Arkham Knight X Reader - Tumblr Posts

𝗗𝗖 | 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝/𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Main Masterlist || Wattpad | AO3 | Quotev

Rᴇɢᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ Rᴇᴏ̨ᴜᴇsᴛs [ ʀᴜʟᴇs [ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛs ᴏᴘᴇɴ ] ]

A/N: This can also include Jason Todd as Robin and Arkham Knight, but this is in general more Red Hood oriented as that is his main alias. Batman: Wayne Family Adventures and comic book versions of Jason are the main inspirations for his character but all are welcome to imagine whichever version they like.

DC m.lists: 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 | 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞/𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐧

𝗨𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱: 𝟭𝟮/𝟮𝟲/𝟮𝟮

𝕆𝕟𝕖-𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤:

Kissing In Between Pages

Pairing(s): x Fem Reader

Reading with Jason ends with some kisses and nosy siblings.

Content: Fluff, romance, established relationship, romantic gestures, romantic Jason Todd, soft Jason Todd, smitten Jason Todd, flirty Jason Todd, flirting, declarations of love, Jason Todd-centric, Jason Todd feels, Jason Todd is a Batfamily member, Reader is a Batfamily member, cuddling/snuggling, nosy Batfamily, napping.

Warnings: None.

Under the Christmas Lights

Pairing(s): x Fem Reader

You and Jason share a moment in Wayne Manor surrounded by lights and the festive season.

Content: Fluff, romance, established relationship, slow dancing, Christmas Special, soft Jason Todd, smitten Jason Todd, romantic Jason Todd, Jason Todd-centric, Jason Todd feels, Jason Todd is a Batfamily member, Reader is a Batfamily member, Wayne Manor, poetry, love poems.

Warnings: Mild language.

More To Be Released.

𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕝𝕖𝕤:

To Be Released.

𝕊𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤:

To Be Determined.

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤:

To Be Determined.

ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤(𝕒𝕟𝕪):

To Be Released.

Omg.... hes soo.... so 😭💕

(give me a dog and I would be very happy in the golden cage)

A Gilded Cage

You don't know who the Arkham Knight is. You don't know why he kidnapped you from your apartment and locked you away in some penthouse far too fancy for someone with no sway in Gotham.

None of it makes sense. You wouldn't even know his name if you didn't overhear the men dropping off food and necessitates for you talk about him.

They never get too close to you, which eases some of the panic in your throat, but they've only ever spoken to you once. One of the men had dropped a notepad on the marble counter and grumbled something about writing down whatever you need before leaving you to yourself. Being so alone in a gilded cage almost makes you wish they'd say more.

It's not like you haven't tried escaping, but you're on the top floor of some building you only recognized as being in the Diamond District because you can see the glowing symbol of Wayne Tower in the distance. The one time you did try to break down the door, you found out there are in fact guards stationed outside your prison.

You've never been hurt. Never gone hungry or cold. There's a television and more books than you'll ever have time to read. (You try to ignore how many of them are your favorites. It has to be a coincidence.) The kitchen is always stocked and the apartment is always cleaned. (You haven't quite figured out when that happens.) Anything you've ever asked for is delivered and sitting on the glass table when you wake up.

You had only asked for diamonds and pearls once. Curiosity and frustration had gotten the better of you, and when sets of shiny jewels greeted you in the morning, you wanted to faint.

They sit stuffed in a drawer now, and your hands shake when you check to see if they're still there. They sit alongside a note written in messy script, the one asking if you'd prefer a dress or a suit to match the choker made of sapphires. Or perhaps something to match the headpiece encrusted with rubies?

You're starting to think being alone for so long is making you crazy. You wake up sometimes at night, shifting against the soft sheets and feathered pillows and your heart neatly stops at the glowing eyes in the doorway.

Fear stops your voice from coming out and by the time you've worked up the courage to hit the lamp, whatever it was is gone. He's gone. The first time, you told yourself it was a nightmare. The second, a trick of the light. But the third, when you woke to the rough texture of gloves tracing the curve of your jaw, that was real.

