Hey, my lovelies, back with another Headcanon. I hope you enjoy it!
Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!
❀All it takes is one glance, Victor knows he has to have you. He’s fascinated by your every move, the way in which you go about your world. Victor keeps low while he watches you from afar.
❀From that moment. Victor follows you everywhere. Silently, discreetly, he’s watching you, taking out anyone who poses a threat. Another tally on his body, he doesn’t care; no one gets to touch you, to look at you, to interact with you in a way he doesn’t like.
❀Which leads him to do research in learning everything about you. He wants to know where you work, where you live, who's in your life, down to the smallest of details, favourite food, favourite colour, etc.
❀Once the information is gathered, Victor begins to work on a plan to induct himself into your life. Victor doesn’t make it abrupt; he’s subtle. A meeting, crossing paths in the street. It takes him weeks, but little by little, he begins to make your acquaintance. He keeps a book of information so he knows exactly where you’re at.
❀It’s also something to remind him of the progress you’re making. The day you first smiled at him. The day your eyes first met. It’s all documented. When he’s finished for the day, Victor likes to look at it, to remind himself of what he’s working toward.
❀Victor doesn’t tell anyone, keeping you his secret. He doesn’t want anyone to persuade him not to do it. He doesn’t want anyone knowing for the first time that he has a weakness. Perhaps it is why Victor makes sure he’s ready, ready to protect you just in case. He’s vigilant when he’s around you, checking to see if anyone’s lurking around. Victor becomes prepared for anything.
❀You consume Victor’s every waking thought, when he’s working, when he’s lying in bed at night. Victor cannot help it; you’ve overcome his senses, filled them in a new and exciting way. Victor doesn’t know what you’ve done to him, but he’s not going to let you go.
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: At a masked party in the club, you met a very interesting guy.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Jerome Valeska x fem!reader
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4,6k
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: fingering, orgasm, domination, sexualized fear
Your body swayed fluidly. You moved your hips to the rhythm of the music. Your eyes were half-closed, lips slightly parted. You breathed shallowly in the stifling room, packed with people like it was some kind of execution. No one would miss this party. After all, costume parties were pretty popular. Especially when you added alcohol and good music to the mix. In this way, the Gotham club was full to the brim. And you weren’t any better than the crowd, since here you were too.
The heat radiating from the bodies around you wrapped your skin like a heavy blanket. Every accidental brush of a shoulder, every elbow grazing your hip, reminded you just how tightly packed you were among them. Scents mingled in the air, sweet perfume, alcohol, sweat. Your hair clung to your neck, and the thin fabric of your outfit offered no relief from the oppressive heat.
The air was so heavy that every deep breath felt sticky. Someone nearby laughed too loudly, another sang completely off-key, and a group of girls in over-the-top masks was taking photos right by the edge of the dance floor.
Slowly, you opened your eyes wider than before and looked around. Lights flickered, the music blared from speakers whose bass you could feel on your skin. Vibrations ran through the floor into your feet, pushing your body to keep moving. Colored spotlights flickered across faces, briefly illuminating masks, makeup, and fake blood on costumes.
You turned slowly. The swaying had completely disoriented you, and for a moment you had to figure out which way to go. You rotated slowly, trying to find a reference point. The bar, the stairs to the mezzanine, or at least the exit marked with red light. Everything looked the same in the pulsing semi-darkness.
Luckily, you were still sober enough to quickly get your bearings. But you intended to change that soon. You licked your dry lips lightly.
You looked around, not really sure why. Maybe out of habit, maybe to find a familiar face among the strangers in masks.
And then you saw him — a guy with amazing makeup.
He stood a little off to the side of the dance floor. He moved gently to the music, though it wasn’t exactly dancing. What drew your attention most was his face, decorated with incredible prosthetics. He probably had layers of products on his face, but the makeup looked shockingly realistic. The corners of his mouth were cut, long lines running down his cheeks, creating a breathtaking effect. His skin folded perfectly with every movement of his lips, as if it weren’t makeup at all, but real damage.
His lips weren’t the only thing catching your eye. His whole face was strangely scarred, and near his temples, you noticed deep marks that looked fresh. Looking closer, you saw something glinting in the light — metal. Tiny metal fragments holding the fake skin in place. It was like his entire face had been cut out and stapled back on.
A smile tugged at your lips. It was astonishingly realistic, giving you little shivers. Not disgust, but the kind that ran along your neck and paused somewhere between your shoulder blades. Something between fascination and a subtle unease you couldn’t quite name.
You realized you were almost frozen in place while people flowed around you like a river. Someone brushed your shoulder, another hit your hand, but you didn’t react. Your attention was glued to him. The club lights swept over his figure every few seconds. One moment he disappeared into the shadows, the next, sharp purple light sliced across his face, highlighting every detail of his makeup. From this distance, he looked even more… unsettling. Too realistic. Too precise. You weren’t even sure why it captivated you so much. After all, it was just a costume. Gotham was full of weirdos, and a themed party practically encouraged exaggeration. And yet your eyes kept returning to the same spot.
