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summercourtship · 8 months

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stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter six: karma [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual content (actual smut here)| word count: 5712 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.

chapter one |

A stray drop of water hit the crown of your head, pulling you out of the dazed stupor you’d slowly put yourself. You’d been keeping yourself occupied by doodling absentmindedly without really looking at the paper, which was the only way to survive the longer shifts. You peered upwards, frowning at the small wet spot on the ceiling, another drop slowly getting ready to fall. Of course, there was a leak in the store’s ceiling. You grimaced, rubbing the water into your hair before you thought about the fact that the convenience store was on the bottom floor of a four story building. Meaning that the liquid on your head probably wasn’t rain water. Or if it was, it had been a long time since it had actually fallen from the sky.

You stepped to the side just in time for the second drop to fall and hit the floor.

“Ugh.”

You leaned against the counter, staring at the yellowed clock on the opposite wall of the store, the numbers barely visible behind its musty surface. It was probably your job to clean it but at this point it would be more efficient to just replace it and heaven knows that nobody at the store was going to spend the money to get a new one. So you were stuck with the gross clock, squinting at it to make out the time. You’d been in the store for barely three hours and yet it was like an entire day had already gone by.

Only a week had passed since Spring Break had ended, meaning only a week had passed since you’d visited Arkham. On its own, it would have been a fairly uneventful day if not for the surprised job offer from Jonathan, which you put in the back of your mind to think about later. And also coming face to face with Edward Nashton.

It wasn’t like you had forgotten that he currently lived in the asylum, it had just seemed unlikely that you would encounter him given the clearance level you'd been assigned that day and the sheer size of the asylum. But no, of course they had to be moving inmates down that hallway at the same time that you were traveling through it. And of course the Riddler, of all people, had been among them. It was nothing short of proof that there was, indeed, a divine blueprint for your life. The higher power of Gotham had singled you out and decided to make your life as dramatic as humanly possible.

But all things considered, you were proud of yourself for not reacting the way you would’ve expected, given your mental state for the past year. Sure, you’d been startled by his presence and there was a small twinge of genuine fear in your gut. But it quickly dissipated upon seeing him and his reality. Because while he had inspired some dangerous people with his own actions, he, himself, was no longer a threat. He was locked away with little to no access to the outside world, his days of streaming vitriol and murdering corrupt public officials behind him.

It was what he deserved. And yet, there was a small part of you that had recognized a horrible twinge of sympathy when you had made eye contact with him, when you thought about his soft features needing to survive in a place as rough as Arkham.

You looked down at the scrap of receipt paper you’d been drawing on, realizing with a groan that you’d accidentally drawn the Riddler’s symbol, the question mark and barbs mockingly staring up at you. Recoiling backwards like it actually had thorns, you tried not to think about why you’d drawn it. Snatching your pen from behind your ear, you scribbled over it, coloring an entire square inch of your paper black before ultimately deciding to just crumble it up and throw it into the trash can that sat underneath the counter.

And then somehow you missed, the paper ball landing pathetically on the stained linoleum floor.

Sighing, you crouched down, snatching the paper ball off the floor and crushing tightly within your fist. The ink from where you scribbled over the symbol was still wet, staining your skin with the stinky pigment. You stared at the splotch and realized that you apparently hadn’t done a great job covering up the question mark as it was clearly visible on your skin.

The bell above the door chimed out, bringing your attention up from the floor. With a sigh, you finally tossed the ball into the trash can. Keeping your eyes on it to make sure that it had actually made it into the trash can this time, you stood and looked up from where your attention had been focused on the trash can underneath the counter.

And right into the barrel of a pistol.

“I don’t want to shoot you.” The man had on a cloth mask covering the bottom half of his face, his dark eyes laser focused on you. His voice quivered slightly, though the hand holding his gun was steady. “Reach into the register and give me the money.”

You didn’t think twice before you reached over and, with your own shaking hands, unlocked the cash drawer. Grabbing the paper money was hard with the instability in your hands, but you managed. Throwing the wad of cash across the counter, you placed your hands on your head, praying that the amount would be enough for him.

It was then that you realized that you weren’t afraid that the man would shoot you- you were angry that this type of shit was happening again. Your hands were shaking from the adrenaline, not fear.