You had frozen. Eyes shut tight and heart racing. The touch was gentle, almost non-existent, and if the near silent, rhythmic breathing hadn't reached your ears, you would have believed it to be a dream.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, your kidnappers' fingers brushing your face while you pretended to sleep. The feeling disappears eventually, and you fall back asleep. You lie to yourself when morning comes, that it was something you imagined.

You've lost count of the days, the weeks, it's been like this. You're not even sure what to call the situation. You're not a pet. You're not a hostage. A prisoner? Yes. But prisoners are never treated so lavishly without a reason.

Curiosity gets the better of you. How could it not when 'why' always haunts your thoughts? You pretend to be asleep. Night after night, you wait for him to come again. But it's like he knows. He's aware that you're waiting.

So, you write on the pristine notepad. You ask to be let go.

There's nothing on the glass table when you wake up, but the notepad is empty of words. The day seems to pass in a haze.

By the time night comes again, you're livid. You'd throw things at the glass enclosing the balcony if it wasn't something you tried already.

You stalk your way out of the bedroom, intent on making coffee and staying up until you can finally face the person who's trapped you here.

Your bravado disappears at the sight of the figure standing in the middle of the room.

The glowing lights of the city illuminates his silhouette. The military style gear, the eerily familiar glowing eyes, the guns holstered at his thighs. All your words and curses and questions stick to your tongue.

"You can't go home," a modulated voice tells you.

"Why?" You breathe out, eyes darting over his figure. You're not scared. You can't explain it, but as frightening as he should be, as terrifying as this situation should be, he doesn't feel unsafe.

He doesn't answer, doesn't move. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, you'd think he wasn't human. Silence falls for a longer than you know what to do with, "This your home," he says, voice even and factual.

"This isn't a home," your protest, anger flaring, "this is a prison cell!"

He steps towards you, menacing and threatening as he hisses, "This is nothing like a cell. You know nothing. You're safe here. Provided for. I've given you everything you could need."

"I'm alone here!" You snap out, despite your better judgment.

"I'll get you a pet," he says firmly.

"I don't have anyone to talk to," You respond harshly.

"I'll send someone to keep you company," he responds easily, like placating a child. But you don't miss his hands clenching and unclenching.

"I want to go outside," You answer, and you hate how your voice pitches into a whine, a plea, "I want fresh air."

He pauses, studying you, "I'll figure something out."

"Why are you doing this?" You finally ask, tears pricking your eyes. You don't want to cry, don't want to show him any weakness, but you're so tired and he's the first person you've talked to in ages. "I'm not anyone special. You don't gain anything by keeping me here. Please. Please, I wanna go home."

He tenses, then steps towards you steadily. You flinch when he stops just in front of you, turning and ducking your head. He takes your chin in his hand and guides your face back up, carefully wiping the tears that drip down your cheeks.

"You are special. More than you could know," he says quietly, like it's a secret. He says your name softly, like it's important, "You're going to stay here."

"I don't want to," You choke out between tears. He just doesn't acknowledge it, just keeps soaking up your cries with the pads of his glove.

You stay like that until your tears dry up and your body feels shaky. He exhales softly and tilts his head down, resting his helmet against your forehead. You would be eye to eye, you realize, if not for the mask.

"You're going to stay here," he repeats gently.

"Why?" You ask, voice weak.

He pulls back, his hand hesitating against your face before reaching for his helmet. He removes it with a practiced motion, and your whole world freezes.

Your breath catches in your lungs and your heart screams JasonJasonJason.

He doesn't try to explain. You don't have the words to ask. "You're going to stay here," he tells you again, voice low and careful.

"But-" You start, eyes darting over his face, the 'J' branded into his cheek.

He says your name, demanding and firm, "You're staying."

You swallow the rest of your words, and he nods in approval, "I'll get you what you asked for, okay?"