Then he moved. Not abruptly. He just slowly lifted his head. And then he looked straight at you.
You didn’t have time to look away. Your eyes met instantly. For a fraction of a second, it felt like the world went silent, even though the bass still throbbed beneath your feet.
His eyes didn’t look like someone who had casually noticed a gaze. It was as if he had known all along that you were watching him.
Your heart pounded harder. Then it hit you how long you’d actually been staring.
You quickly turned your head, as if caught in the act. Heat rushed to your face, even in the already hot club. Suddenly, you felt silly, standing on the middle of the dance floor, staring at a stranger. He might think you wanted something from him.
You cleared your throat softly, adjusting your hair, even though it didn’t need it. More to give your hands something to do.
“Bar,” the thought flashed through your mind almost instantly. It was the most sensible move.
You turned and began to push your way through the crowd. It wasn’t easy. A few people had to make room for you, others shifted reluctantly, and you kept apologizing as you tried to navigate the dance floor. The music was even louder near the speakers, the lights blinding.
Finally, you reached the bar.
Your hands immediately found the counter. It was sticky with spilled drinks. You flinched, regretting that unconscious decision. Neon light highlighted the rows of bottles on the shelves behind the bartender, making the liquor look even more tempting than it should. A few people were already leaning against the bar or trying to get the bartender’s attention.
The bartender finally leaned closer, shouting to be heard over the music.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
For a second, you hesitated, still seeing that face and that sudden look in your mind’s eye.
“Something strong,” you finally said, almost automatically.
Only then did you realize you’d unconsciously glanced over your shoulder toward the dance floor again. And though your eyes landed in the same spot where the mysterious guy had been, he was gone.
You shrugged to yourself and turned back toward the bar. Just then, your drink arrived. The glass clinked lightly against the counter as the bartender set it down and quickly moved on to the next customer.
You looked at it carefully, tilting your head slightly. Dark liquid, a few ice cubes, that familiar scent. You guessed what it was before lifting the glass. You grasped it and raised it to your lips. The glass was cold, almost icy, and tiny droplets had formed on the outside, wetting your fingers. You held it to your lips for a moment, then tilted the glass and took a sip.
The alcohol spread across your tongue, first sweet from the cola, then the familiar burn in your throat. Just as you thought — vodka with cola. You grimaced slightly, then let out a quiet sigh, feeling the pleasant warmth start to spread across your chest.
You rested your elbow on the bar, playing with the glass between your fingers. For a moment, you just watched the people in front of you. Someone danced on a small platform, someone else joked or argued with a friend, and the bartender expertly poured another round of drinks.
Then you felt a presence.
“Hey, gorgeous. I’m Jerome.” The voice came right beside your ear.
You jumped so suddenly that the ice in your glass clinked, nearly spilling your drink. You spun around, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.
It was him.
He stood so close that you could see every detail of his face without the help of flickering lights. Up close, his makeup looked even more unsettling. The scars weren’t just painted, they had depth and texture, and the metal pieces near his temples caught the reflections of the colorful lights. The corners of his mouth lifted into a slow, wide smile that looked almost unnatural, the cuts along his cheeks exaggerating it.
You should have stepped back. Instead, you froze.
Adrenaline surged through you, raising goosebumps along your skin. Not fear that made you run, more like a thrill that tightened your stomach and quickened your breath. Then you realized you were still staring at him. Too long.
“Hey…” you finally said, trying to sound normal, though your voice was slightly softer than you intended.
Jerome tilted his head slightly, looking at you with obvious interest, as if your reaction was exactly what he expected. His gaze was intense.
You had the strange feeling that he had been watching you for a long time already.
You swallowed, trying to collect your thoughts into something coherent. He was still too close. Too close for someone you’d just met. And yet you didn’t step back.
“I have to admit… your makeup is really realistic. Seriously. It looks… amazing,” you said suddenly, grabbing your glass.
You took another sip, feeling the burn in your throat, and quickly looked back at Jerome. Only then did you notice his beautiful green eyes. Truly hypnotic.
Then Jerome burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a normal laugh. Not a short, polite chuckle. It was a sudden, loud, uncontrolled burst that cut through even the pounding music. He threw his head back, his shoulders shaking as if you’d just said the funniest thing in the world. A few people at the bar glanced in your direction. The laugh… it was unsettling. Too intense. Raw, almost wild.
Finally, he regained control, leaning back toward you. There was something dangerous glinting in his eyes.
“Makeup?” he repeated, amusement in his voice, licking his bottom lip. “Oh, beautiful… this isn’t makeup.”
The smile didn’t leave his face. It seemed wider.