As you watched the man grab the money, you couldn’t help but think back to your conversation with Jonathan, about Gotham branding you as a victim. You fantasized for a moment launching yourself across the counter, taking the gun from the man’s hand and turning it on him. Taking out the frustration you felt at the lack of control you had in your life and making him pull the trigger- You stopped yourself from going any further in your imagined scenario.

Violent fantasies never helped anyone.

The man counted the cash, quickly flipping through the wrinkled paper.

“This is it?”

“Yes.” You didn’t have it in yourself to say it meekly, to play at being anything other than pissed. Perhaps having too many close calls with danger but being saved at the last minute took away your sense of self preservation. Like a wild animal who had been fed by humans too often, maybe you’d forgotten how to fend for yourself, how to survive in a dangerous city like Gotham.

For a moment, the man looked like he was going to ask you again, or worse, come around the counter himself. You didn’t know what you would do if he did that- it's not like you had anything protecting you back here- no secret weapons, no panic buttons- but you liked having the barrier of the counter between you and the robber, no matter how flimsy it actually was.

But then the man accepted your answer, or decided that the money he had gotten was enough, because he simply nodded once and, keeping his gun trained on you, left the store, walking backwards until he pushed open the door with his back. Then he turned and ran down the street, shoving his gun back into his pants.

You watched him leave, your breathing surprisingly even.

And as the intro to Shake It Off started from the store’s radio, sounding tiny and muffled as the opening drums echoed eerily in the empty space, you sighed and buried your face in your hands, threading your fingers through your hair and pulled.

Working at a corner store in Gotham was an inherently dangerous job.

You knew this the day you applied for the job. You knew it when you accepted the job after a bare-bones phone interview. You knew that’s why the job was so easy to get in the first place.

Even so, you hadn’t had anything actually dangerous happen while you were on the job. Walking home after work? Sure, there’d been a few tense moments and the unfortunate mugging last October. Encounters with Gotham nightlife. But during work hours? You’d been lucky enough to say that you’d been relatively safe. Until today, of course.

But it’s not like you could just quit, right? You needed the money, you had no other source of income. You were barely coasting by as it was.

Though, you did have that other job waiting for you… One that probably paid more than this shitty job that didn’t even cover the cost of living.

“No.” You told yourself out loud, you voice loud in the empty store. You’re thankful the security cameras had no sound, if they were even functional at all. “No, I’m not leaving one slightly dangerous job to go work at Arkham Asylum, not happening.”

Even as you said this, you knew you didn't really mean it. You were well aware that a well placed touch or one perfectly timed glance from Jonathan would immediately entice you to accept the job, or to do anything else for that matter. You were positive that if you told him what had happened during your shift, he would try to convince you to switch to Arkham right now. To forget about the stupid convenience store and work with him- under him.

You continued to debate with yourself as you watched your shift drift closer and closer to its end. Quit your job and work in a hospital for the criminally insane with your psychology professor who you were also sleeping with or stay at a shitty job that didn’t appreciate you? It was a hard decision.

Fifteen minutes before your shift’s end, the bell above the door rang and the last person you wanted to see at this moment entered the store. You groaned, burying your face in your hands again even though you knew what he would say when he saw you.

Sure enough, soon his gravelly voice overpowered the Fleetwood Mac song currently being piped into the room.

“What are you doing, slouching behind the counter like that? I don’t pay you to lean.”

Slowly, you looked back up at your manager. And despite your earlier apprehension at quitting, seeing his smarmy, greasy face with patches of unshaven beard and a dab of spaghetti sauce on the corner of his mouth brought forth all the unpleasant emotions you had been made to feel since you began working there. It was his fault that you were mugged that night, that you were just held at gunpoint. The constant dismissal of your very real concerns about your safety, the audacity of him calling you spoiled for not wanting to work late at night as a young woman in a city with the worst crime rate in the state, if not the entire country, had boiled over into a stew of resentment and anger.

Then he smiled at you, like he was your buddy, and that was it. You were very aware that you had been staring at him silently for longer than was socially acceptable, but you no longer felt any need to care about it.