The helmet is back on before you even finished your bewildered nod, gaze locked on him. "Good," he murmurs, voice unrecognizable behind the mask. He's moving away, walking towards the door, leaving you.

You grab his arm, panicked, "Wait–"

He pulls your hand from his arm gently, "I'll come back."

"You haven't explained anything–" You try again, desperate and confused.

"You don't need to understand anything. You just need to stay here, tell me what you want, and let me take care of everything else, alright?" The Arkham Knight– Jason tells you.

You nod weakly, letting your hand drop back to your side.

"Good. Get some sleep," his voice sounds empty through the modulator.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" You ask, voice breaking.

He wavers by the door, "I come back everyday," he admits eventually and sees himself out the door of your prison.

You all but stumble to the plush couch and collapse as the door locks behind him. Jason is alive. Jason kidnapped you. Jason's held you in this luxury apartment for weeks. Jason left you jewels worth more than your entire savings account. Jason is alive. Jason visits you every night. Jason is alive.

Jason is alive. But you're still trapped. Still stuck in a cage with no explanation why and no matter how pretty it is, he's still locked you in here. But it's Jason. Jason wouldn't hurt you. He has to have a good reason.

The thought haunts you until you drift off, drawn to sleep by the soft velvet against your skin. You miss it, when the door cracks open again, and a down blanket is drawn over your body. You don't even twitch, when scarred hands start to trace a familiar path over your face.

NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY with Jason Todd

even as the arkham knight , he would never let anything bad happened to you

arkham knight x f!batgirl!reader/jason todd x f!batgirl!reader

based off of the game “arkham knight” and the dlc “a matter of family” , angst , bruce is your father ( adopted or not ) , reader and jason are in love but are not together , jason pretty much kidpnapping the reader , reader’s race or looks aren’t specified , lovers reunited trope

“breaking news! commissioner gordon has been captured by the joker.”

bruce has called you to the batcave, informing you about the upcoming mission he is sending you on. “well why can’t you do it?” jason questions, following behind you. “because, jason, joker specifically said that if i attempted at saving the commissioner, he will die. i can’t risk it.”

jason groans. “it’s okay, jason. i’ll be back soon. with gordon alive.” you attempt at cheering him up. “but…i don’t like you going alone.” you smirk at him pouting. you began to promise him, “i know. after this, we’ll go on every mission together.”

while on your way to the abandoned amusement park, jason always chimed in, checking on you. “i’m at the park.” jason hums, “why are you being quiet all of a sudden?” he doesn’t answer.

you grew nervous, you have never been on a mission with back up. “fuck.” you whispered under you breath. there was a thug rounding next to you, inching close to you. “don’t worry, [ name ]. you got this.” he spoke in your com.

little did you know that jason was perched right on your location, watching you. “how can you be so sure?” he took this as a moment to help you. “well for one, robins are good luck.” he smirks at you.

it’s been three years since you stepped down from the title as batgirl. you couldn’t stand to fight crime without your best friend by your side.

bruce accepted your choice, even though he has told you to never step down from a fight. but he understood your reasoning. he missed jason too.

but you didn’t leave bruce all together. you still helped him. just behind a screen.

“[ name ]! lock the clock tower now!” bruce screams at you. “what are you talking about? no one knows i’m here.” you laugh off his urgency.

the elevator door sounds, catching you attention. before you could see the person, a smoke bomb explodes, covering the room. “go! go! go!”

you couldn’t see anything. you felt a hand grab your arm. you tried to fight them off, but they were too strong.

“let go of me!” your cries were muffled by a gloved hand. “shh, i’ve got you. nothing is going to hurt you. now that i’m here.”

you felt a needle poke you, inserting a liquid in your arm, making you drowsy.

you woke up in an unfamiliar room. the bed was soft. the room had a good temperature. it was like…your home. but it wasn’t.

