until class began. Upon his arrival to the front of the classroom he immediately pulled out a stack of papers to place on the podium and even from your seat in the back you can see that the one on top has been thoroughly marked with a red pen.

The midterm.

You aren’t too concerned about your grade but seeing the stack of papers still leaves you swallowing nervously, your eyes darting back and forth between the tests and Dr. Crane (who is just looking over his lecture notes. Typical.)

The clock’s hand moved forward another minute and he began, always punctual, going right into handing the midterms back to the class. Test after test is handed back, the recipient nervously approaching the front of the classroom and taking the test as quickly as possible. Most only look at it from the safety of their own seat, and you could tell from the set of their shoulders what type of grade they received.

Finally, he called out your name, and you hurried to the front of the classroom to grab your paper, for a different reason than everyone else. You just wanted to get it without attracting too much attention to your bruised face. With their backs turned to you it’s easy to duck your head and remain hidden.

When you take your paper from where he’d placed it on the table, you spare a glance up at him, not surprised when you see him simply turning to the next paper and calling out their name before placing the test down. But when he does this, his eyes flicker to you before pausing on your face. It only lasts for a second but you feel the blood rushing in your ears as you clutch your midterm to your chest and turn, eager to get back to your seat with little fuss.

But now you are facing the entire class and the few people who haven’t received their test yet have nothing else to look at and clearly some of them notice your wounds, their mouths dropping open in shock.

“Oh my gosh, what happened?” A guy who gave his opinion too readily in class but never actually held a discussion was the first to break the silence from the third row, the faux compassion in his voice grating your nerves.

One by one, the others' heads snap up to see what he was talking about. And then they all gasp too, asking much of the same things.

Are you okay?

What happened?

Who did this?

Et cetera, et cetera. It was all enough to make you freeze, unused to the entire attention of a class on you. When you answered questions in class, it felt like a conversation between you and Dr. Crane… this is you on display, no barrier between your body and their judgemental gaze.

I was beat up and the Batman saved me. They’d laugh right in your face for saying that. It would be easier to convince them that the Easter Bunny saved you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure your classmate doesn’t appreciate being gawked at. Let her get back to her seat so we can finish this and start class in a… timely manner.”

You looked back at Dr. Crane, grateful for his intervention. You meet his icy state as it, too, examines your face again. But he shows no shock, only a vague curiosity that seemed to say what do we have here?

Heat floods your checks as you turn away, hurrying back to the back of the room where you had situated yourself. Your breaths are quick and shallow like you’d run up a steep flight of steps, but at least the worst part is over. You don’t have to stand in front of these people again. All you had to do was sit there and listen to Dr. Crane speak and then leave as soon as he dismissed the class.

When your breathing calms back down you finally take a look at your midterm, noticing immediately something that had completely slipped your attention when you’d picked it up.

At the top of your paper is a sticky note, with the words “Please meet me after class” written in a clear script. For a brief moment you flush, your first thoughts admittedly perverse, eyes briefly flicking back to Dr. Crane at the front of class.

Oh my god, Dr. Crane wants to fuck me after class.

Then, a second later: no wait, that’s stupid.

He probably just wanted to discuss the paper you’re working on- you’d sent him the rough draft to look at over a week ago and he hasn’t responded yet. (Did you actually want his feedback on the paper or did you just want to ensure that he remembered your existence when you left the classroom? The world may never know.)

You removed the sticky note, putting it aside, smiling at the neat 98/100 printed at the top of your test. Flipping through the pages you saw the question you had gotten wrong wasn’t even wrong, per-se, just not answered completely enough for his preference. This needs more detail, he wrote in the margin, that same neat handwriting as on the post-it.

Then, the idea that he wanted to discuss the exam after class was also out of the question, leaving you with the one half formed theory about your essay and a secret desire born from reading too many erotic novels when you really should have been sleeping. But neither of those ideas seemed like something he would do- he’s busy enough over at Arkham Asylum that he could just send you an email with his feedback on the essay and he’s much too professional to fuck a student (at least, in such an obvious way as right after class. You don’t know the man, or what he would or wouldn’t do. Not really).

You looked back up at him as he cleared his throat for the class, your own eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Well, now it looked like you’re going to be distracted the entire time, imagining what the hell he could want with you.

He crossed from the podium to the chalkboard to write, TRAUMA AND STRESS RELATED DISORDERS, pausing for a moment to look back at the classroom. (You’re definitely imagining the way his eyes linger for a moment on you in the back.)

You hurried to open your notebook to the page after the notes you’d taken on the reading, your pen already poised to begin writing. His lectures were rapid, with him barely taking any time to breathe before moving onto the next section. You had to be prepared, and even though you weren’t in your usual seat, you had no intention of just sitting this one out.

For most students, Dr. Crane’s classes dragged on, even if they found the material interesting. For you, these classes went by like lightning. Listening to Dr. Crane speak was, in your opinion, a treat. His papers were, admittedly, a bit too dense for you to enjoy reading (though you tried, bless your heart) but his manner of speaking was hypnotic, putting you into a trance for an hour and forty minutes every Monday and Wednesday.

Soon, much too soon, the class was over.

You put your notebook back in your backpack, about to grab your water bottle and bounce when you saw the note he’d left, still stuck to the corner of your desk where you’d initially placed it. Just the sight of the tiny yellow Post-It put your stomach into knots, his handwriting offering no more hints about what he wanted to see you about than it did two hours ago.

You lingered at your seat until everyone had filed out (fairly quickly, nobody (except for you) stuck around to ask him questions). When the door swung shut behind the last person, you made your way up to the front of the classroom, backpack hanging off one shoulder.

Dr. Crane was shuffling through the leftover midterms and his lecture notes. He’s pretending, you thought, to have forgotten about his little note.

“You wanted to speak with me?” You hold up the sticky note between two fingers, raising an eyebrow. Playing at being confident, the kind of girl who wasn’t screaming inside about what he was about to say. He looked up, though you’re certain he heard you approach in the now quiet classroom.

“Are you alright?” His gaze flicks to your lips. Stomach swooping, you blink a few times, trying to figure out why he was asking.

“Yeah why-” You realized what he’s asking about, surprised at yourself for forgetting it. Even more, you’re disappointed that he was just looking at your fat lip, not thinking about kissing you. Embaaaaarrassing. “Oh, this.” You gesture to your face, laughing even though it wasn’t funny and subsequently wincing when smiling pulled at the scab on your lip. “I ran into some trouble but it’s nothing now.”

If I told you the Batman saved me would you believe me? …Yeah, probably not.

He continues looking at you, like his penetrating gaze could see through any facade you may erect in his presence. You clear your throat. “W-was that all you wanted, or-?” You trail off, a pregnant pause hanging in the air between you.

“You may have seen that I’m going to be offering a special topics class next semester.”

You had seen it.

Had lingered over it with your cursor in the online registration, debated contacting your advisor to see if they could pull some strings, let you into a class in which you had no right to be in.

But you would rather a car hit you as soon as you left the building than admit that to his face.

“Maybe? I’m not a major, you know, so I typically can’t take those kinds of-”

“I need a TA and thought of you.” He’s not looking at you, instead writing something in his day planner. You can’t tell if he’s actually doing something productive or just doing that thing that men do where they don’t acknowledge your presence even as they’re carrying a conversation with you.

“...You did hear me say I’m not a psych major, right? I just think this stuff is interesting and take these classes for fun and-” God, you’re rambling. He must realize the effect he has on you by now, a man that intelligent and knowledgeable in psychology couldn’t not realize it.

“I looked at your student information- you have enough credits in psychology to add a minor.”

He said it so casually, like this was something all professors do- check up on random student’s information, try to convince them to add a minor so they can… be a TA? You were torn between being slightly freaked out or pleased. Maybe you hadn’t needed to send him your essay to stick out in his mind, maybe you were doing just fine without pulling any strings. Maybe you didn’t need to be a mastermind for him to acknowledge your existence.

When you looked back on it later, you would realize that you should have been freaked out. Alarm bells should have been ringing in your head the entire time, since you got that sticky note, but… you liked him. And you liked the feeling that your hard work had finally paid off, that you were finally being recognized for something other than being the girl who worked late evenings at that one corner store and got beat up that one time.

“Don’t you typically not even use TAs?” Even in the large class with over a hundred students he had no TA, only offering his office hours if a student needed assistance. (You wonder if anyone had ever actually gone to his office hours, or if they just quietly dropped the class.)

“I’ve been busier lately.” You nodded, remembering that he also worked over at Arkham Asylum. He didn’t talk about it during class, except maybe mentioning it once or twice in passing. But you knew. You stored all the little bits and pieces of information you had learned about him over time in a tiny box in your brain, useless information that only served to prove your interest with the man.

But with the recent uptick in interesting crimes, there was a wave of people becoming patients at the asylum. Some criminals that you hadn’t even realized would qualify for a NGRI verdict were sent to the asylum, but it wasn’t your place to judge why people were sent where. Being sentenced to a hospital for the criminally insane didn’t exactly sound like a lighter sentence to you, not like what some people said when people like the Riddler were sent to Arkham.

“What’s the class about?”

He opened a manila folder on the table, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for and slid it across the table to you.

On it, the class description is neatly printed with the standard information about special topics classes as well as the information that he must have written about his topic of choice.

CLASS DESCRIPTION: PSYCH 430 Special Topics in Psychology: Fear (Dr. Jonathan Crane) | Meeting Time: MW 14:00-15:40 Conference Room, Wayne Hall. This class will discuss the evolutionary origins and necessity of fear and anxiety as well as what this response means to modern humans. Using selected readings from both academic and popular sources, we will discuss and attempt to understand the complex psychology behind one of the basest human emotions: fear.

You purse your lips as you read, only to wince when it pulls at the swollen skin of your mouth. It sounded interesting, yes. But TA’ing was a big responsibility, one that you’re not quite sure you could handle amongst all your other classes and work.

“Dr. Crane, can I think about this?” You don’t look him in the eye, afraid that you’d agree prematurely if you did. You had a feeling that gazing too long into his eyes could convince you to agree to anything without a second thought. “When do you need an answer?”