“I quit.” The quiet words were out of your mouth before you realized you were saying them. It was like you had said them as you had thought them, as you realized how much you truly desired it, not thinking about the change they would enforce on your life. No, you didn’t care about the butterfly effect they would cause from this moment onwards when you said it. Because it was worth it to see how it instantly wiped the smile off of his face. Even though he was certainly used to people quitting on him, you had taken his abuse and turned a blind eye to his mismanagement for so long that he surely thought you would never stand up for yourself.

“What.”

You straightened your back, no longer afraid of angering him. Finally, you had said the two magic words that usurped any power he had over you.

“I. Quit.” You reached down to your name badge, ripping it off of your stained work shirt. The force of your movement created a small tear in the shirt, but you couldn’t care less. You’d rip the shirt off your body and leave wearing just your skirt if it meant you never had to step foot in this store again.

Snatching your purse from where you’d stashed it beneath the register (thank goodness the robber hadn’t seen it and demanded you hand it over, not that you had any money inside), you stormed around it to the other side, brushing past the manager. He was still, watching as you swept out of the store. But before you opened the door to leave, you turned to him.

“Oh, and we were robbed. There’s no fucking money in the register.”

Slamming the door behind you, you scanned the street for Jonathan’s car, knowing he was bound to be here already with how close it was to the end of your shift. You didn’t dare to look back at the shop behind you but you were sure your manager was staring through the window and sending daggers into your back with his eyes from behind the counter.

Finally, you spotted his familiar black sedan, picking up your pace until you were able to wrench the door open with your shaking hands.

You jumped into his car, squeezing your eyes shut and taking the deepest breaths possible as you tried not to break down into sobs. If he said anything in greeting, you missed it. You could feel him staring at you, his concern unspoken in the chilly stagnant air between you. It was that weird time of year where no one seemed to agree on whether to turn on the heat or air conditioning in their cars. Jonathan had decided on AC, making his car uncomfortably cold.

Though his car was running, and he was clearly poised to start driving, he didn’t pull out into the street.

Instead, he placed his hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing a circle over your skin. He probably thought the action would soothe you but with each circle, his touch became more and more overwhelming, your already overstimulated nerves screaming to be left alone. It took every ounce of self control to not grab his wrist and yank his hand away from your body.

But he still didn’t ask you what was wrong, clearly waiting for you to break the silence.

So you did.

“Can you just-“ You stomped your foot, all of your unnamed complex emotions from the day boiling over into a stew of frustration and anger. “Drive?!”

Although, you planned to calmly ask him to start driving. But clearly it hadn’t come out that way, and now the air was heavier than before, anticipation weighing you down. You were stuck with him in this car, waiting to see how he would react to your outburst.

You hoped that he would see the sour mood you were in and just take you home.

But he didn’t. The car was horribly immobile, and you could feel the slowly increasing weight of his stare on you. You began to turn to face him when he moved, grabbing your chin with a vice-like grip, wrenching you further around to look at him. You were so shocked by his sudden movement that you were still, a deer stuck in the headlights of his attention.

The gesture itself was gentle, but there was a pressure behind his fingertips that betrayed the underlying tension in his body.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” He spoke softly. In a different scenario, this would all be wonderfully intimate. Romantic even, with his touch on your face. But instead it was terrifying, the weight of his attention crushing at such a close distance. His fingers pinched your skin, holding you still. You were a muzzled dog, eyes wide and staring into his.

(And somewhere, deep down in your body, was the familiar beginnings of arousal. But you would examine that later when you weren’t on the verge of tears in his car, when he wasn’t inches from your face and able to see every twitch and quiver of your muscles. Part of you thought that maybe he was able to see it in you anyway, even after you decided to push it down.)

“Now, do you want to be a big girl and tell me what’s wrong?”

Slowly, you nodded. To your relief, he let go of your face, though he still didn’t start driving. It took every ounce of will power in your body to not press yourself against the passenger side door, to give yourself some space from his suffocating presence.

“I quit my job.” Shakily, you began to describe the robbery, but also all of the awful things your manager had said to you, today and for the entire time that you worked there. Throughout it, Jonathan simply watched you speak, not reacting, not offering words of comfort.