“you’re awake. finally.” the booming voice makes you jump. “i didn’t mean to scare you. really, the plan wasn’t to scare you at all. but, you were acting terrible. and i couldn’t do anything else.”

he laughs humorlessly. “what-who are you?” your voice quivers. “you really don’t know, do you, [ name ]?” he clicks a button, his mask lifting, exposing his face.

“oh my god…” you felt your heart jump out of your chest. “i thought you were dead. joker sent the video and everything. bruce and i didn’t stop looking for you. how are you…”

“i know. it’s a lot to explain. but i’m back.” you run up to hug him. “don’t you ever leave me again, asshole.” he laugh, “not planning on it.”

arkham knight!jason who watched you for months before the cloudburst. you catch his attention as he tried to get familiar with Gotham after he left the asylum. maybe it was the way your hips swayed flawlessly as you walked or the way your breasts jiggled. whatever it was made him enamored.

arkham knight!jason who takes you in secretly. he feared that if scarecrow knew about you, you would become his test subject to his fear toxin. he keeps you in his bunker, bringing you the necessities.

you got comfortable with arkham knight!jason after a while. he even showed you the person under the mask when he was sure you weren’t a threat. on calm night, he’d strip down into nothing but his boxers, cuddling you as he stroked your hair whispering apologies for taking you.

arkham knight!jason was quick to fuck you through his mattress. your face was pushed into the pillow as his large hands held your hips up, helping him hit your spot at a better angle.

arkham knight!jason who fucked you so good you didn’t even think about leaving him. his cock hit your sensitive walls too beautifully for you to threaten him of escaping. his tongue was too skilled for you to even utter the words for leaving him. he made sure of it.

taglist ;; @worldsgreatestsinner

ARKHAM KNIGHT THOUGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need some imagines with my honeybear and girl, who wear eyeglasses (me)

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯'

[ 🌸 ] ...

characters: jason todd;; some character mentions  

genre: light angst that becomes in a happy ending

warnings: gn!reader, may be inspired in Jason from arkham asylum

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𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑦.

- - -

- - -

- - -

- - -

He was short of air in his lungs.

Jason wanted to breathe, he really wished he could breathe again and feel the air filling his lungs, but his body wasn't responding anymore.

He knew what it was, he knew what was happening. It was a fucking panic attack. He had still been able to get away from you, hold back the fear he felt, just so he wouldn't be a burden to you. Jason still had time to run from you before it started.

His head, which before only thought of you and the beautiful memories that you spent together today, was filled with the bad memories of the past. How that despicable human being dressed as a clown tortured and destroyed him in the old establishment of Arkham Asylum, the beatings, the cruel words spoken; it all came back in great waves to him.

The mark, with a large 'J' shape etched into his already scarred face, only reaffirmed the cruel reality he had to face before you. The little panic attack he was cruelly suffering from had turned into a much bigger and heavier one. Little black dots gradually clouded his vision, his mind already disturbed by fear filled, this time with horrible memories.

His knees finally gave out, the lack of air was becoming exhausting. Jason felt like the world of him was crushing him little by little, and then a voice—your voice was calling out to him. Perhaps you had been alerted by the sound of him falling to the hard, cold bathroom floor. 

Or maybe Jason's soft gasping for breath was what gave him away.

You were holding him, cradling him against your warm chest as you said comforting words to bring him back to you. Jason didn't know how much time had passed, but when he came to, when he came back to you, he knew he was safe.

“Jason, keep breathing. I'm here, nothing will hurt you, I promise" 

He did what you told him to do. His lungs slowly filled with air again, his mind, which had been disturbed by bad memories before, calmed down slowly but surely. 

 He wanted to laugh, despite not knowing how to fight, despite being small and not having enough strength to beat someone up, you were promising him that nothing and no one would harm him, not while you were there with him.

 And god, it was working. 

Only you could make him feel safe like this. 

 He kept breathing for several more moments, and finally the weight of his own world stopped feeling so heavy. 