“I’d like to have everything finalized by Thursday. I’ve seen the work you do and I think this-” He gestures between the two of you, “-would be a good fit.”

You stared at where his hand had woven the two of you together into one unit, a potential team. A professor and his TA, colleagues.

“Thank you.” You almost bite your lip before you remember that that wouldn’t be smart. You turned to leave, before stopping to look back at him. “Even if I add psych as a minor- which I am not adverse to, I think this is fascinating and could be useful for me in the future- are you sure that they’ll let me TA?” You were, after all, a junior undergraduate college student. Not a graduate or even a senior.

“They won’t say no to me.”

You nodded, content to ignore for the moment how his words ignited something in your core, deep in your stomach.

“I’ll let you know by Thursday, then.” You smiled, readjusting your backpack. He simply went back to putting his papers away, a clear dismissal with no smile returned.

You left the classroom, trying desperately to not look like you were rushing to get away from being alone with him for a second longer. Though you disagreed with the other assertions about his personality- that he was boring or creepy- you had to agree that he was a bit intense. Terrifying, sometimes.

You burst into the bathroom, practically collapsing against the sink as you forced yourself to breathe slowly.

Raising your head from where you’d been staring at your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror, cringing as you remembered thinking that Dr. Crane was coming on to you. Yeah, not while your lip is swollen and your eye is bruised.

Scratch that.

Not ever.

**** Halloween. October 31. Thursday. The deadline for your decision.

You should be out of your apartment by now, getting to Dr. Crane’s office to give him your decision. And yet you’re still in bed, staring out of the cocoon you’ve made for yourself.

Everything is okay.

You took a deep breath in, finding the point of your wrist in which, when pressure is applied, calmed you. Your eyes are fixed onto the ceiling, trying not to focus on the faint cracks in the plaster. Because then you’d just start worrying about if your building was structurally sound and you have enough on your mind at the moment.

Everything is okay.

Everything is okay.

Everything is o k a y.

You groaned, throwing your comforter over your head, your heart rate staying steady in its rabbit pace. The normal tactics aren’t going to cut it today, it seemed. Normally you’d just use it as a reason to stay in bed all day (not sleeping, no, never sleeping, only staring into the corner of your room and lingering too much on every thought that passed through the highway of your mind.)

But you couldn’t. You had to see Dr. Crane and tell him your decision. The decision that had, until last night, been a tentative yes. But something flipped in your brain as you’d been thinking about every way this situation could go wrong and now you knew for certain what you would say when you went to see him.

I can’t do it.

Normally, when you would come to the conclusion that you couldn’t (or didn’t want to) do something, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. But this time it felt different. With this… saying no felt like a cop-out.

Probably because it was a cop-out.

You groaned again, almost falling out of bed. Your body is less sore, though the bruises still look pretty fresh. You barely washed your face before you threw your outfit of the day on (leggings, a t-shirt, your coat, sneakers) and grabbed your purse. You didn’t normally have to go to campus on Thursdays and you wanted to get this over as quickly as possible.

On the way to campus, you pass by the set up for the Anniversary Memorial for Mayor Mitchell. You turned away, trying to forget that it’s been a year since your world- since Gotham itself turned upside down. Well, more upside down than it already was.

The base of your neck prickles briefly as you thought about it, heat washing over you as visions your mind had created of the city flooding overtook your thoughts, your body suddenly overwhelmed with the imaginary sensation of frigid water rushing over your feet as you stand and stare into the rafters of the Gotham Square Garden, staring down the distant barrel of an assault rifle as shots ring out-

You shook your head, resisting the urge to slap your wrist like you were a petulant child. It didn’t happen. You’re safe and you’re alive. You shouldn’t be focusing on this anymore.

“You weren’t even hurt, get a grip.”

You don’t remember who in your life said it to you, someone who was gone now. But it was easier said than done.

You stood at the crosswalk, waiting for your cue to walk. While you waited, you looked across the street at the small gathering of people. The memorial hasn’t begun yet, but already a crowd is starting to form to watch and pay their respects (though you aren’t sure there are many who still respect him, given what was brought to light last year). It’s mainly older people, their coats and shoes indicating their wealth status. Some of Gotham’s elite come to mourn a man who probably helped line their pockets. But as your eyes glide over the crowd, someone catches your eye.

A tall figure, alone in the crowd, in an all too familiar winter combat mask.

Clear-framed glasses staring right at you.

Your breath stuttered, caught in your throat while somehow still trying to claw its way out like it wanted to suffocate you but then, just as you feel like you’re about to start choking on it, a van passed between you and he’s gone.

The breath that had been stuck in your throat finally escapes you in a gasped exhale and your head whipped around, searching the street, searching for the man you knew you just saw (whether he was the Riddler or just one of those copycat followers from Gotham Square Garden, you didn’t care because you saw him, he was here, and he was staring at you like-)

Or maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe you saw nothing.

There were enough people across the street bundled up in dark coats that, from this distance, could certainly appear like a mask if their hood was up. Through the rain it could have easily looked like another person was standing there, watching you.

Doing your best to push the events- real and fictional- of that night out of your mind, you sighed, turning from the memorial and continuing towards campus, telling yourself that you were just paranoid. He was in Arkham and no one in their right mind would go to Mayor Mitchell’s memorial dressed like that, especially not after the attack in Gotham Square Garden last year.

You’re being silly.

Get a fucking grip.

The small brick building that houses the psychology department seemingly loomed over you on the street corner, another imposing obstacle that you must overcome in the next minute.

You’re greeted with a blast of warm air when you finally open the door after stalling for as long as you could stand, the stale smell of old buildings wrapping itself in your nostrils and filling your stomach with anxiety. Normally you enjoyed it, the musty smell, but now it just meant you were one step closer to denying Dr. Crane. (“They won’t say no to me.” But what will happen when you do?)

You lingered outside his office door. You’d never been in there before, having never needed the help (and you were also, admittedly, a bit frightened of the prospect of being alone with him).

(Which you would have in spades if you accepted.)

(But you aren’t.)

In thirty minutes, this will all be over with.

It was a tactic you used to get through unpleasant things- exams, dentist appointments, interviews.

And right now, you wanted nothing more than to be done with this. To have it be something in the past, a regret you could do nothing to fix.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you knocked three times, a little more forceful than needed. But you didn’t think you could muster up the courage to do it again.

“Enter.” Dr. Crane’s voice called out from behind the frosted glass. You complied, standing awkwardly in the doorway until he looked up to acknowledge your presence. He nodded to the door and you closed it. Trapping you in the tiny office with him.

He’s back to looking at his papers, pen gliding over the surface with practiced ease, wet ink trailing behind his hand. You wonder if it’s schoolwork or work for Arkham. Or personal, whatever that could mean for him.

“I assume you’re here to discuss the TA position? I have the necessary paperwork for you-” He starts to open his drawer, grabbing a folio with one of his lithe hands. You have to wrench your gaze away from it to say your piece. To spit it out.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Dr. Crane. But I appreciate the offer.” He looked up at you (finally), cocking his head to the side as he examined you. Then, he slides the drawer shut, leaning back in his chair, not flinching when the drawer latches with a bang. But you do and you feel like you’ve given a secret away from the way you jump at the noise.

“Sit.”

You follow his order without thinking, the leather squeaking under your weight as you perched yourself on the edge.

“May I ask why?”

“Um. I, well. I just don’t think I’ll have the time with my other classes and work and I’m not sure I’d be the best fit-”

“So you’re afraid?”

You opened your mouth before closing it again, trying to find the best words to describe what emotion was sitting heavy in your throat.

“Anxious would be a better way to describe it.”

“But what do you really want?”

You stared at him, lips parted. You hadn’t expected him to fight you on this. All you had wanted was for him to nod and say well, I’m sorry to hear that. Not whatever this was.

“It is a good opportunity.” You mumbled. It really was- a TA position for an upper-level class that was for something you weren’t even officially studying? It was guaranteed to look good on paper.

“You should take it.”

“But-“

“Fear,” he smiled as if he was making a joke you didn’t yet understand, “shouldn’t control you. Not when it comes to opportunities like this.”

You’re silent, worrying your bottom lip, ignoring the crunches the scab made with every pass of the flesh between your teeth. Frozen in indecision, eyes focused on a random paper on his desk.

Then he said your name quietly.

“Fear only has as much power as you want to give it.”

You looked him in his eyes- his crystal clear eyes, penetrating and sharp in their clarity- and the words spilled from your mouth like you’d been put under a spell. Hypnotized, like always.

“Alright. Then I’ll do it.”

Dr. Crane smiled and your heart fluttered. Even though his smile was still reserved, something in you twinkled at being the one to make him do that.

He opens the drawer again, pulling the folio out. He rifles through the papers inside, pulling out a few with blocks of text on them.

“Important papers- some are for you to sign, some are for the class itself. Bring the signed papers back by Monday. We can meet at some point over the next few weeks to discuss more in depth about the class and your responsibilities.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” You accepted the papers with a nod, ignoring the way his gaze lingered on your face for a moment too long. You folded the papers and put them in your purse, turning to leave.

And then your eye caught on a framed picture of the blueprint for the exterior of Arkham that Dr. Crane had hanging on his office wall. Suddenly, you realized that you hadn’t been worrying about what you’d been worrying about in the morning and that was wrong and all the anxiety that you’d been feeling that morning washed over you again, like it had been stored and waiting for you while you were distracted.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned back to him, everything that had been on your mind the entire day bubbling to the surface.

“Quick question, completely unrelated to the TA-ing.” It felt like if you didn’t ask it the world would end. Like you would drown if you didn’t ask this very crucial, very important question.

He nods, not saying anything. The universal code of unspoken permission to ask away.

“The R- Edward Nashton is still in Arkham Asylum, right?” It was easier to call him by his real name, not the moniker he had adopted. It made him seem less like a threat (Was he a threat, now? You asked yourself, a question you didn’t know the answer to).