Something clenched your stomach. The warmth from the alcohol faded, replaced by a sudden, almost overwhelming heat. For a second, the thought crossed your mind that you should laugh it off, treat it as a joke, say something light. But he didn’t look like someone joking.
And yet you didn’t run. You didn’t step back. You didn’t look away.
Your fingers gripped the glass tighter.
“Want me to show you something?” he asked suddenly, since you hadn’t answered.
The question came out casually, like he was offering a smoke outside, not… whatever he was thinking. But his eyes sparkled strangely, too alive. He no longer looked like someone just flirting at a bar.
You should have refused. You really should have. And yet, you nodded.
Jerome’s smile immediately widened. He didn’t reply with words. He simply grabbed your hand. His fingers closed firmly around yours, confident, without hesitation, as if he’d assumed from the start that you’d agree. You were surprised at how warm his skin felt.
He didn’t wait for you to move. He pulled you along through the crowd. You weaved between people, past the dance floor, the bar, groups of talking guests. A few times someone had to step aside, giving you irritated looks, but Jerome didn’t slow down. He moved confidently, as if he knew the place well.
The further you went from the floor, the muffled the music became. The bass still throbbed, but it no longer shook your chest. Instead, you could hear the echo of footsteps and feel cooler air on your skin.
He stopped at a metal door marked in red “EMERGENCY EXIT.”
Your heart leapt.
“Jerome…?” you whispered his name.
But he was already opening the door. It creaked softly, and suddenly you were outside the main room. The dim hallway hit your eyes after the flashing club lights. A single, cold fluorescent bulb glowed above the stairs leading up and down. The concrete walls were raw, cracked in places, and the air was cool, smelling of dust and moisture. The music came only as a dull, distant thrum behind the door. No one else was there.
Jerome didn’t release your hand until the door clicked shut behind you. For a moment, you just stared at him. In the silence, he seemed even stranger. Without colorful lights, his face looked sharper, the scars — if they were even scars — more pronounced.
“You wanted to know,” he said more calmly than before.
Then he raised his hand to his temple.
At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing. His fingers slid under the thin piece of “skin” along his hairline. Gently… then he tugged. A soft metallic sound. One staple popped free. You froze. Another. You heard it clearly—a short, dry click of metal. And then the piece of skin… moved. Pulled away slightly from his forehead. And fell. Hanging.
It wasn’t silicone. It didn’t look like latex. The material had weight, moving with the air, revealing something darker, damp underneath. The lines along his mouth weren’t painted, they ran deeper than they should have.
Your body stopped moving. Air caught in your throat. Your stomach tightened violently, a wave of nausea washing over you. Reflexively, you stepped back half a step, your back nearly touching the cold wall. Your heart pounded so loudly in your ears that, for a moment, you couldn’t even hear the music behind the doors.
This wasn’t makeup. This wasn’t a costume. And the worst part… was that you couldn’t look away.
Your eyes tracked every movement of that piece of skin, every subtle twitch of his lips. A shiver ran down your neck and shoulders to your fingers. Fear gripped your chest.
But beneath it… there was something else. Something warm. Something that made your knees go slightly weak instead of sending you running.
“Not makeup. Now do you believe me?” he whispered, a wide smile stretching across his face.
You couldn’t answer right away. Your fingers trembled, your breathing shallow. You should scream. You should run. But instead, you just stared at him with wide eyes, feeling another cold shiver crawl down your back… and how unnaturally… much you liked the sensation.
Jerome stepped toward you. Slowly, without hurry. Like a predator who knows exactly that its prey won’t run. The fluorescent bulb above flickered for a second, casting a harsh, cold light across his face. The torn piece of skin still hung loosely at his temple, revealing what you shouldn’t be seeing. And yet, you stayed. Motionless. Breathing too fast.
“You like this,” he said softly. His voice dropped, losing that earlier theatrical lightness. It became heavier. “It turns you on.”
Your throat tightened, but you didn’t deny it. You couldn’t. Because he was right. The fear still clenched your stomach, still caused mild nausea and shivers but beneath it, there was something else. Every heartbeat now reverberated between your thighs, through your stomach, under your skin.
Jerome smiled slowly, noticing your silence.
Another step.
Now he was so close you could feel the heat of his body despite the chill of the hallway. His scent, a mixture of smoke, alcohol, and blood, hit you.
Jerome lifted a hand. For a moment, you thought he’d touch your face. Instead, his fingers hovered just above your neck. He didn’t touch you immediately. He let you feel the tension of that closeness. The electricity under your skin.
“You’re not running,” he murmured. And then he leaned in.
There was no force. No tugging. Just a slow, deliberate closing of the distance until you felt his breath on your lips. Warm, uneven. Your back pressed against the cold concrete wall. The contrast of temperatures made you even more aware. Cold behind you, heat before you.