 It was when Jason realized that despite everything, you would be there for him. To help him breathe when everything in him collapsed. 

He knew because you never abandoned him, you never let him go. 

This was not the first nor would it be the last time that this would happen to him, but as long as you were by his side, supporting him and protecting him from the horrible past that still haunted him some nights, Jason could continue.

 And he could keep breathing, once again.

me tweaking out trying to find that one good fanfic

Wounds

Commission for @self-deprecating-possum

Wordcount: 3,370 words Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x GN!reader Warnings: Physical assault, kidnapping

You were once abducted by the Scarecrow. Now you found yourself at the hands of another one of Gotham's criminals.

No matter what you did, you couldn’t forget that night. The night Scarecrow abducted you. 

Even though you were desperate to forget it, your brain latched onto it in a cruel act of self-preservation. Crystalline memories haunted you, seared into your mind, encroaching on your everyday life. Every time your mind wandered, there they were, taking hold of you and dragging you backwards. Back into the dark, kicking and screaming. So desperately did you want to forget — you would have given anything — but your mind was never so forgiving. 

You remembered the way he sent someone else to do the abduction. Some lowlife lackey who most-likely chose you at random out of the handful of strangers on the subway car heading for Miagani Island. The man who followed you off the subway at your stop, which led to you hearing a second set of footsteps just behind yours as you made your way down the desolate tunnel. 

You remembered way you picked up your pace gradually, not wanting to look paranoid at first, and how the speed of the man behind you changed to match yours. The way that by the time you had begun near-sprinting for the stairs leading up to the street — the unforeseen sanctuary of Gotham’s lit streets only steps away — it was too late. You remembered the man grabbing your hair, tugging you backwards with such force that the pain made you breathless, before an arm curled around your torso. Then a cloth pressed up against your face. Then blackness.

It was the middle of the night; you should have known better. At least that was what you kept telling yourself. 

You remembered waking up in what appeared to be a warehouse, though there was nothing identifiable to determine exactly where in the city you were. If you were even in the city. Though with how dilapidated the place was, you had a pretty good hunch that you still were. 

You remembered how you weren’t alone. Several others were there with you, regaining consciousness at different times, all tied to chairs just like you were. You awoke to the sound of their mumbling. Whimpering. Muffled cries of fear from gagged mouths. None of you could say a word to each other. None of you could provide each other any comfort, ease the agonizing anticipation of whatever was to happen to you. Not a single one of you knew why you were there, but you were certain that everyone else was thinking the same thing you were — why me?

You remembered the way your heart pounded in your chest with such intensity that it stung, feeling each beat radiate up your throat. You could hear it in your ears, as if your body was trying to tune-out the sound of all that surrounded you. 

And you remembered Scarecrow. You never paid much mind to the whereabouts of any of the city’s most notorious criminals. There were too many to keep track of, and you weren’t one to live your life in fear of them. The irony of that made you sick. 

You had heard that he was left horribly disfigured after an encounter with Killer Croc, whispers amongst fellow Gothamites about him having his face reconstructed to look intentionally grotesque. Seeing him in-person not only confirmed the rumors, but made you realize that they were an understatement. You had seen him referred to as the self-proclaimed “Master of Fear” on news ticker tapes; even without his use of nightmare-inducing hallucinogens, his face alone fit the bill. 

It was only after he began speaking, circling each of his victims like a hawk targeting its prey, that you noticed the IV hooked up to your arm. 

He explained that you were all to be his test subjects. How this was one of his first trials for his new fear toxin. How the last group of test subjects didn’t live long after being injected, but that he hoped this refined formula yielded better results. His voice shook you to your core. It was calm, calculating. That made it worse. 

One by one, he lurched over to each abductee, connecting bags of orange solution to each of their IVs, and one by one they fell victim to its effects. Their muffled screams fueled your fear, panicked cries escaped you as you prayed for someone to save you. 

And just as Scarecrow had given you your dose, someone did. Batman and Robin, just a second too late — they were the last thing you remembered. You expected fear to wash over you, but instead, everything went blank. 