Halfway through your explanation, Jonathan started driving, his eyes on the road but sliding over to you every few seconds. Like he was waiting for you to lash out, to lose your calm again. For your part, you kept your eyes on him, though you wanted to remind him to keep his eyes on the road.

“...And that’s why I’m in a bad mood.” You finished speaking, a bit lamely. Any of the frustration and unidentifiable emotions that had been stuck in your throat dissipated as you spoke, leaving you with nothing but a cold numbness and a sense of embarrassment at the rashness of your actions.

He was predictably silent.

You sighed, turning to look outside of the passenger window. At least you no longer felt like you needed to scream, or to cry. But you still had no solutions to the fact that you were now jobless. You knew that Jonathan would, probably, remind you of the job at Arkham and that you’d said you would take it once the semester ended. Surely, you could take it earlier, he would reason with you. But you still didn’t know if you had told him that because you’d actually meant it or just because you wanted to get him off of your back for the moment, to buy yourself time to figure out what you actually wanted to do.

Yours was the eternal curse of indecision, it seemed.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure if he was apologizing for what happened to you or for how he just treated you. If it was the latter, you’d forgive him. You’d already forgiven him the moment he let go of you. His eyes were on you, long enough that you feared he didn’t know what was actually happening on the road. “Why don’t you come over and let me make it up to you?”

You finally tore your gaze away from him, instead choosing to stare down at the ink splotch on your skin. If you squinted, you could still make out the question mark from your absent-minded doodling. It was like the universe was trying to tell you something but you couldn’t figure it out.

“I… suppose that would be fine.” You heard your voice like you were listening through a paper tube, or a phone call with poor reception. You didn’t really want to go over but the idea of being alone was worse than sitting in his sterile apartment.

And you really didn’t want him in your apartment.

“Good.”

Jonathan looked back at the road, the yellow and white lights of the passing buildings and street lamps reflecting in his glasses. You watched him from the corner of your eye, feeling like once again you had lost some battle. And then you berated yourself for even thinking that. You and Jonathan hadn’t defined your relationship but you knew that no matter how you ended up defining it, you shouldn’t feel like you were in a constant war with him.

But your chin still smarted from the pressure of his fingers on your skin and your pride still stung from the humiliation of your own behavior. You had acted like a petulant child, something you never did around Jonathan. He was right to be upset, you reasoned, because you were acting like a brat when you were a fully capable adult who was able to communicate effectively.

Jonathan cleared his throat, something he rarely did.

“The job offer for Arkham still stands.”

There it is.

“I know.” You paused, uncertain how to express yourself. “But-” You stopped, shaking your head before taking a deep breath and starting again. “But I don’t know if I actually want that job. I mean, am I even qualified for this job?”

You missed what he said next from the overwhelming sense of deja vu, a flashback to half a year ago when you were in his office and asking him the same things about your TA position. Which, in reflection, seemed to become less important with the more time that you spent with him. It didn’t even seem like he needed you to do work for him as an assistant anymore. Since spring break, you haven't been given any assignments to grade, even though you knew that he was still collecting them (thank you, annotated syllabus). You couldn’t shake the feeling that he had exhausted his use for you there (and was searching for somewhere else to put you so that he could keep you close).

Then you berated yourself, again, for flattering yourself.

“What?”

He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, a low sigh that almost had you flinching backwards. But he didn’t move, simply repeating what he’d said. You’d overreacted, mentally chastising yourself.

“It’s a secretary position. Hardly anything that needs qualifications.” He smiled, in an attempt to be reassuring. But you still felt like a fish on a hook, right before the line reeled back in. Or perhaps like someone who was about to have the rug pulled from under them.

“But it’s still in a hospital-”

“I wouldn’t have offered you this job if it wasn’t above board.”

“Alright.” You sighed. “I’m not agreeing, but I’ll trust you.” Sorry for doubting you, you tacked on in your head. “Just let me think about it.” The six words that kept him at bay because you knew that, ultimately, he would get what he wanted.

His hand found its way back to your thigh again, though he refrained from resuming the circular motions with his thumb. Whether he knew it was because it was too much for your over stimulated nerves to take or because he didn’t want to risk you lashing out again.