His lips brushed yours. Lightly at first. Your body tensed instinctively. Your fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt. Your heart pounded so hard your head spun. Jerome didn’t pull back. On the contrary. He deepened the kiss slowly, pressing his lips more insistently to yours. His lower lip caught yours, and you felt his hand finally wrap around the back of your neck.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was intense. Raw.
When you parted your lips slightly, he used it without hesitation. The kiss became deeper, heavier, more consuming. Your knees went weak.
You felt him everywhere. His chest pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his fingers tracing from your neck downward. The skin beneath his touch burned. Your mind was chaos. Fear, adrenaline, and pure, indecent arousal.
His grip tightened, pulling you closer, testing whether you were really as brave as you pretended. His lips traced your lower lip, nibbling lightly. Just enough to send a sharp jolt of pain and pleasure through you. You gasped softly into his mouth.
Jerome let out a low, satisfied sound.
The kiss slowed, but deepened even more. Every motion deliberate. Every brush of lips, every press of tongue carried dominance.
Your hands rose of their own accord, tangling in his hair. You tugged lightly, and he responded with a quiet, almost amused purr at your lips.
The metallic scent of blood mingled with alcohol. Cold concrete pressed to your back. The distant, muffled thump of music beyond the doors. And you.
He pulled away only when you truly ran out of air.
But he didn’t step back far. The torn piece of skin still hung at his temple, and instead of looking away, you met his gaze head-on.
Your lips were slightly swollen. Your breath rapid. And your stomach clenched, not from fear this time.
Jerome smiled slowly.
“You’re just as crazy as me. That’s why you’re not running,” he murmured.
His hand suddenly wandered over your body, resting on your waist. Your skimpy party dress suddenly felt impossibly tight, impossibly small.
“Let me make you feel good.”
“Jerome,” you whispered. Not as a protest. You didn’t even know how to classify it.
His hand was immediately on your thigh. You shivered instinctively under his touch. His hand was cooler than the sensitive skin of your thigh. You might even have said it felt slightly rough, marked with something raw, real. But it didn’t bother you. Not in the slightest. Quite the opposite. Arousal spread through you in a wave. Heat pooled in your lower belly, and wetness spread instantly between your thighs. You squeezed your legs gently. He would feel that for sure.
You didn’t dare look him in the eyes. You were too embarrassed. Because in that moment, you felt so good. Almost weightless, like you were levitating. He was perfect. Hard and rough where he should be, yet soft exactly where it mattered. You wanted to close your eyes and just let him lead.
His hand didn’t rush. It glided upward, millimeter by millimeter, rubbing the inside of your thigh, as if testing your reaction, as if deliberately prolonging the moment. Your skin burned under his touch. Every movement sharpened your senses, and in your stomach, the tension mounted deliciously. You breathed shallower, almost unconsciously parting your legs just a little wider. Just for him.
Then his fingers, very slowly, slid the tips beneath the fabric of your short black dress. Gentle. Almost innocent. The material lifted slightly, and his knuckles brushed your heated skin.
He paused for a moment. Then moved deeper. Still slowly. His fingers teased upward, provoking, daring, until finally — delicately, almost by accident — they brushed the fabric of your soaked panties. That tiny touch made your whole body tense in an instant, and a quiet gasp slipped from your lips, betraying exactly how much you were reacting to him.
You looked up to see his insanely arousing face. Your eyes met his. He was watching you with those green eyes, completely focused. A wide, almost maniacal smile played across his lips. And you sighed softly at the sight. Because he was turning you on. So damn much.
“You’re soaked,” he laughed suddenly.
It wasn’t mocking. Far from it. It was insane, unbalanced like a madman. And it was unbearably arousing. Those cut corners at the edges of his mouth, stretching up toward his cheeks… up close, you could see them properly. They weren’t makeup. Not a mask. They were real wounds. Not club costume. Real.
“Just for you,” you answered.
And it was true. You were soaking. Absolutely drenched. You felt arousal taking over, every nerve ending focusing on one, pulsing point. Your body reacted differently than usual, without any filter. Your brain had turned to mush, thoughts dissolving, incapable of forming anything coherent. Your thighs clenched instinctively each time you felt your wetness grow, each pulse of your throbbing clit demanding attention. If you didn’t feel touch on your pussy right now, you would go insane. Your clit was swollen and pulsating, craving any contact, even the slightest friction. Friction you could give yourself, even minimally, by pressing your thighs together.
Then his hand moved slightly, almost imperceptibly. His fingers pressed lightly, deliberately, checking that you were really feeling it. The fabric of your panties was warm and soft under his pads, soaked in a way that could no longer be ignored. You shivered, your hips moving of their own accord, shamelessly betraying you. You wanted him more at that moment than anyone else in your entire life.
Then his fingers did something else — one of them began moving slowly, in a circular motion, tracing a map across your skin, seeking that single perfect point. Your clit throbbed under his fingertip, each rotation sending a wave of heat spreading through your entire pussy. Your cunt clenched reflexively, and you moaned. The sound slipped from your throat, and his grin flared immediately. That infernally hot, piercing smile.