You had spent months comatose in the hospital. You were told that you should consider yourself lucky. The toxin had been flushed from your system and you were spared from the fate of the others Scarecrow had injected. Had Batman and Robin arrived any later, you would have died like everyone else. You wished you could feel as lucky as you were.

The physical recovery process was nothing compared to the mental one — an ongoing battle that you still found yourself fighting. It got easier to live with the trauma over time, but the wounds were still there. Healing slowly, your mind’s remembrance of that night often tearing at the scabs and drawing flesh blood, causing the process to start over. 

It took what felt like ages to find someone who understood — truly understood — what it felt like to live that way. To have to piece yourself back together, picking up fragments of yourself as you navigated the world with newfound apprehension. 

How funny it was to find someone who had suffered at the hands of one of Gotham’s criminals like you did. One would think it would be a common enough occurrence in a place like Gotham, but with a population of 6.3 million people, it was easy to feel alone. 

Jason’s wounds were deeper than yours, tortured by the Joker for over a year in an abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum. You couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like. The fear he felt. The pain. The hopelessness. It was when you met him that you finally did consider yourself lucky. His body told his story, a branded ‘J’ under his left eye announcing a troubled past to everyone he met. You knew that he, too, was unable to forget. How could he?

It was because of his own past that he was so gentle with you, and you always returned the favor. Every flashback, every intrusive thought, every anxiety attack — you were there for each other. He knew how to navigate your trauma in a way that nobody else could. He knew what boundaries to never cross, what soothed you. Despite the way he carried himself, with unwavering brashness, he was always so soft in your presence. 

Every time your wounds were torn back open, he was there to aid in the healing. Sturdier than any suture, he held you together. 

Your paranoia was often unwarranted, though you figured it was better to be safe than sorry. If there was anything you had learned the hard way, it was that you can never be too careful. Not in Gotham. Though your life had thankfully gone without incident since your abduction, as far as you were concerned, you were living on borrowed time. 

You had only just left your apartment after scrambling to get ready for a date with Jason. You were running late, and had plans to meet at the restaurant around the block for dinner. After not seeing each other for a few days, you were looking forward to it. It wasn’t a far walk, and it was still light enough out to where the streets were still bustling with life. You convinced yourself it was safe, and for the most-part, it was. Your luck had just run out. 

Before you knew it, you were dragged into the alleyway beside your apartment building by a man who looked like he had affiliations with Two Face. Clearly he wasn’t paying his henchmen enough. He slammed you against the wall behind the set of dumpsters that lined the building’s exterior wall. You let out an instinctive whimper as pain shot through your back as it collided with the brick. 

The man looked into your panic-stricken eyes with such callousness, you weren’t sure if he was doing this to survive or for his own pleasure. Though you weren’t sure of anything. Your mind raced at such a speed that you could hardly keep up with it, misfiring short bursts of incoherent thoughts. 

This couldn't be happening again.

You let out a small pitiful “please” before his hand covered your mouth, knife suddenly pressed against your throat. You whimpered again, breathing becoming erratic at the feeling of the cold blade against your skin. “You’re gonna shut up and give me everything worthwhile in that bag, got it?” he demanded, his voice gruff and cold. His body was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin as he spoke. 

Surely people had to have seen you. Someone had to notice you get dragged into the alley. Help should have come, but then why would it? Gothamites were self-serving by nature. It was best not to get involved in these types of things. You never knew where they might lead, or who you’d be making enemies with. 

You fumbled around in your bag, not moving your head even slightly out of fear that the knife would press further into your skin, and pulled out your wallet. All you could think of was how badly you wanted to be freed from this situation; to be on your way to the restaurant, as torn up as you were, calling Jason and explaining what had happened. 

The man withdrew both of his hands and grabbed the wallet, dark eyes flicking back up at you with aggravation when you didn’t reach back into your bag. “What, you ain’t got a phone?” 