He stopped the car, removing his hand from your thigh and parking with ease. You scrambled out of the car, your legs unsteady beneath you like a newborn deer. Taking a deep breath, you crossed around the car to Jonathan’s side, allowing him to place his hand on your lower back and guide you into his building.

Jonathan’s apartment had remained relatively unchanged in the few weeks since you’d begun sleeping together. You had no drawer of things, no personal effects scattered around his space, nothing to indicate that you spent a large amount of time here. It didn’t bother you. You really hadn’t spent that many nights together, with the exception of the four days you’d spent tangled together over spring break but it was certainly not enough to begin encroaching on his space. And besides, he rarely entered your own apartment, and you liked it that way.

You liked to keep the memory of him visiting you after your Scarecrow encounter sacred. You didn’t want to sully it with random sex scenes and mundane conversations. Domesticity would ruin it, would clear away the romantic haze that your memory had cast over it all and leave you with reality.

Even so, you were more than comfortable entering his space. You no longer felt the need to perch on the edges of seats or linger in his doorways. (Though that’s probably more due to the three and a half days you had spent in various states of undress around his apartment than any sort of newly gained confidence after your first visit).

You sat down on one of Jonathan’s arm chairs, watching as he crossed the room and took his own languid position on his couch, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed against the couch’s back.

“I’m not saying I’m taking the job but I do want to know- what exactly would my duties be?”

“It’s secretarial work but it will be similar to what you do with me now. Just paperwork, running errands around the asylum, pretty mundane things.” He removed his glasses, placing them on the arm of the couch before leaning his head back, closing his eyes. His neck was exposed further with the change in his position, a long column of white against the dark fabric of his suit and the couch behind him.

“Errands?” Your throat was dry and you did your best to subtly clear it. Jonathan’s eyes stayed closed, the inner end of his eyebrows pinched.

“If I need to get a memo to a doctor in the medical wing, you’ll take it. The electronic system they have in place for things like that is flighty. It’s a lot easier to send a person with a paper than to try and send an email.”

“Right.” You nodded absent-mindedly, rising from his couch to look out of the windows. It was quickly becoming your favorite way to view the city, so high above it all but still in the middle of it. You weren’t looking at the skyline but rather observing your place in it.

A thick raindrop splattered against the window before being followed rapidly by others. Splat, splat, splat. The sound was loud in the silent room and you wondered if Jonathan had fallen asleep. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing he would do, but he was so quiet. You watched until you were no longer able to see out of the window easily, the colors of the city melting into each other through the coat of water.

Sighing, you turned back to the interior of the room, immediately meeting Jonathan’s open eyes, their arctic blue focused on you. He watched as you crossed through the room before settling beside him on the couch. You were restless, something he now seemed to be keenly aware of.

“Do you enjoy being my TA?”

“...Yes?” Not intending for it to sound like a question, you shook your head before restating your answer more firmly. “I enjoy the work… and I enjoy spending time with you.”

“That I know.”

You smiled at his gentle teasing. Of course, he knew.

“But I do think you’ll enjoy working with me over at the asylum.” He shrugged. “It’s very similar work.”

“You really want me to take this job, don’t you?”

He nodded, his eyes flickering to your lips. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath quickening instantly at the simple gesture.

Insatiable, you thought as you scooted closer to him, crossing the rest of the couch before closing your eyes as your lips met in a gentle kiss. You pressed yourself firmly against him, rising to your knees to kneel on the couch cushion, leaning over him slightly. His hands found your hips, bunching the fabric of your stupid work shirt.

Pulling away from him, you ripped the shirt off of your body, tossing it onto one of the arm chairs, needing to get the disgusting fabric away from you. As soon as it was off of your body, you rejoined your mouth with his, pushing his body against the back of the couch.

You were well aware that he was letting you take control right now, that it was not stolen dominance but temporarily borrowed. The moment he decided to take it back, you would gladly let him.

Your hand drifted downward over his body, lingering over the slowly growing tent in his pants. Smiling against his lips before parting from him, you looked into his eyes as his cool breath fanned over your face. Your fingertips teased at his button and he watched unblinking as you kept tracing vague shapes over his clothed length, obviously debating whether or not you should undo his pants and pull him out.