His movements were precise, full of desire. His finger slid deeper, gliding over your labia, still through the soft material of your panties. He tested the wetness, pressing exactly where your body craved more. Your clit reacted to every change in pressure, becoming hypersensitive, each touch sparking. Your hips began to rock on their own, following his rhythm, seeking more frequent, exquisitely painful pleasure.
You could feel your whole insides turning soft and hot at once. Blood pulsed in your veins, thoughts spinning around a single word — more.
“Jerome, please,” you whimpered suddenly.
“Yes, beautiful. Ask for it.”
“I want more.”
His other hand found your hips, fingers tangling in the fabric of your dress and pulling it higher, exposing more skin for him to explore with both gaze and touch. Your face grew hot, your lips parting in shameless pleading.
His hand withdrew for just a second from your soaking pussy, just long enough to shift the fabric aside and expose you fully. You gleamed under the dim fluorescent light, which pulsed in time with your body.
Jerome lowered his hand to that same spot as before, this time sliding two fingers, pressed together, between your lips. You gasped suddenly at the electric touch in such a sensitive place. When his finger found your clit and lingered there longer, you felt like you were going to explode. Your pussy throbbed around his finger, craving to feel him inside.
He smiled and sped up. Your moans grew longer, more forceful.
“Jerome, please,” you whimpered.
“What do you beg for?”
“I want your fingers inside me,” you replied, staring deep into his eyes.
The smile on his face widened slowly, wild, untamed, almost predatory. His breath flowed evenly from his mouth, hot and uneven, and you felt each puff against your neck, sending tiny shivers through you. Your stomach tightened further, your clit pulsating in rhythm with his calm breath, while his fingers continued to stroke you, gentle but deliberate.
You couldn’t hold back any longer. Your hands found his wrist on their own, pulling him closer. His fingers slid deeper, parting your lips from the inside. You whimpered incoherent words, your hips guiding him so his fingertips pressed perfectly against your tight, needy hole. You pushed your body forward, tugging his wrist to press his fingers deeper. Jerome instinctively took control. His fingers moved slowly, exploring your body from the inside, each motion exactly what you had been craving. He began tracing every corner of your wet, heated pussy.
You felt your entire body responding to his touch. Muscles clenching around his fingers, hips lifting on their own, craving even deeper, more shameless contact. Your breathing grew heavier, louder, punctuated by moans that spilled out without control.
Jerome began moving his fingers inside you, teasing you from within. Your cry of pleasure escaped involuntarily, your body surrendering completely to the wave, every part of you begged for more, for everything he could give. His fingertips pressed perfectly against the undulating wall, your G-spot. Your legs trembled, nearly giving out. If your back weren’t pressed against the wall, you would have collapsed to the floor long ago.
Jerome moved his fingers in smooth, intoxicating motions, driving you toward madness. Moans slipped from your mouth on their own. You began begging, crying out his name, squeezing your walls around him. You were dripping onto his fingers, making him slip slightly. He easily continued sliding in and out of you.
“You’re such a good little fucked-up girl,” he said. “You take it so well.”
A choked moan escaped your lips in response. You could no longer even hold your gaze on him. Your eyes drifted back into your skull, somewhere far away, while pleasure filled your entire body.
You felt your orgasm approaching. The muscles in your body began to tense, especially those in your womb. You wrapped around him perfectly with your walls. His fingers barely had room as you squeezed them tightly, especially now that you had lost control of your body entirely and every muscle had tensed. You could feel resistance against his movements.
He pressed harder on your G-spot, and in an instant, you felt your entire world explode from the inside. A wave of pleasure hit you like a scorching, violent surge, spreading to every corner of your body. Your clit throbbed, your walls clenched around his fingers in rhythm with endless contractions.
Your stomach vibrated from the internal spasms. Every part of your pussy trembled, responding to each of his movements. Your hips lifted involuntarily, your legs shook, nearly giving out, the intensity was so strong you barely managed to keep your balance. Your breaths grew short, high-pitched, interrupted by moans that spilled out uncontrollably.
Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it in your ears, and every touch of his hand amplified the waves of pleasure. Your pussy sucked his fingers, enveloping them in quivering, wet waves of ecstasy, while the orgasm stretched on, refusing to let you catch your breath.
Suddenly, Jerome withdrew his fingers from you, and you shivered. He was so quick and skillful, yet you still felt that overwhelming sensation of post-orgasm sensitivity, how unbearably responsive your body had become to the slightest touch.
“You’re so tight and wet… I’d love to use my cock to make you come,” he said, watching his dripping fingers closely. Suddenly, he brought the fingers to his mouth and sucked on two of them. Jerome rolled his eyes theatrically, his arms dropping slightly.