Your heart nearly leapt from your chest, and suddenly something in your mind seemed to snap. You felt it — the exact moment that all inhibitions were lost to your fear. 

In an instant, you were reminded of how you wouldn’t be able to call Jason. You wouldn’t be able to call anyone. You’d lose what felt like your only connection to the world. It wasn’t, but in that moment, it were as if your brain were irrationally latching onto the concept of your phone’s significance. A million anxiety-fueled questions were brought to your attention, inescapable questions that demanded answers. How would you call Jason, or the police? How would you afford a new one? Would this man use the information on your phone against you? Would he make use of your photos? Your contacts? Would he be able to find you again? The most irrational of all, your trauma crafting creative scenarios in which to paralyze you — what if you were abducted again?

You cried erratically, at full volume, unable to control yourself. You begged in incomplete sentences — something you couldn’t do the last time you found yourself a victim. Though the danger of this situation wasn’t on the same level, your body did not discriminate. 

You raised your shaking hands defensively as you pleaded. “Please— I— I don’t have the money to— I can’t—“ 

The man cautiously looked to the end of the alleyway before turning back to you and harshly grabbing your face. “You’re gonna shut up before I make you shut up. Give me your phone. Now.” 

You reluctantly reached into your bag, doing at least one of the two things asked of you. But you couldn’t stay quiet. Once you started crying, you just couldn’t stop. That might have been your savings grace. 

The man snatched the phone from your hand just as it barely left your bag and stuffed it into his pocket, but just as he did, you spotted someone coming down the alleyway. You could only make out a silhouette, his footsteps quiet, and for a moment you feared that it was another one of Two Face’s henchmen or someone else taking advantage of your vulnerability. His footsteps were quiet, but your fixation on him made the man in front of you turn around. 

The knife fell from your throat, and as the mysterious form moved closer, you realized that it was Jason. 

You spoke his name, voice violently trembling — an indirect plea for help — but before you could say more, the criminal lunged at him with the knife. You screamed, hands instinctively flying up as you flinched. 

Jason was quick to disarm him, and you were pretty sure you heard the distinct sound of bone crunching as Jason gripped his wrist and twisted it unnaturally. Jason fought with such ferocity, an anger in his eyes that you had never seen before. He slammed the man into the dumpster beside you, the sound of his body colliding with the metal echoed through the alleyway. You jolted, nerves fried. 

Jason stood just before the man, glaring him down. He kept a firm hand on his chest, gripping his shirt. “You give me what you took or I swear to God I will kill you and take it anyway.”

Reeling in pain from his likely-broken wrist, the man spoke through gritted teeth. “N-no way man.” Jason scowled. “Who do you think you are anyway, huh?”

Jason didn’t appreciate his defiance. He was going to make him realize that your phone and wallet were not worth the pain he was in for. 

He sighed sarcastically and shrugged, an heir of casualness laced the words he spoke. “Suit yourself.” 

His fist collided with the man’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the floor with a yelp. And Jason continued — kicking him over and over, with unrelenting fierceness that made it clear that this was personal. That nobody was to violate you or your boundaries, jeopardize your safety, or they would suffer violent consequences. You had been through so much, he knew how you suffered, and could not stand the idea of anything more being done to you. You deserved peace.

The man finally retreated, frantically pleading for Jason to stop before returning your belongings. Jason was courteous enough to let him run off, bruised and beaten — a blow to his ego that hopefully prevented him from seeking revenge. 

Your body buzzed as adrenaline began to wear off, watching the man scramble down the alleyway, back out to Gotham’s bustling nightlife that would pay him no mind or sympathy. You slid down the wall, mind blank, and curled your knees up to your chest as a means of self-soothing. You rubbed your neck, checking for any sign of injury, and watched silently as Jason gently picked your belongings up off the ground. 