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Dr. Crane, for once, seemed genuinely confused about the direction you’ve pulled the conversation in. His reaction stunned you out of your need for the answer.

“I don’t know- I was just-”

“Curious?” He’s recovered from his confusion in the same amount of time it took you to begin backtracking.

Afraid, your mind whispered in response to his question, but you nodded. You didn’t need another lecture about fear from him today. You’d hear enough of them next semester.

Even still, he looked like he knew your true answer.

“He was there yesterday. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Obviously.” You said, trying to hide your embarrassment about asking such a silly question. Of course he was still in Arkham.

You looked back at him as you left his office, but his head was already bent over his work again. You’re about to really leave when you noticed that his gaze flickered upwards for a brief moment, his pen stopping for a millisecond in its movement.

You smiled and whispered a second goodbye, turning and closing the door behind you.

He seemed to really want you as his TA.

It hadn’t even occurred to you, you realized as you’re walking back to your apartment, to ask why.

chapter two pt one

[nach-ito]

Masterlist + DNIs

Green: I will do.

Amber: Might do.

Red: Won't do.

I will do;

Batman

Markiplier Egos

FNaF mostly

Fandom of Choice

Character x Reader

Types of Book Tropes

Female Readers

Male Readers

Gender Neutral Readers

Fantasy AUs

YA Stories

Semi Spice stories

INTERACT;

Markiplier Fans

FNaF fans

Batman Fans

LGBTQ+ Folks

Readers

Fantasy Book enjoyers

Cats & Coffee lovers

Cars

Motorbikes

Motorsports

Markiplier Fans;

PewDiePie Fans;

I might do;

Smut

Fluff Scenes

Dark Romance

Character x OC Stories

Character x Self Insert Stories

Other types of Book Tropes (MUST be included for it to be decided in the request given)

Will NOT do

Pedophilia

Rape

Watersports

Incest

HEAVY pet play

Parent Kinks

DNI

Anti-LGBTQ+

Religious People

Proshippers

Homophobes

Racists

Transphobes

Political People

Fandoms

Five Nights at Freddie's;

(Movie)William Afton;

(Game)William Afton:

(Movie) Michael Afton;

(Game) Michael Afton;

(Movie) Vanessa;

(Game) Vanessa;

Batman; [some Telltale]

(Movie) Bruce Wayne;

(Game) Bruce Wayne;

(Movie) The Joker;

(Game[Telltale]) John Doe/The Joker;

(Game) Harvey Dent/Two Face;

(Game) Oswald Cobblepot/The Penguin;

(Game) Selina Kyle/Catwoman;

(Movie) Edward Nygma/The Riddler;

(Movie) Pamela Isley/Poison Ivy;

Markiplier Egos;

Murdock;

Wilford Warfstache;

Darkiplier;

Illinois Jones;

[roguesdepravity]

Would you consider hcs for a male/androgynous reader helping Telltale Harvey Dent with mental health? Sorry if this is vague haha

High Key going to be spoiling things so don't read if you want the plot points spoiled for you!

Spoiler Warning for Batman the Telltale Series

-You see Harvey hurting, and unlike everyone else, you don't let things go. Whether its his new appearance or the aftereffects of the Children of Arkham's drug, you are much more concerned for his wellbeing than others. This leads to him telling you about Two Face before anyone else.

-Since Selina never came to visit him, he relies on you a lot to help him learn to cope with things. At first it seems like he is getting a bit better with you helping him.

-Eventually, he gets well enough to leave the hospital to visit Selina in person. Of course, he comes back with his trust and heart broken. He took little solace that you didn't abandon him, but it felt like you were the only person who didn't.

-When he gets out of Blackgate or Arkham, he might find it hard to get motivated to take his medication and go to therapy sessions, but if you ask him to keep trying he will.

-With that said, its still hard. He hates his new appearance/actions, and he feels so hurt and angry that sometimes your words and gestures aren't enough. Sometimes the therapy that you make sure he goes to isn't enough. Two Face can still gain control at any time, but even he can't deny that its admirable that you stick around. You are patient with him, and do your best not to get angry back at him.

-Sometimes after a fight with you he expects you to leave and never come back, but you still come to visit him. He is so thankful for you to keep trying. He doesn't know what he would do without you.

[honeycombstrawberry]

[comes to you like an old timey journalist]

Ay kid, I got something for ya..

Bruce Wayne intimacy, caring for him, washing the dirt and grime out his hair, helping alfred stitch his wounds and make him eat and sleep, reassuring Dick when things look bad, being there for him when he feels he has nobody…. ya know…. the good stuff

it's just a feeling

pairing: bruce wayne x reader (gn pronouns)

rating: t

word count: 4,296

one-sentence synopsis: bruce returns from a night out as the batman in gotham, and you remind him what it is to just be bruce, and to let himself be taken care of, for just a little while.

author's note: oh god the intimacy........... a hot scoop if ever i had one buckaroo

read on ao3!

You’re usually lucky if Bruce is home before dawn.

Tonight, you’re not so lucky.

The sun’s already started to spread back up into the sky, beams of dim grey light fighting through Gotham’s near-constant cloud cover. The curtains are drawn throughout Wayne Manor, however, keeping the palatial spread of Bruce’s home in darkness until he’s actually ready to start his day later.

Alfred joins you in the window, watching the trees outside the estate, waiting for the telltale flash of neon and the rumbling engine that promise the Batmobile’s back— that Bruce is back, that another night as Batman is over, that he’s survived long enough to come home to you once more.

When you see it, you visibly relax. The house is so silent that the distant purr of the engine seems like the loudest crash. When it skims underneath the property, vanishing into the bowels of Wayne Manor, Alfred sighs beside you. You glance over at him.

“Another night,” Alfred says. He doesn’t elaborate before he turns to make his way to the elevator that’ll take him down to the Batcave, and you follow after him. You don’t speak, either; there’s really nothing that needs to be said, right now. The two of you have long since fallen into a routine with Bruce. As the two (adult) people who live with him, who take care of him, who love him most, it’s difficult for you to see Bruce like this.

You hear pounding footsteps before the elevator doors close, and then a tiny hand is slamming in, stopping them from shutting. Dick stares up at you from the other side as the doors snap back open. He still looks half-asleep, pillow lines on his face, pajamas as rumpled as his hair, but he’s alert enough to glare at the both of you.

“Is he home?” Dick asks. His jaw cracks around a yawn in the next second, and you hold your hand out to him.

“He is,” you tell him as Dick comes to you, slipping his hand into yours. He leans into your leg sleepily, letting his eyes drift shut as he yawns again. “You, however, should be asleep.”

“I want to make sure he’s okay,” Dick informs you. It’s just an explanation, not an argument.

Alfred crouches, and Dick steps into the circle of his arms, letting him lift him up onto his hip. Dick refuses to release your hand, clinging tightly as Alfred keeps him close.

The elevator dings into place in the dark subterranean Batcave, the doors clattering open. You can see the Batmobile at the far end of the space, the lights still glowing as the machine cools down enough to be turned off again, and the shadowy shape of Bruce moving through the aisles of worktables and equipment. His cowl, cape, and armor are all still in place, though you can see a fray in the material near his eye, a tear along the left edge of the cape, a chunk ripped out of the armor covering one thigh.

You’ll need to make repairs today and patch together other armor for him to take when he goes out tomorrow night; the last thing you’d ever do is let him go out with less than perfect protection from you.

Bruce finally lifts his eyes, when he’s drawn close enough. You can see the bright glint of them as they hit you first.

In that moment, there’s no filter, no screen, no divide; the wall that Bruce likes to hide behind most often isn’t there, and he’s just looking at you, connecting with you, raw and exhausted and worn. Your lips part slightly; you’re not sure if you need a breath, or if you’re going to say something.

“Bruce!” Dick exclaims, wriggling to get out of Alfred’s arms. The both of you release him, and he sprints to Bruce, colliding with his legs. You don’t miss the way Bruce staggers backwards, catching himself against the worktable behind them.

He still wraps an arm around Dick in response. He bows to hold him for a moment before he lifts him.

“You should be asleep,” Bruce informs him. It sounds like he’s trying to be stern, but he’s landing at slightly concerned instead.

“I just wanted to say hi,” Dick says. He pulls at Bruce’s cowl, and so Bruce reaches up to tug it off, dropping it aside. He looks absolutely fucking exhausted, his face drawn, hair crushed flat, skin wan and split here and there. You can’t see the bags under his eyes, smudged as the space around his eyes is with impossible amounts of reflective black paint, but you know there’s going to be tired bruises there when his face is clean again

“Hi,” Bruce tells him. “When did you go to sleep?”

Dick immediately appears sheepish, and lies, “Eight o’clock.” Bruce looks up at you and Alfred for confirmation, and Dick hurries to correct himself, saying, “I meant ten!”

“You shouldn’t stay up so late,” Bruce tells him, moving to set him down again. “You need your rest. Go back to sleep, kid, okay?”

Listen to your own goddamn advice, you can’t help yourself from thinking. It’s different, you know that. And you can’t help being impossibly endeared by how deeply Bruce cares about Dick and his well-being, even if it’s offset by the obvious contrast in how little he cares about himself and his own well-being.

At least, you think, he has you. And Alfred, and Dick, you mentally amend, but mostly you, because Alfred keeps Bruce functional and the house running, and Dick keeps Bruce balanced and controlled and happy, but you keep Bruce alive. You care for him the same way he cares for Gotham: absolutely, without concern for yourself, determined to do this one job right and protect what matters most to you.

Dick is frowning, but Bruce says, “Alfred, would you?” anyway.

Alfred extends his hand, and Dick hesitates for a rebellious moment before he gives in. He must still be tired, and you wonder how long he waited up after you put him to sleep still waiting for Bruce. You’re sure he’s still lying about ten o’clock, but you’re not about to call him out on it, not right now. Later, you can try and convince him about the merits of a good night’s sleep, even when his father— or, father figure, or mentor, as they insist, but you know better— is setting a terrible example.