“And so sweet on top of that.”
You blushed.
“Then do it… use your cock on me,” you moaned in desperation. You had just come, and yet your arousal was building again, hotter than before.
“I’m a gentleman. I never fuck on the first date, sweetie,” he smiled widely and laughed again, that same manic laugh. Then he leaned in closer, his breath resting against the exposed skin of your neck. His lips hovered mere millimeters from your ear.
Victor Zsasz is one of the most feared men in Gotham. You never seem to care about his reputation.
Then, one night, someone corners you outside a bar.
That's a mistake on their part.
please note that i haven't seen this show since like 2018 or something so i might have his characterisation wrong, this is just from memory
The first thing people noticed about you was that you didn't seem afraid of Gotham.
Not in the way sane people should be.
You walked home after dark with your keys threaded between your fingers and your chin held high. You worked late shifts. You crossed neighborhoods people avoided. You rolled your eyes at threats.
You weren't reckless.
You just refused to live your life terrified.
Which was why nobody could understand how you'd become friends with Victor Zsasz.
Or perhaps "friends" wasn't the right word.
Victor himself would probably laugh if someone called it that.
The relationship had started six months earlier in the most ridiculous way imaginable.
You'd spilled coffee on him.
Not just anyone.
Not some businessman.
Not some random criminal.
Victor Zsasz.
One of the most dangerous men in Gotham.
You hadn't known who he was at the time.
You'd been rushing out of a café, juggling your phone and a paper bag of pastries, when you collided directly with a bald man wearing a long black coat.
The coffee had gone everywhere.
His shirt.
His jacket.
His face.
Silence had fallen over the sidewalk.
Absolute silence.
The kind that made the back of your neck prickle.
Then you'd looked up.
And found yourself staring into the darkest eyes you'd ever seen.
Cold eyes.
Dangerous eyes.
The eyes of a man everyone around you suddenly looked terrified of.
"Oh my God." You'd winced. "I'm so sorry."
The silence had stretched.
One second.
Two.
Three.
The people nearby looked ready to witness a murder.
Then you'd shoved your napkins into his hands. "Seriously, that's entirely my fault."
Victor had blinked.
Once.
Then twice.
As though you'd somehow confused him. "You apologising to me?"
"You look shocked."
"You know who I am?"
"No."
A pause.
"No."
Another pause.
"You got a name?"
"Y/N."
Victor had stared.
Then grinned.
And that should have been your warning.
Because Victor Zsasz smiling was never good news.
Not for anyone.
Unfortunately for him, you simply smiled back.
And walked away.
A week later he appeared again.
Then again.
Then again.
At first you assumed it was coincidence.
Then you realized Victor Zsasz was not the kind of man who accidentally showed up everywhere you happened to be.
The bookstore. The diner. The corner convenience store. The laundromat.
Eventually you'd looked up from your coffee and sighed. "Are you stalking me?"
Victor sat across from you.
"Maybe."
"You know that's weird, right?"
"You still ain't scared."
"No."
His grin widened.
"Interesting."
You learned very quickly that Victor fascinated you.
Not because he was dangerous.
Everyone knew he was dangerous.
That part was obvious.
What fascinated you was everything else.
The strange humour. The dry observations. The fact that he always remembered your coffee order. The way he tilted his head when listening. The way he watched people. Like he could see right through them.
Most people never got close enough to notice those things.
Most people ran.
You didn't.
And somehow that seemed to puzzle Victor more than anything.
"Why?"
He asked it one rainy evening.
You were sitting beneath the awning outside a convenience store while rain hammered the streets.
"Why what?"
"Why aren't you scared of me?"
You considered the question.
Victor leaned against the wall beside you.
Watching.
Waiting.
You shrugged.
"I think you're dangerous."
His eyebrow lifted.
"Good start."
"I think you've probably done horrible things."
"Better."
"But you've never hurt me."
The rain continued falling.
Victor didn't move.
"You look at me like I'm a person."
The words were quieter than usual.
Almost careful.
Victor's expression changed.
Just slightly.
"You are a person."
His jaw tightened.
For some reason that answer seemed to affect him more than fear ever could.
Weeks became months.
Months became something neither of you wanted to define.
Victor started showing up at your apartment.
Not invited.
But not exactly unwelcome.
You'd find him sitting fire-escape adjacent at two in the morning. Eating takeout. Watching the city.
Sometimes he talked.
Sometimes he didn't.
Sometimes he simply sat beside you.
Comfortable in silence.
The closest thing Victor Zsasz had ever known to peace.
Naturally, Gotham noticed.
Rumors spread quickly.
Especially dangerous rumors.
And there was nothing more dangerous than being associated with Victor Zsasz.
People stared.
Whispered.
Avoided you.
Some tried warning you.
Others assumed you were crazy.
A few assumed you were just as dangerous as he was.
You ignored them all.