The man before you was completely different than the one you had just seen. His face softened at the sight of you, his eyes alone disclosing his pity. His empathy was clear in the way he moved — slow and cautious, as if not to startle you. He could see the toll this took on you, your eyes glazed over your lip trembling as you tried to withhold your cries. Though that was all you wanted to do. 

Your thoughts felt fragmented, the world around you nothing more than a hum — unimportant background noise you couldn’t be bothered to pay any mind to. Yet you felt so overstimulated at the same time. If anything were loud enough to cut through, it’d feel like a defribulator to the chest, thrusting you back into reality, heart pounding. 

The feeling felt so familiar. 

You felt as if all the progress you had made had been undone. All your fear, all your precautions — they all ultimately meant nothing. You weren’t sure if you could handle that. 

Jason sat beside you, leaving a bit of space between you. He tilted his head to get a good look at you, brows furrowed over glassy eyes. “Did he hurt you?” he asked. His voice was soft, every word laced with concern. 

You were spiraling, but the sound of his voice was enough to bring you back, just enough. 

You removed your hand from your neck and shook your head — a knee-jerk response. Jason nodded. “Good.” 

He granted you the courtesy of a moment of silence for you to decide what to do next. He wanted you to feel in control. He knew that was important. Though it did not take you long to throw yourself into his arms. Gotham’s undertow was deep and forceful, and you clung to Jason like he was the only thing preventing you from getting swept up in its current. Though the salt of its tides stung your freshly torn wounds, Jason’s warmth offered you relief. 

He rubbed your back, letting out soothing shushes between affirmations that the nightmare was over. “It’s okay,” he told you. “I got you.” 

He held you in his arms with an ardent desperation that nearly matched your own, as if he felt guilty for not getting there just a bit sooner, trying to rectify that fact by putting every ounce of energy into consoling you. 

You pulled away when you were ready. “I’m so glad you found me,” you sobbed, wiping remaining tears from your face. “Why were you even here?”

“I texted you and told you I was gonna meet you here instead,” Jason noted. A distinct tremble was evident in his voice as he continued. “I heard crying in the alley as I walked by…” 

“I was running late and I—“ didn’t look at my phone was the rest of the sentence, but the words didn’t come. Instead, only the sound of your unsteady breathing escaped you. If only you had looked. If only you managed your time better. If only— 

“Hey,” Jason’s voice brought you back again. He could see the panic in your eyes. “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

He placed a hand on your cheek, keeping you grounded with his touch and your head steady so that your eyes could remain locked on his. His words were spoken with adamant sincerity. “I’m just glad I came.” 

Silence fell over you again as Jason’s hand fell from your face. He reached into his jacket pocket, collecting your wallet and phone, and quietly handed them back to you. You stared at them for a moment, almost resentful of their significance, and placed them back in your bag. “Thank you.”

A barely-noticeable smile appeared on Jason’s face, brief but earnest. “Of course.” 

You both sat there as you gradually returned to baseline. Jason quietly rubbed your back until you were ready to leave — ready to move on, but only physically. There was an unspoken understanding between you that moving on mentally would be a process, just as it was for you before. You would once again have to learn how to navigate the world. Once again find fragments of yourself. Though this time you would not be pieced back together so crudely. Jason would help you uncover those pieces as you would continue to help him uncover his. You would find each other, just as you had before, just as Jason had found you now. 

Tenderly, lovingly, he would help you heal, if only to witness the beauty of it. To see your wounds finally become scars, forever being a part of who you are, but fading into obscurity with time. That was all you wanted for each other.

Even if you were never able to forget a single grim detail of what occurred, you would remember Jason's actions as well. His protectiveness. His understanding. You would remember the panic you felt as you handed over your wallet, and Jason's softness as he returned it to you. You would remember the feeling of the man's breath on your skin as he made his demands, and the feeling of Jason's arms around you as you cried. You'd remember sitting on the cold asphalt of the alleyway, with Jason sitting right beside you for as long as you needed.

You'd remember that you would be okay. And you would heal. Together.