“I’ll return in a moment,” Alfred informs you both, but Bruce waves him off, already turning away to start unfastening the latches on his armor.

“No need, Alfred,” Bruce replies. “I’m all set tonight, you can go to bed. Thanks for waiting up.”

Alfred is obviously skeptical, hesitant, and he’s about to argue with him before the two of you make eye contact. You and Alfred have gotten excellent at nonverbal communication; it’s easy for you to talk about Bruce without Bruce ever hearing a word.

Now, Alfred lifts an eyebrow at you slightly. You incline your head. When Alfred’s eyes flick over to Bruce, then back to you, you shake your head slightly, a small furrow coming between your brows.

I can still come back, he’s saying.

No, you tell him, I’ll take care of him. I can do this.

“Get some rest, Alfred,” you tell him. Alfred nods, now, surrendering Bruce to your care. It doesn’t look like Bruce has been busted up in any major ways, no enormous lacerations or deep injuries that need immediate wound care from somebody trained under fire. When Bruce needs a different kind of care, it’s better if it’s only you there. He tries so hard to stay strong for Dick and Alfred, no matter how often you— all of you— insist he doesn’t have to.

You all love him, and he loves you all. The hard part is just convincing him that it’s as true in one direction as it is in the other. You have an unconditional love for him, as does Alfred, as does Dick— but Bruce is terrified that he’ll someday still find the one condition that’ll stop that love, the one thing that will leave him alone again.

He loved so deeply before, only to lose everything, to be broken completely. He’s always so terrified to love again— to lose again— but you know that he’s losing every second he’s not letting himself love.

When Alfred and Dick vanish behind the closed elevator doors, the machine carrying them up and away into the proper body of Wayne Manor, you return your attention more fully to Bruce.

With nobody here but the two of you, Bruce is starting to crumple. He grasps for the fixture on the cape, and you step up without hesitation, stretching to unclasp it yourself. You send the fabric slithering to the floor. It’s important; of course, it’s important. Everything Bruce makes for Batman is important.

Bruce, however, is more important, and takes precedence over his uniform. You unwind the wraps from his hands, freeing each finger in turn until his bruised hands are free. Each piece of his armor gets separated and set aside next, either placed on a worktable or dropped to the floor to join the cape. You’ll pick it up later, or Alfred will, or Bruce himself will; whoever gets to it first. Right now, it doesn’t matter. They’re just things, just clothes. They can be mended in time. Bruce needs mending immediately, needs care he can’t wait for.

When you’ve got him down to his tight black boxer briefs and his black undershirt— all soaked in sweat— you can take a better catalogue of his injuries.

Really, compared to other nights, it’s not that bad tonight. There’s a long cut looping near his hip that must’ve slipped through his armor; luckily, though it stretches for a fair length, it’s shallow. A slightly deeper cut is near his collarbone, and there’s a few fresh bruises, which you’ve grown horribly used to.

“C’mon,” you tell him, and take his hand to guide him. He grabs his notebook on the way, letting you take him upstairs into the proper house, through the dark, twisting hallways and up the stairs to his bedroom.

In the enormous bathroom attached to his bedroom, you sit Bruce down on the edge of the bathtub. You run the hot water, letting the rushing sound fill the room, steam thick with heat following after. In that roaring silence, Bruce scribbles in his notebook, his hand flying in his struggle to keep up with the pace of his own thoughts.

While he works and the bathtub fills, you start examining his wounds. His skin prickles everywhere your fingers drag. You make a soft noise when you see a little fresh blood around the injury near his collarbone, and his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“I’m going to stitch this one,” you tell him.

He nods, then says, “Thank you,” his voice rough. You nod, leaning in to kiss his cheek, tasting paint and sweat and dirt and God knows what the fuck else.

Bruce keeps up his rapid scribbling while you dig out the massive first aid kit you and Alfred keep under the sink for him in here. You clean the wound on his hip first, then neatly close it with butterfly stitches. He barely seems to notice. When you move up to his collarbone, he switches to writing with his other hand. He only reacts once, when you first dab this wound; his expression tightens a bit, the muscles in his jaw jumping.

You move more carefully, cleaning out the deeper cut as tenderly as possible. He doesn’t respond again, still writing, mumbling softly to himself as he works. It’s a rhythm the two of you have long since established. In the beginning, he used to apologize a lot. It took you telling him many, many times that you’re here for him, not some changed and different version of him, for him to actually believe you, letting it sink in that he can sometimes just be quiet and think. You know he needs to process his time out as Batman when he gets home; this is just another part of the routine.

You finish cleaning Bruce’s injuries and stitching him up before he’s finished writing. You let the water run a little bit, letting a bit of it out so he can finish up. It’s only once he’s done that you finally allow the bathtub to fill up the entire way. He seems surprised, nearly as if he’s forgotten where he was, when you reach out to lay a hand on his wrist.

“Can I take that?” you ask, and he nods. Slipping the notebook from his hand, keeping his pen inside to keep his place, you tug him into standing again.

He starts to strip off his own undershirt, so you kneel to hook your fingertips in the waistband of his underwear and tug them down. His clothes end up in the laundry basket; the notebook is safely removed to the nightstand in his bedroom; the first aid kit is replaced to its home beneath the sink.

Bruce takes your hand, lets you lower him down into the hot water. His face screws up slightly in response to the heat. You watch Bruce start to sink back into his own body, bit by bit, coming back to you.

The physical sensations are going a long way towards dragging him up out of the trance he usually ends up in when he comes home on nights like these. You roll your clothes up so you can sit on the bathtub’s edge without getting anything wet, your own legs submerged in the water up to your knees.

You stretch to reach for Bruce’s bath sponge. He tilts forward obediently, and you reach down to soak the sponge in water before you bring it up over his back and squeeze it out, letting the water rush down his skin. It drags dirt and grime with it, leaving trails of slightly cleaner skin behind.

You take up Bruce’s soap and start working it through the sponge until there’s a lather. His eyes drift closed when you bring the sponge to his back again, starting to scrub at his shoulder blades, suds washing away the filth that’s gathered on him over the course of the night. You work over every inch of his back, taking care to make sure you don’t miss anything. You go back over it again, to loosen his muscles, and he sighs, his head hanging forward, shoulders slumping.

You take Bruce’s wrist in your hand, stretching out one arm so you can scrub it clean. You do the same with the other, and Bruce tilts his head back to watch you, his bright eyes hazily half-focused on your face as you work.

Every now and then, unable to resist him, you lean in and press a kiss to some part of his face. The corner of his mouth, the space next to his eye, the skin between his brows, the side of his nose. He smiles slightly every time, tipping just a bit into each kiss like he’s chasing after them with half a mind, slowly, drowsily returning to his own body.

While you’re focused on his face, you bring a washcloth up to scrub the paint and sweat and filth away. You swipe under one eye, sponging the paint off of him in sweeps to reveal pale skin and the bruises you knew would be underneath his eyes. You scour his entire face until he’s pink and raw when you bring the filthy cloth away. The thing is stained, but you just chuck it towards the laundry. It’s more important that Bruce is clean than the washcloth is.

You take up the sponge again to bring down between his legs, dipping into the creases near his hips, his thighs. His head tilts back against the rim of the tub, and he shifts. You let your hand glide over his cock once, but there’s no intent. He’s clean, he’s warm, he’s safe, he’s here. That’s all you want— right now, anyways.

Gliding to his inner thigh, you make sure he’s clean everywhere. You scrub behind his knees, along the fine bones of his ankles, winding around and back up the other side. You make sure he’s clean everywhere, not a drop of the night left on him, before you abandon the sponge and take up Bruce’s shampoo instead.

Bruce tips his own head into the water to wet his filthy hair, sweat-soaked and crushed flat to his scalp as it is. He has such beautiful hair, not that he seems to realize it.

You scratch your nails down to his scalp, working out every tiny bit of grit, every speck of dirt, every oil-slick strand. He relaxes under your ministrations, his eyes drifting open and closed and open again, slipping up to find your face. He flickers back and forth as he watches you, a small smile at the edges of his lips.

When his hair is completely washed, you rinse it, then start again. He gets scrubbed twice before you carefully condition his hair, even as he huffs a laugh at you.

“How was it tonight?” you ask, when he starts to engage with you again.

“Mm.” He shifts, the water rippling slightly against the sides of the bath. “It wasn’t bad. Nothing terrible. Just another night in Gotham.”

For Bruce, ‘just another night in Gotham’ can mean anything from stopping a couple of muggings to witnessing somebody’s death, so you’re not about to let him just blow off whatever happened tonight. However, you also know he processes in his own time, so you rinse his hair again before kissing him on the temple.

“Up,” you say. “Get in the shower, let me clean the bathtub.”

“I’m s—”

“Go,” you tell him, and he goes. A trail of dripping water is left behind in tiny puddles in his wake. Really, the bathtub isn’t so hard to clean; you rinse it out twice and it’s mostly fine. You find Bruce in the shower after, his forehead pressed to the tile, hot water cascading over the crown of his head to sluice down his body.

“Come on,” you say. You tangle your fingers with his, and he comes with you to stand on the rug in front of the sink. You stretch to towel his hair dry, combing it with your fingers before you twist to find his actual comb on the counter. He stands still as you comb his hair back for him, then pat him dry all over, kneeling to rub the towel down the backs of his thighs.

Small goosebumps are lifting on his skin when you finish, so you reach for his bathrobe to wrap him in it, soft, dark fabric sliding over his skin. He follows you from the bathroom to his bedroom.

When you’re sitting him down on the edge of the bed, sweeping his hair back from his face, there’s a soft knock at the door. You leave him there with a kiss on the forehead before you go to answer the gentle sound.

On the other side of the door, Alfred waits with a tray. He passes it off to you, asks, “How is he tonight?”

“He’s okay, I think,” you tell him. You glance over your shoulder, and Alfred does the same, the both of you watching as Bruce shuffles himself back against the pillows, still on top of the covers. “Just tired.”