Victor pretended he didn't care.
You knew better.
Because every time someone looked at you wrong, Victor noticed.
Every single time.
The problem was that not everyone in Gotham understood boundaries.
Some people saw a woman alone and thought opportunity. Some people saw kindness and mistook it for weakness. Some people made very stupid decisions.
Like the three men outside McCarthy's Bar on a Friday night.
It was nearly midnight.
The streets were wet from earlier rain.
The neon signs reflected across puddles.
You'd stayed later than expected.
Said goodbye to friends.
Started walking home.
At first everything seemed normal.
Then footsteps appeared behind you.
Three sets.
Too close.
Too deliberate.
Your stomach tightened.
You kept walking.
The footsteps quickened.
So did yours.
A voice called out. "Hey sweetheart."
You didn't answer.
Another laugh followed.
Then another.
The sound echoed down the alley-lined street.
Your pulse began hammering.
You hated that.
Hated feeling vulnerable.
Hated feeling cornered.
You crossed the street.
They followed.
One moved ahead.
Blocking your path.
The other two closed behind you.
Your heart dropped.
"Move."
The tallest man grinned. "Nah."
You glanced around.
The street was nearly empty.
No help.
No witnesses.
Just three men who clearly thought they held all the power.
One reached for your arm. "Come on."
You jerked away. "Don't touch me."
His smile vanished.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Predatory.
Ugly.
Dangerous.
"Think you're too good for us?"
You backed up.
Slowly.
Calculating.
Looking for an opening.
Finding none.
The second man stepped closer.
The third cracked his knuckles.
And then—
A voice cut through the darkness.
Soft.
Almost cheerful.
"Oh."
Everything stopped.
The men froze.
You froze.
Because you recognized that voice immediately.
Victor.
The men turned.
Confused.
Victor stood twenty feet away.
Hands in his pockets.
Head tilted slightly.
Smiling.
Not a pleasant smile.
Not even remotely.
The kind of smile people saw in nightmares.
"Oh," he repeated. "I don't think you boys understand who that is."
Silence.
One man scoffed.
"Who the hell are you?"
Victor actually laughed.
The sound made your skin prickle.
Not because you feared him.
Because you knew what came next.
The leader took one look at Victor and visibly paled.
Recognition.
Horrible recognition.
The color drained from his face.
His eyes widened. "Oh God."
Victor's grin widened. "There it is."
The other two glanced between them.
Confused.
"What?"
The leader stumbled backward.
"Run."
"What?"
"RUN."
Too late.
Far.
Far too late.
Victor moved.
Fast.
Terrifyingly fast.
One second he stood across the street.
The next he was there.
Violence erupted.
Quick.
Efficient.
Brutal.
The kind of violence only someone like Victor could deliver.
The alley echoed with screams.
Then apologies.
Then begging.
Victor ignored all of it.
Because the moment he'd seen them cornering you, something inside him had snapped.
You'd never seen Victor angry before.
Not truly angry.
You had now.
And it was horrifying.
Not because of what he did.
Because of how calm he remained while doing it.
The men never stood a chance.
Not for a second.
Not against Victor Zsasz.
When it was over, silence settled over the street.
Victor stood breathing steadily.
Not winded.
Not shaken.
Just staring.
The three men fled the instant they could.
Desperate.
Terrified.
Victor let them go.
His attention had already shifted.
To you.
Immediately.
Entirely.
"Y/N."
His voice sounded different.
You swallowed.
"I'm okay."
He crossed the distance instantly.
Checking you over.
Shoulders.
Arms.
Face.
As though searching for injuries.
"You hurt?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Victor."
His eyes met yours.
Bright.
Dangerous.
Terrified.
You reached up and placed your hand against his cheek.
His entire body went still.
"I'm okay."
The words were soft.
Certain.
Victor closed his eyes.
Just briefly.
The tension draining from him all at once.
"You scared me."
The admission surprised both of you.
Victor looked away immediately afterward.
As though he'd revealed too much.
You stared.
Then laughed softly.
The expression he gave you was offended.
"I mean it."
"I know."
"You could've gotten hurt."
"I know."
"You shouldn't walk alone."
"You sound like my grandmother."
Victor groaned.
You smiled.
And for the first time that night, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Something changed after that.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
Neither of you needed to.
The near-miss had shattered whatever walls remained between you.
Victor stopped pretending you were merely someone he knew.
You stopped pretending his presence didn't matter.
The truth had become impossible to ignore.
For both of you.
A week later Victor appeared on your fire escape.
Again.
Except this time he seemed oddly nervous.
Which was ridiculous.
Victor Zsasz wasn't nervous.
Ever.
Yet there he was.
Avoiding eye contact.
Fidgeting.
You narrowed your eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
Victor sighed dramatically.
Then muttered something.
"What?"
He muttered again.
"Victor."
His eyes squeezed shut.