Like he could sense your indecision, he took your wrist and pressed it down firmly onto his cock, hissing through his teeth at the sudden pressure.

Surging forward and pressing your open mouth to his parted lips once again, you undid the button on his pants, fumbling until you were able to pull him out of his pants. Keeping the pressure that he had guided you into, you began to move your hand. When you pulled back from kissing him, his lips were wet with your combined saliva and flushed, parted as he panted with your ministrations.

Unable to decide which was better, you switched between watching his face and your own hand moving up and down on his cock. When you looked up to his face again, you met his half-lidded eyes as he watched you essentially ogle his member and your grip on it, his lips parted slightly.

You stuttered in your pace and he moved suddenly, gripping your wrist tightly and pulling you off of his cock.

“Get up.” He patted his lap once and you immediately understood. Breathing out shakily, you moved over his body and climbed onto his lap, grinding down onto him, sighing at the pressure against your core. He slipped his hands beneath your skirt, hooking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear before pulling them down your legs. You rose again, helping him in slipping them off of your body.

With a final grind of your now exposed cunt to his hard length, you groaned when the head of his cock pressed against your clit. Now impatient, you reached down and guided his cock to your entrance, slowly sinking onto his hard length with a deep groan from your chest. His head was leaning against the back of the couch again as he looked at you down his nose, his lips barely parted as he watched you slowly impale yourself on him.

With each inch you sank further into your own abyss, no longer caring about the ugliness of the day. What was there to care about when you had Jonathan Crane beneath you, looking like he did as you filled yourself with him?

With a deep breath, you bottomed out. Keeping your breath even, you allowed yourself a moment to adjust before gently pushing yourself upwards, his cock sliding out of you until just the head remained inside of your cunt.

And then you set a slow but steady pace, fucking yourself on his cock.

But with each time your hips met, your pace grew faster, your legs working to pull you up and down until you were practically bouncing yourself on his cock.

“Good girl.” His voice was breathy and deep, muttered against your lips as he allowed you to take your fill of his body.

You knew that you were whimpering and nodding like a mad woman, eagerly grinding down onto his cock as you chased your orgasm. You snaked your hand down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. You could feel yourself clench around his hard length and your bouncing slowly morphed into a frantic grinding, drawing pictures with your hips as you tried to find the spot within you that would send you into your climax.

“That’s it, come on my cock, that’s a good girl.” He whispered and you had no idea if he meant for you to hear it at all but it was enough to push you over the edge, your body caving towards him as you shook with the force of your orgasm. You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, pressing down on his cock until your hips stilled, your body tight with sensitivity.

But Jonathan wasn’t done yet, his cock still hard inside of you. As soon as you were finished coming, his hands found your hips. Quickly, he began to thrust upwards into your cunt, using your body like it was nothing more than a method for him to finish. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting back whimpers at the continued assault of sensations on your overstimulated senses.

He cursed sharply under his breath, his grip tightening as he began to lose his rhythm. With a last few sharp thrusts, he threw his head back, groaning deep in his chest as he filled you with his warm spend.

After a few moments of sitting with his slowly softening cock still inside of you, you started to move away before he grabbed your hips, stopping you from getting up off of his lap. Slowly, you sat back down, not unaware that he was becoming hard again.

“We aren’t done yet.”

Later, in the familiar haze of the afterglow, your nose buried in the crook of Jonathan’s lithe neck, you mumbled your decision. “I’ll take the Arkham job.”

He shifted underneath you- you’d moved to the bed a few rounds ago, but they all blended together into an abstract portrait of sweat and lust- pushing against your arms to pull your face away from him and to look into your face.

“Are you sure?”

Not at all.

“Of course.”

It all felt very familiar, though the last time you’d agreed to something like this with him you weren’t in his arms or his bed. But you felt the familiar twinge of pleasure at the soft, pleased smile on his face. And underneath that, the curl of anxiety at the notion that you had given in too easily.

next part

#the title Karma is more in reference to LWYMMD than the actual song Karma- I firmly believe that Ed was in his rep era during the film #jonathan crane x reader #anyway #my writing #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x reader #the batman #batman fanfiction #my fic

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