“Aren’t we all?” Alfred asks, and you smile slightly. When you turn back to Alfred, he leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek. “You get some sleep, too. Don’t think your hours have gone unnoticed—”

“Goodnight, Alfred,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze before you balance the tray again. “You get some sleep.”

“Rest assured, I will,” Alfred replies. Raising his voice slightly, he says over your shoulder, “Goodnight, Master Wayne.”

“Goodnight, Alfred,” Bruce says. He looks up, asks, “Is Dick asleep?”

“Soundly,” Alfred replies.

Bruce is smiling when he says, “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Get some rest,” is all Alfred says. He eyes you, says, “The both of you. And eat that,” he adds, pointing at the tray he’s given you. “All of it.”

“Yes, Dad,” Bruce says from the bed. It’s a joke, but it’s not a joke, between them. Every time he makes the joke, the both of them get this smile that makes your chest feel tight, and you’re not even involved. It’s nice, to see Bruce, who sometimes feels like the most well-known orphan in the world, not be completely without a parent.

Alfred bids you both goodnight again before leaving to retire to his own room. You nudge the door shut gently, quietly, before taking the tray he’s brought to Bruce in bed, slipping the cover up and off.

It’s not much— it’s hot oatmeal, and warm water, and cornbread with butter melting in. It’s not food that Bruce makes himself when he’s being specific with what he eats; it’s what Alfred makes him to comfort him.

Bruce accepts the food without comment, leaning back against the pillows to pick at pieces of it. You tear the cornbread and bring a piece to his lips.

He smiles. “You’re feeding me, now?”

“It’s more for me than you,” you tell him. Leaning in slightly and lowering your voice, as if sharing a secret with a co-conspirator, you tell him, “I have a little bit of a crush on you, you know.”

Bruce laughs again, a soft noise that accompanies a bit of pink flushing on his sharp cheeks. You lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth before you feed him the cornbread. His tongue chases the shine of butter on your fingertip, and you smile, too, watching the sleepily joyful edge that he has as he nears sleep.

You can’t help but feel partially responsible for him, right now. For his contentment, for his happiness, for the way he’s stretching lazily and yawning when you know that, before you, he used to come home and lock his bedroom door and collapse in bed until he woke up the next day, if he slept at all. It’s difficult to keep Bruce home— impossible, actually— but you can at least make home a good place while he’s here, can make sure that he’s comfortable and safe and happy while he’s here with you.

Softly, unable to stop yourself, you ask him, “Bruce. Are you happy?”

Bruce looks up from where he’s scraping the last of his oatmeal from the bowl, his brow furrowed. “What makes you ask that?”

Your chest hurts a little bit. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Oh.” Bruce looks back down at his spoon, then sets it down, abandoning the empty dishware. You take it from him as he says, “I am.”

“Yeah?” you ask.

He reaches out, his long fingers encircling your wrist. You set the empty tray aside, joining him in bed again, bringing him painkillers from the bottle on the bedside table to take with the last of his water.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

He takes the painkillers you offer, then draws you in. You climb over him to get under the covers, bringing them up and around the both of you. Snapping off the light beside the bed, you throw the room into darkness, despite the fact that you know the sun must just be rising outside. For Bruce, this is the time to sleep, the only time. You’re going to make sure not a drop of sunlight comes in to ruin that before he’s ready.

Bruce twists to burrow into you in the darkness. You can’t see each other, but you can feel Bruce wrapping himself around you, burying his face in your throat. His chest is rising and falling steadily, but his face feels warm as he tucks it into your skin.

His lips move slightly, but you can’t hear what he says. Letting your hand drift up, you start carding your fingers through his damp hair, scratching lightly along his scalp.

You press a kiss to his hairline, then whisper, “What was that?”

Bruce takes a soft breath in. The inhale feels a little shaky, but you don’t have time to ask if he’s okay before he’s murmuring again, voice raised slightly from before, “Thank you for not… leaving me alone. Thank you for being here.”

He’s saying that, but he’s saying more, so much more. He’s saying thank you for staying when I told you to go. He’s saying thank you for knowing me better than I know myself. He’s saying thank you for caring for me when I don’t know how. He’s saying I love you and I can’t be alone if it means being without you. He’s saying nobody has ever loved me like this. He’s saying I never thought I had anybody before I had you.

You tighten your hold on him, and he does the same in return. Burying your face in his hair, inhaling the warm soap-clean smell of him, you smile through the burn in your eyes.

“I love you,” you tell him. “You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

He huffs a laugh that doesn’t feel like it’s humored. You can still feel the smile against your skin, the hot burn of salt-wetness that soaks from his eyes, melting into you.

“I love you,” he murmurs back, voice warm like steam, absorbed by your skin. You kiss his skull, close your eyes, grounding yourself in the feel of him and in the knowledge that he’s here for another night, safe in his bed— your bed— your shared bed— with you, at least once more.

[celestialnxva]

Lighthouses.

༄ A chapter of the 'Hiraya' Series.

Bruce Wayne x Reader (18+)

Summary: 'This type of love was a love in its truest form, one that simply cannot be tainted by jealousy or ravenous desire. No, this love transcended that.'

Warnings: it's more interpretive than explicit, but it is still smut. lots of fluff, but mdni.

wc: 2k words

a/n: telltale bruce bcs he’s a tired man who never gets any love :/

batman/hiraya series masterlist. | main masterlist.

It was obvious to point out that Bruce Wayne was not a blushing virgin. He’s been with many women before. If you were to ask him what kind of man he was in bed, they would usually give an answer along the lines of ‘he’s like an animal’ or ‘he’s intense and it was hot.’ It was normal for Bruce to be associated with being a sex icon. 

But it was different with you. With you, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you in any way. You made him feel so vulnerable, so warm and protected. How could he ever treat you any less than with proper attentiveness? Even though he was the big, strong Batman that was meant to protect everyone, he had always craved for someone to make him feel safe too. He deserved to be loved and cared for as much as anyone else, and in his eyes, you stepped up to the plate. It’s why he loved you so much. 

And there are many ways that he can show you how much he loves you. 

Each gift he gave you was intentional and meaningful. From little sticky notes on your bedside table telling you to have a good day to him kissing all over your face and telling you how much he loved you, they were only some of the many ways he has shown his love. Everyone who had known him previously had seen a drastic shift in his attitude. He was smiling more, daydreaming more, more hesitant to go on late night patrols. For the first time in his life, he wanted to finally leave vigilantism behind. He was that much in love with you and he never wanted it to end. What made it worse for him was that you loved him just as much as he did. The two of you cannot leave a conversation without mentioning each other at least once. He was proud of your accomplishments and you were proud of his bravery and selflessness to the people of Gotham and to you. 

Less and less were your days worrying if he would come home late. He was home so often that it felt like you didn’t have to truly share him with Gotham anymore. 

He was yours and you were his. Nothing will ever get in the way of that.

So when someone asks you about whether or not Bruce is an ‘animal in bed,’ there is never a response. Your love ran so deep in your veins that you didn’t feel the need to answer. Your love was for him and for him only. No one else would ever know about how much you two loved each other. All they would know is that they will never hear about the intimacies of your relationship, for you two kept the one good thing in your lives all to yourself to cherish. This is what you both have been waiting for and finally, the stars aligned at the right moment for both of you to meet. This type of love was a love in its truest form, one that simply cannot be tainted by jealousy or ravenous desire. No, this love transcended that. 

He shared his desire for you through worship. Like a deity, he would pray devotedly with meaningful kisses and lingering touches. He held you in his arms, basking in his adoration for you and your wonderful body. He fully believed that you were made for him in every single way. He made sure he reminded you of these feelings when he whispered into your skin praises that can make anyone flustered beyond comparison. A litany of kisses on your stomach and thighs delicately placed to show his gratitude; his gratitude to be able to touch you and be so close to you like this. He could never admit this to you, but your body and your aura only confirmed how much he didn’t deserve your love and devotion. 

As husband and spouse, you two stuck together through thick and thin. Making love to each other was no exception. As he pleasured you in more ways than one, he moved back up to you to be praised for his work; to lay your blessings upon him and wash away all the pain and suffering he had been through. Each kiss you gave him melted his heart while your wandering hands on his chest filled him with more desire than he could comprehend. He wanted you so badly; he always did. 

After your kisses to his nose and cheeks, his smile stayed put on his face while his fingers danced around your entrance. He caressed the top of your head as he pushed one finger inside you. Your beautiful moan so close to his ear was as beautiful as a hummingbird’s song. However, he frowned slightly when he heard your whimpers from his fingers carefully stretching you out. Your hands reached up to cup his cheeks, causing him to lean back to look at you properly. Your angelic face was tainted with your brows furrowed in slight pain. That won’t do. He had to get rid of it immediately. 

“My love,” you exhaled heavily against his lips. Warm and inviting, your lips beckoned him closer, begging for more of him. He did not hesitate to bring a smile on your face by leaning in to kiss your lips tenderly. He swallowed every moan, every whimper that you could muster while you were being prepped by his fingers. He successfully distracted you with tiny kisses on your cheek.

When he felt that you were ready for him, he regretfully leaned back to position himself properly. Your legs slowly spread for him, waiting for him to finally give you the euphoria you’ve been waiting for. His eyes met with yours as he pushed himself into you. When he finally felt you around him, he felt like he was in heaven. Making love to you lovingly gave him more pleasure than he had ever had with other people. It was ethereal, an opportunity that he never took for granted. Without fail, he made your body heave and sigh with every thrust and every touch.

His eyes shifted from your eyes to where you two connected. He couldn’t help but place his hand there, and when he looked up at you, you were shy from his actions. He tilted his head and kept himself inside you while he spoke. 

“You are beautiful. Doing this with you is so beautiful,” he confessed. He felt so happy when his words moved you to tears. Though, he couldn’t have you cry without him wrapping you in his arms. So, he did so, collecting you into his toned arms so he could press kisses on your wet eyelids. Though your bodies were slick with sweat, he didn’t care. The feeling of moving in and out of you was like an elegant dance. There was nothing that could replace the euphoric feeling of the way your body moved in time with his. You are beautiful. Doing this with you is so beautiful. 

Your soft whimpers and moans brought him back to reality and he quickly hushed you while he moved. His pace was steady, grounded so he can assure you that this was all real and that he wouldn’t do anything to harm you. His eyes softened with each praise you gave him in return. Words of gratitude and pleas tumbled off your lips while he caressed your cheek. His eyes, usually calculating and alert, looked glassy from being drunk off of your love. 

“God, (y/n), you feel so good. You take me so well. You always do,” he said breathlessly while his pace began to pick up. He cherished your whines and your desperation, all because of how good he made you feel. He reached down to stroke your sensitive spot, wanting to hear more of your noises. “I love you, (y/n). I love you so much,” he murmured hotly against your ear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him deeper inside of you. You cried out his name as he increased his passionate thrusts. You loved how vocal he was as well. You loved that you were the only one who could make him feel this good. That thought alone almost made you lose control. 

When your body started to jolt from his slightly rougher thrusts, he gasped and groaned against your parted lips. It was his form of begging you to take him in, begging you to love him with as much passion as he had for you. He was burning up in flames from the intensity of your love making and your desperate cries only propelled him to thrust harder. He wanted you to feel him close when you lost all control of your senses. 

“I-I love you too, dear. I love you,” you confessed over and over again. Each one drove him to chase his high with you. You understood how much he loved you and he would always be grateful for that. You understood that the way he makes love is more passionate than any rough sex any of you could give to each other. This was arousing because you know that you two would never do this to anyone else; just the two of you against the world, as it always has been.

A few more thrusts and he lost himself, giving his heart and soul for you so you could feel him deep inside you and fill your body with a type of love no one can comprehend. He watched as you let go too, succumbing to euphoria. He held you in his arms while you were recovering from your overwhelming high. He was exhausted from the intensity, but it didn’t stop him from staying with you like this for just a few more moments. He was grateful that he did because when he saw you shake, he watched as you went from your high to your low, letting out quiet sobs into you hands. His heart broke at the sight of your overwhelmed senses, so he quickly kissed all over your face.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked worriedly. Had he been too rough? Has he neglected you in some way? When he was surely going to explode from overthinking, you shook your head and looked up at him with teary eyes. Even when you were crying, you were beautiful. “I love you so much. You always take care of me and I don’t ever want you to be away from me,” you said before you let more tears slip down your cheek. His own eyes watered from your sincere confession. He took the time to wipe each tear away with his thumbs while he kissed your forehead. 

“You know I will never leave you, right?” he reassured softly. Your eyes fluttered open when he responded to you. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I cannot be with anyone else. I would rather die than be without you, (y/n). I cannot make love to anyone else but you. I cannot feel as much as I do with you,” he said before he caressed both of your cheeks. His eyes looked determined to comfort your tearful ones. “I am yours, (y/n). I always have been,” he whispered, letting his confession fill your heart with love. 

The confession made you cry more, much to Bruce’s dismay, but at least he knew now that those tears didn’t come from a place of sorrow. Rather, you cried tears of joy, a joy that you always felt when you were with Bruce like this. You were forever grateful that this man had come into your life when you needed him the most. He would forever be grateful that you had come into his life and gave him the hope he had been waiting for. You loved each other wholeheartedly because you were each other’s lighthouses; lighthouses that made even the darkest Gotham City corner shine bright with hope. 

You were his and he was yours. Nothing will ever get in the way of your love ever again.

[finniestoncrane]

💚 my requests are always open 🩷

you can find my writing:

in my tag

on my masterlist

my AO3

important things first:

🔞🔞🔞 minors DNI 🔞🔞🔞 you can request anonymously 💚 i don't write in order of when things are received, i do it based on inspiration. if i can't think of anything for something after a few months i'll delete it without explanation, sorry i have a prompt tag and if you use it let me know which prompt list you've asked for or let me know more than just the numbers! let me know gender specifics of "reader" if there is one (pronouns, genitals etc.) if you don't specify it'll be gender neutral or female please don't include images or gifs in your requests, they visually overwhelm me and make it difficult to tackle the prompt i mostly identify as cis/white/afab so keep this in mind if you request nb/trans/t4t/different races/male reader presenting etc. i will choke you if you don't reblog and like the thing you requested, be nice and supportive!

requests i accept:

i write for batman rogues, fallout and a few other characters! for dc rogues headcanons: i will do multiple characters per post for headcanons but only for all general rogues, a specific dork squad (in my do writes!) or all iterations that i write for of a specific character e.g. ✅ can you write first dates with arkham!dork squad? ✅ what would all the riddlers do on a first date? ✅ how would the rogues handle a first date? (if you ask for all iterations of a specific character i'll either write for them all or pick several of them depending on the ask. if you want one specifically to be included just let me know)

characters i write for:

🦇 DC/BATMAN 🦇

Riddler (⭐arkham, dano, ⭐zero year, telltale, TWOJAR, gotham, BTAA, young justice, BU, BTAS, general)

Penguin (⭐farrell, BTAA, telltale, OBD, gotham, general)

Scarecrow (⭐arkham, ⭐BTAA, golden age, general)

Two Face (⭐arkham, BTAA, general)

Victor Zsasz (gotham, general)

Mad Hatter (arkham, gotham - NO INCEST, general)

Captain Boomerang (⭐ss:ktjl, general)

Poison Ivy (arkham, general)

Polkadot Man (suicide squad)

Harley Quinn (telltale, arkham, ss:ktjl, ⭐general)

Bane (arkham, telltale, OBD, ⭐general)

Harvester (bu)

Amanda Waller (ss:ktjl)

Mr. Freeze (arkham, gotham, general)

John Doe/Joker (telltale)

Butch Gilzean/Solomon Grundy (gotham)

King Shark (ss:ktjl, general)

Deadshot (ss:ktjl, general)

Killer Croc (arkham!origins, general)

Firefly (arkham, general)

Harvey Bullock (gotham)

Alfred Pennyworth (gotham, general)

Black Mask (arkham, general)

Sofia Gigante/Falcone (the penguin series)

☢️ Fallout Franchise ☢️

Cooper Howard (fallout prime)

Maximus (fallout prime)

Thaddeus (fallout prime)

John Hancock (fallout 4)

Sturges (fallout 4)

Edward Deegan (fallout 4)

Paladin Danse (fallout 4)

Nick Valentine (fallout 4)

Kent Connolly (fallout 4)

🔴 TF2 🔵

please note!!: i'll write all ships (plus blu x red) and i'll base the dynamic either on your request or on my own interpretation of them

sniper/mick mundy

scout/jeremy

soldier/jane doe

demoman/tavish degroot

heavy/mikhail/misha

engineer/dell conagher

medic/herbert ludwig

pyro

spy

💚 Other Characters 💚

Cecil Stedman (invincible)

Walter Skinner (x-files)

Arthur Morgan (red dead redemption 2)

Hosea Matthews (red dead redemption 2)

Kieran Duffy (red dead redemption 2)

Micah Bell (red dead redemption 2)

Susan Grimshaw (red dead redemption 2)

Bill Williamson (red dead redemption 2)

Egon Spengler (ghostbusters)

Nick (left 4 dead 2)

i will write:

x reader, x fem/male/gn character, ships, headcanons

absolutely yucky disgusting smut of most kinds

most kinks including knife play, blood play, bondage, sub/dom, pain play, mommy/daddy, etc.

darker themes like cnc, dubcon, noncon, somnophilia, hypnotism, manipulation, gaslighting, guilting

angst, fluff, romance, friendships, hurt/comfort

jealousy, yandere, obsessive themes etc.

ships plus ships x reader also!

non-ship pairings of characters in my "will write" criteria

death, gore, extreme violence

blood, cum, spit and some piss

injuries, pain etc.

imagines, scenarios, full fics, short fics, headcanons

i won’t write:

underage characters (at all, in any scenario, including platonic or familial)

vomit, shit or breast milk

real people

bestiality

pregnancy/pregnancy sex/having children/step-children

age play (daddy and mommy kink fine, dd/lg not for me!)

incest

characters x monster/monster!reader (may do in commissions)

OCs or overly detailed reader specifications (may do in commissions)

AUs or crossovers (may do this in commissions)

extreme anal i.e. fisting/enemas/stretching (may do in commissions)

also i am anti-cancel culture! i'm not about to out you/report you/fuck with your privacy if you send me anything that i'm not sure about or uninterested in writing

and finally, no pressure at all but if you want to thank me i would greatly appreciate reblogs, comments, and maybe even a tip

[mr-voorhees-husband]

Ahem; villians of your choice x Virgin reader.

Of... Of MY choice? Carcal you spoil me. (also please send that other request of urs in I ficked up and deleted it on accident)

Lets see..

Telltale!Riddler + Batman Unlimited!Scarecrow

Tags: nsft, established relationships, gentle sex (all), corruption kink (Riddler),

Reader: Gender neutral, Virgin

Telltale!Edward Nygma "Riddler"

Evil

Okok, joking aside. Despite his sadistic streak, he's a very attentive lover (in and out of bed), and while he does have a bit of a corruption kink, he does his best to hide his smile when you admit you're a virgin

It's only fair he's the one to take your virginity, at least in his eyes. Who better than your loving boyfriend, the smartest man in the world. Edward is many things, and possessive is one of them.

Your first time has to be special, he decides. He has to make it enjoyable for both of you, but, mostly you. It's your first time, he's going to set the bar so high you couldn't find anyone like him. (again, possessive)

At first he's slow, gentle, letting you control the pace. Edward's a gentleman first, a villain second (at least with you, that is). It isn't until you get completely undressed does the darker side of him emerge.

"Look at that," Calloused hands rubbed your sex, making you moan at the feeling, "for a virgin, you're such an attention whore. My pretty litte attention whore, though." Edward nipped at your neck, a whimper choking it's way from your neck.

"Edward- oh god- please-?" You didn't even know what you were begging for, but judging by the grin against your jugular, Edward did.

"All in due time, my dear," The feeling of fingers prodding your entrance had you squirming. Edward pinned you down with his own body, slipping his middle finger inside of you. "All in due time.."

When he reaches this point, possessiveness and dirty talk reaches a maximum. While he's still going slow, and gentle, he's much more dirty about it.

He'll have you in a mating press, biting and kissing your neck, whispering a mix of praise and degradation in your ear as you scream out in pleasure.

He goes until you physically cannot anymore, and if you (somehow) outlast him, he expects you to let him use his mouth and fingers, after all, he's the experienced one.

Aftercare with him is absolutely amazing, though. He'll start up a bath, cleaning off the mix of sweat, tears, and cum from your body while telling you how good you did, how good you felt, and how he can't wait to do it again.

The morning after is met with a lavish breakfast, a bouquet of your favorite (non-deadly) flower(s), and a reservation for a restaurant you've been wanting to try.

You gave him the gift of your virginity, so he'll give you anything and everything you could ever want. It's the least he could do.

Batman Unlimited!Jonathan Crane "Scarecrow"

Doesn't believe you at first.

I'm dead serious, you tell him and he rolls his eyes and says "yes, and I'm still human."

It's not because Jonathan believed you slept around before the two of got together, he just seriously can't believe that someone hadn't gotten with you first. He thinks you're knock out gorgeous and he's... him.

Though, when you get upset at the reply, he realizes that you infact, are a virgin. And for a moment he sits there in utter shock because you telling him this implies you want him to take your virginity. After a moment he asks if you want him to be the one to change that.

Crane is a hard man to embarrass, he has the patience of a god (i mean, seriously, a psychological professor and ripped asf? That takes patience.) but when you answer him, that yes, you want him to take your virginity he's floored.

"Now?" Jonathan mutters, adjusting his pants as subtlety as he could while you stood infront of his sitting form. You fidgeted with your fingers, face burning bright red. "My dear?"

"I- I mean, we don't have to right now." Your face could rival a tomato right now, refusing to lock eyes with your lover.

"Alright, let me reiterate," He placed his book to the side, his glasses joining soon after. He stood up towering over you (because lets be honest, no matter how tall you are, there's a good chance he's taller). "Do you want me to make love to you tonight?"

Only a fool would say no.

He's big, in all forms of the word. Big hands, big arms, big co-

Despite the size difference, he's extraordinarily gentle, though, that doesn't mean he's letting you control the pace. He'll take care of you, but that means you're to be a good little subject for him while he figures out just what makes you tick.

Jonathan isn't even teasing you, either, he simply wants to know everything about you he can. One large hand holding down your wrists to keep you from struggling to much as he searches for the spot on your neck that makes you sob in pleasure. Going down on you for so long when he comes up a mix of drool and your climax is dripping down his chin.

If he ends up tiring you out before the main course, he's not disappointed at all. He'll go start you a bath, and once you're settled in there, he'll handle his 'problem'. If not though...

Jonathan will hold your hips up with one hand, the other wrapped around on of your own as he grind his hips against yours. Every moan of his name is met with a grunt and kiss, soft, almost worshipful praise falling from his lips.

As a Doctor (shh, ik he's not a normal doctor), he's amazing at aftercare. He'll clean you off, rubbing away any bruises he might have accidentally left. Before letting you curl up on his chest as he runs his hands through your hair. He doesn't need sleep that much anymore, but, he's more than happy to lay there a couple hours while admiring your beauty.

Your morning is met with plenty of kisses, cuddles, and a nice warm breakfast. While he's not the most affection, he can't help but let the rare touchstarved side of himself show.

[get-your-fics]

oooh yes okay so idea for the joker thing. I've always loved the whole innocent reader trope bc I'm like that, so maybe the reader is purely an innocent bystander, maybe she's a nurse or something at Arkham or maybe they met before, but immediately after seeing her joker is like, yeah, that's the one, and gets obsessed with her. She thinks he's just being kind bc she doesn't know any better but after a while she realizes just how crazy he is and to what lengths he will go for his own pursuits, including bringing down her to his level.

Stray

Summary: You stand up to Batman, but you know what they say about strays: feed them and they'll come back.

Pairing: Keoghan!Joker x reader

Word count: 679

Warnings: Violence, little mention of blood, future bad things to come

It was dangerous to walk the city streets late at night. You parents had warned you of that since you were old enough to go out on your own. Maybe you were just hopelessly naive, but you braved the long walk home after your shift at the diner anyway. You didn’t even have enough spare change to cover the bus fare, all of your meager wages going towards that month’s rent, and whatever happened to be left over for a hot meal.

Your footsteps echoed as you walked down the empty street. You halted when you heard the telltale noises of a struggle. You peeked around the corner into a dark alley sandwiched between two imposing buildings.

Two men were fighting. The taller of the two had the other’s collar balled up in his fists. He slammed him back against the brick wall of the building, getting in his face.

The rational thing to do would be to mind your business and keep walking, but instead you charged towards the pair. “Hey!” you shouted at them, earning their attention.

Both of their heads snapped to look at you. As you drew closer, you could make out the shorter figure as a man in tattered rags, his face horribly disfigured. But you were even more shocked when you took in the taller man’s appearance.

It was Batman.

You slowed to a stop in front of them. “What are you doing to him?”

“Stay out of this,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You have no idea what this man has done.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d he do, shoplift?” Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “Set up his tent in front of the wrong apartment building? Do you get off on beating up on people weaker than you?”

He clenched his jaw. “He’s hardly weak.”

“Why don’t you go after the billionaires underpaying their workers so they can sit in their ivory towers and eat caviar for every meal?” you snapped. “They’re the ones causing the destruction in this city, not those of us just scraping by to survive.”

You dug your phone out of your purse and held it up. “Let him go or I won’t hesitate to call the police.” You weren’t sure if the threat would work or not, but you were desperate enough to try anything at this point.

He stared at you for a long moment, his slate eyes piercing straight through you to your soul. Then, he loosened his grip on the man’s shirt. The man slid down the wall and sank to the ground, collapsing in a heap.

You rushed towards him and kneeled down beside him, helping him sit up. When you looked up at the spot where Batman had been, it was empty. He was no where to be seen, vanishing back into the shadows he had come from.

You turned your attention to the man. “Are you alright?” You placed your hand on his jaw, lifting his face. He was beaten up pretty badly, though it was hard to tell what was from his encounter with the vigilante and what was from before.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered, clinging to the worn down remains of his clothes for warmth to shield him from the chill in the air. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve had worse.”

You frowned. He must be homeless. You could only imagine the horrible things he had witnessed and been subjected to living out on the streets.

“I’ll call you an ambulance.” You grabbed his hand and helped him stand. “You must be cold. My apartment isn’t too far from here. You can wait there until it arrives.” You dipped your head, looking him in the eye. “It’s a couple blocks away. Do you think you can walk that far?"

His lips twitched into a lopsided smile, blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. You certainly hadn’t heeded the warnings about stranger danger. Once you let him in, there was no way he’d ever be going out. “I think I can make it."

[benslittlestarkiller]

Religion (Part I) - Confession

♡ Bruce Wayne x Reader ♡

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III] [Part IV] [Part V] 

I also post my work on AO3 - Religion can be found here.

You have been secretly dating the Batman who you know is Bruce Wayne. You are always worrying about him when he goes out to fight crime. One night Bruce realizes he loves you after nearly losing his life.

Warning: NSFW content, fingering

Word Count: 496

One night, you are waiting for him in the basement below Wayne Tower when you see on the news that the Batman nearly died sacrificing his life in an explosion. Then you hear the telltale sound of his batcycle coming down the tunnel. He stops and removes his bat-helmet revealing a scarred face.

Blood pours from a wound on his head and you run over to him and slap his face, his head turns violently to the side. "I was so worried about you!" You yell. "You can't do that, Bruce. People care about you, you can't just sacrifice yourself." He looks at you then, his gaze penetrates you to your core, his eyes black and smoldering. You can tell something has changed in him (you're an empath) then he picks you up by the waist and sets you down on the desk, pushing things off it which crash to the floor.

Your legs open wide for him and he steps between them, you feel the heat of his body at your core. He reaches with his gloved hands and you open your mouth for him and he sticks 2 fingers into it. You obediently lave your tongue all over them saliva dripping down your chin.

You draw his fingers in deeper bobbing your head simulating what you're gonna do to him later, holding his intense eye contact and he groans. He extracts his fingers from your orifice. You lick your lips saying "There's more where that came from."

His eyes darken incrementally before he reaches down between your legs to fondle your most sensitive area. He moves your panties aside and as he does so his index finger slightly touches your clitoris which sends a jolt through your entire body.

He smirks at this. When he finally inserts a finger into your weeping slut you gave and grasp his wide shoulders.

"Please, Bruce," you moan, his second finger penetrating you as your wetness coats them entirely. He begins to move at a punishingly slow pace, your entire body shuddering with each thrust of him inside you. He ghosts delicately over that spot in you which makes you see stars, then he begins thrusting fatter.

"Bruceeeee," you moan out and he silencing you with a bruising kiss that steals the air from your lungs. His tongue invades your mouth matching the pace of his fingers in your pussy. He overtakes all 5 of your senses and its as if you are surrounded by his entire being, two souls merging in that passion-filled moment to become one.

You throw your head back, knocking it into the computer behind you as you come undone around him, the pain only serving to enhance your pleasure.

You call out his name over and over until the pleasure fades into aftershocks. He leans his forehead against yours and when you open your eyes you are greeted by a sea of blue.

"I love you, y/n. I will never leave you."

[gothamitereaderwrites]

Gotham Rogues x / & reader request blog!

I love a lot of existing rogues blogs but they always seem super busy and swamped so I figure another can't hurt and it'll give me a chance to practice my writing.

What's x / & mean?

Classically x and / are gendered relationship markers (x for m/f ships and / for m/m or f/f, originating the terms "slash fiction" and "femslash" to refer to lgbt shipping) but today they are largely interchangeable. However x and / both indicate romantic relationships. & indicates platonic and familial relationships. This helps avoid ship mixups!

What can I request here?

I have seen every Batman movie but not Catwoman, Joker, Justice League (either cut), or the 1940s serials. I have seen Batman 1966, Gotham, BTAS, TNBA, and Mask of the Phantasm but am not through Batman Beyond and have not seen The Batman 2004, TBATB, or Happy Halloween Scooby Doo. I am almost done listening to Batman Unburied but have not heard Rogues! Or Batman Audio Adventures. I do read comics but don't feel grounded enough in my knowledge to write comics canon yet. I have watched LPs of Arkham Asylum & City but have not finished watching LPs of Origins, Knight, or the Telltale series, and do not have the actual games to mine for details.

I would prefer only Rogues requests at the moment, I don't quite feel comfortable writing for the Batfam. I will also only write & fics for Ivy Pepper, Selina Kyle, and Jonathan Crane from Gotham.

Can I request NSFW?

I've never written NSFW before, nor do I have experience to draw on, but if you can stomach the awkwardness or inaccuracy go ahead.

Can I request a minor!reader?

No. If this is a success, I might later consider a seperate blog for strictly & requests but to start with I'd prefer minors don't interact at all.

Can I request a ship?

You can request a polyamorous reader fic i.e. nygmobblepot/reader or Harley x reader x Ivy, but for now I won't write direct ships.

Can I request a fic where a rogue with a "split personality" is "cured" or my favorite personality "wins"?

No. DC's treatment of mental health issues is always questionable and that's part of writing these characters at all, especially in regards to systems like Two-Face, but while I might mention conflict between system members I will not write about them being destroyed, erased, assimilated, or otherwise unmade to suit the preferences of the reader.

[half-dead-writer]

|| Just a man-crush ||

[ John Doe / Joker x masc Reader ]

John is very jealous of you and Harley hanging out. He can't take it anymore.

Accidental confession + dissatisfying ending?

🌈 || John Doe / Joker [Batman: The Telltale Series] 🌈 || ~1k words 🌈 || masculine (& mlm) reader

Can be read as part 2 to this. Mayhaps gonna do a part 3.

Ever since you joined The Pact, John was ecstatic about a new face around.

You laughed at his jokes, even told some of your own, which got him interested in you.

Everything seemed perfect, at least in his mind, until he noticed Harley started taking a liking in you.

You didn't really like Harley though.

Still, you tried to at least be politely nice to her. She was running this place, so you didn't wanna get onto her bad side.

John partially knew that, but some other part of him was jealous.

He tried to explain to himself it was just his delusions and even tried to ask you about it - to which you responded honestly of course - but it still wasn't enough to convince him.

Whenever he saw you two, he had this indescribable feeling inside.

He was really torn, he valued you as his friend, but seeing you around Harley just broke his heart.

You were just so perfect- Of course Harley would prefer you over him.

He didn't want you to notice, but his behavior did change slightly as the feelings got the best of him.

He was more irritable at the mere mention of you going somewhere with her.

Even if you two were having a good time, the thought of you and Harley crept into his head and didn't wanna let go.

And one day he just snapped.

"Dammit, Y/N, stop lying to me!" He shouted while clenching his fists, catching you off guard.

"...Lying? John, I don't even like Harley that much." You tried to calm him down, but he seemed adamant in his opinion. "And you know that-"

"Well- Yes- Yes, I know! But- I just got this- feeling, I can't get rid of it!" He seemed desperate for any kind of solution in this situation. He really didn't wanna feel that way towards you.

You sighed calmly, still patient and ready to help your friend. "What are you feeling exactly, John?"

His breathing hitched slightly but he managed to compose himself.

You two were sitting in his room, and even though emotions got the best of him, he didn't want Harley to hear what's going on.

Which was especially hard with the place being practically out in the open, due to the big empty windows in his room.

"I know you don't like Harley, yes, you told me that- But for some reason, I have a voice in my head telling me... that something's wrong." He admitted after a while, looking at you like a lost puppy.

You stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating what to say.

"I mean- Look at you." He stared you up and down, making you feel a bit weird inside. "I know what Harley sees in you."

You took another moment, running out of options on how to convince your friend that you're really, really not interested in her.

"Uh... John." You decided to finally say something that would probably change his mind.

He looked at you intently, hoping you'd have some sort of definitive proof.

You didn't really have a reason to say anything like that before, so you held off from that, but it seemed now was the right time to confess.

"I'm- Generally not interested in women."

John blinked at you once, then twice. Processing the info.

He stayed silent for a brief second, making you wonder what was going through his mind in that moment.

But John was quick to tell you.

"Well..." His tone was different. Not negative, but... slightly confused. "That changes things... But actually- Not really."

You weren't afraid of him treating you differently after that confession, John seemed like the most accepting person ever. But you were a bit unsure of what John was getting at.

You tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to continue.

"I- I do feel different now." He admitted, not taking his sight away from you. "But there's still something there..."

"Uh... What is it, then?" You patiently asked.

He tried to pick his words carefully, still figuring out himself what he had on his mind.

"I'm not mad at you, that's for sure now." He figured that out.

"But..." He looked at the floor now in deep thought. "I'd be kinda mad if Harley were to talk to you?"

You weren't sure if the idea in your head was correct, but John seemed to be even more confused than you.

"...You're saying... You don't want Harley to hang around me."

"Yes, that's exactly what I said." He nodded, still unsure what you were getting at.

You felt a bit- flattered, even if it probably wasn't John's intention. But the possibility still haunted your thoughts.

"Uh... John, do you..." You started a bit awkwardly, nervous if you totally misread the situation. "Like me?"

"Of course I like you Y/N! We're like, best friends, right?" He grinned with an innocent expression on his face, which only made you even more nervous.

You awkwardly cleared your throat.

"Um, yeah- But- Do you like me... More than Harley?" You cautiously yet calmly asked.

That shut him up for a longer second, forcing him to really think about it.

"That's..." He once again put a thoughtful expression. "A possibility."

You weren't even sure if John was aware of how much of an effect he had on you, which only added to the feeling.

Did he like you? Or was it just his possessiveness over Harley?

"Well, we know you like me more than Harley, right?" He tried to light up the mood.

"Of- Of course." You responded, unsure to which direction he was getting at.

"Hm... It's true I've been thinking about you two a lot recently." He kept on with the subject. "But I've been convinced it's just been my jealousy over Harls."

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, although in your mind there's been a lot of thoughts now.

He then let out an ambiguous chuckle.

"Look at that, I've just been jealous over my best pal!" He finally concluded. "Well, glad we established that."

He then got up from his bed to give you an unexpected hug.

"Thanks for the help!"

You froze for a moment there, but you didn't want him to feel pushed away, so you gently patted his back.

"Um, you're welcome."

"Well, I think I gotta talk to Harley now. So- See ya!" And so, he stormed off, leaving you in his own room, confused.

...Was he aware he just confessed? He will always remain a mystery to you.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Fic Writer Questions

Tagged by @deardmvz! ty Marilyn!

How many works do you have on ao3?

19 currently! And counting!

What’s your total ao3 word count?

120,141! I’m very long winded!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Chase the Wind

2. A Stake of Holly in Her Heart

3. I Hope That Something Better Comes Along

4. Spring Fever (the warm of glowing love)

5. A Password and A Promise

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So many! I won’t even name them all here, but I’m still writing for Batman (specifically gotham, telltale, and lego Batman) and overwatch! One of these days when I get the courage I’ll post my other works to my ao3!

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Every last one! I love to hear from my readers, and I feel that if they took the time to respond to what I wrote, I personally like to do the same and let them know I appreciate them reaching out!! But I also usually only get a handful of comments on my fics, so it’s not hard to reply to them all!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmm, I’d say that’s probably for a fic I haven’t posted yet, so I’m not going to spoil anything!! (though the true answer for posted fics would be my hollogrove au fic that so far only got like 3 kudos)

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Not a lot! But currently I am workshopping a gotham x stranger things au because the actor who plays Martin and little Billy is the same! And that’s definitely pretty crazy rn!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I have! Only one time, and that was on Lover, Lover Number 9, an au fic where magic is real, and I was criticized because Steve’s reaction to a love potion almost, but not successfully, being used on him was “unrealistic.” I tried to be nice and explain to them that in a magical universe, ones reactions to a spell being used on them is going to be different than what our perspective might be, and that it’s just a fic that was properly tagged where nothing bad even happened anyways, and they just called me a bitch soo..

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nope! I get far too caught up on descriptions and things, so it’s never any good! I find it much easier to rp smut because then it’s more natural!

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I am aware!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! I’m not really big enough in this fandom to catch that kind of attention! But it would be really cool if somebody wanted to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really, no!

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Ooh I can’t even begin to pick! Harringrove, kegboys, batjokes, nygmobblepot, roadrat, mcashe, reaper76, draculara x clawd, abbey x heath, red x mokey, and luis and maria from sesame street are all my top comfort ships tho.

What are your writing strengths?

I think dialogue? I never read back my own writing, so I don’t really know, but I always end up writing the dialogue first and then filling things in, so that’s at least the easiest for me! (whether it’s any good or not is another question though!)

What are your writing weaknesses?

Word repetition or just getting the wrong word for something, not knowing where to stop a plotline, too many ideas, but I don’t know because I don’t really like to pick my skills apart! I think my biggest weakness is making my fics too boring!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Depends on the situation! If I have to use translate for the whole thing I’m probably not going to do it, but I have enough understanding of French and Spanish to write short, simple dialogues! But there’s always the fact that my readers might not understand it, so I’m kind of indifferent I guess.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Ooh probably Batman? As a little kid I was super obsessed with Batman Forever and I wrote booklets full of two face x riddler fan fiction on stapled together pieces of printer paper!

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Maybe Dream Boy Lover? It’s one where Billy and Heather are friends, and he’s crushing on Steve! I have a whole series planned out to accompany it that I’ll finish one day!!

I’m really not sure who has and hasn’t been tagged, so I’ll tag just anybody who wants to do this! If y’all are feeling left out, don’t be shy to say I tagged ya! <3