Then he blurted, "Want to go out with me?"
Silence.
Victor looked ready to jump off the fire escape.
You stared.
Then laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was adorable.
Which Victor would have hated hearing.
"You asking me on a date?"
"No."
"Victor."
"Maybe."
You smiled.
The soft kind.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that always left him speechless.
"I'd love to."
For once in his life, Victor Zsasz looked completely stunned.
Months later people still feared him.
Still crossed streets.
Still whispered.
Still avoided eye contact.
Victor Zsasz remained one of Gotham's most dangerous men.
One of its deadliest.
One of its most feared.
None of that changed.
But when he walked through Gotham now, there was often someone beside him.
Someone who rolled her eyes at his dramatic stories. Someone who stole fries off his plate. Someone who teased him mercilessly. Someone who never looked at him like a monster.
And every single time Victor glanced at her, the expression in his eyes made one thing perfectly clear.
The men outside that bar had made the worst mistake of their lives.
Not because they'd crossed Victor Zsasz.
Because they'd threatened the one person in Gotham he would burn the entire city down to protect.
And Victor had never been particularly good at mercy when it came to things he loved.
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; He’s the sadist to your masochist, and he intends to prove it.
⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!victor x female reader. SMUT. pure porn. second part to the “gotham characters eating you out” series. Obsessive victor. Sadist victor. Victor being cannonically a manwhore.
♫ “Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me.” Angel by Massive Attack
It’s true what they say. You never see him coming, he just appears. Typically it would be used for violence, but no. He showed up at your apartment unannounced an hour ago, just in the shadows. You could still see the dried blood textured on his leather- fresh from the kill. He looked at you like he always had, gaze devoid of anything at all. But no, you’d known better. He was riled up.
The adrenaline from his kills always hit you the hardest and fastest. Typically because, in his words, it meant you were “getting laid” tonight. You didn’t mind, you enjoyed how he tapped his fingers against your window, a soft request to be let in.
After each kill and each scar cut into him, you were the first person he’d see. Allieviate all…underlying tensions still left in his body. When his blood was still pumping from a victims screams, and his cock throbbed hard with the adrenaline of the chase.
You’d known from the begginning something was different about tonight, though. No quick quips, or light conversation before he fucked you. Hell, he’d even sometimes play sudoku on your phone beforehand. But there was no restraining him today. He was fired up.
Which is why, for the past hour, he’s been inbetween your legs, not letting you cum until you say it.
What is it, exactly? You don’t know.
He’s been teasing you all night, tongue pulling away from your folds at even the slightest spasm. You’d already tried begging, and he gave you a sympathetic frown.
“Wrong answer babe…” He trails off, letting your high come down, before his mouth is on you again. His tongue swirls roughly around your clit, and you struggle not to shudder.
A cold, gloved hand holds your thigh up. The other one is thrown over his shoulder. Every now and again he’ll look up at you, smirk on his face. You want to kill him.
His movements against your clit are calculated- flicking gently. Damn him and his expirence. A ladies man. You almost feel jealous- before the feeling of his hands digging into your thigh brings you back to him.
“Ah ah ah.” He tsks, in between rough and gentle kitten licks against your cunt. “Come back to me.” His hand only leaves your thigh to gently snap at you. To bring you back out of your pleasure and running thoughts. He wants every last drop of your attention.
You let out a soft whine, not willing to give in.
“All you have to do…” His tongue dips into your center, and you involuntarily clench up. He keeps his eye contact on you, before departing once more. “Is say it, sweetheart.” You hear the smirk in his voice.
“Say what?” You breathe wildly, desperate to cum. He gives you one more lick, before he pulls out a switchblade from the inside of his suit. Your eyes widen.
He doesn’t answer you, only returns to teasing, this time with a blade in hand. He licks a long stripe from your clit, up and down your thigh, where he places the knife against the delicate plush of your skin. You want to tell him to stop, but you don’t, and so he doesn’t.
The gloved hand drags the knife down only a few inches, and you yelp. A red mark is stuck into your skin. A tally mark on your thigh. He gently sighs, open mouthed at the mark, before swiftly putting the switch blade back in its place.
“Say it.” It comes out as more of a growl this time, as his movements suddenly transform. The soft licks are gone, replaced with the entirety of his lips, eagerly kissing and sucking and licking at the tender flesh.
Between the harsh stinging pain on your thigh and the pleasure of him in between your legs, you feel your orgasm begin again. You search your mind for what he could possibly want from you- you’d already begged please before. Already said his name. Already praised him and proclaimed your devotion a million times over just tonight.
His movements only quicken against the wetness of your slit, and he runs his hands up against the cut in your thigh. You gasp and moan in pain as his fingers dig into the cut, orgasm and burning pain piling up on one another in pure bliss. You feel the tears in your eyes sting, and the build up of release rapidly increasing.
You say the only words left, the only words you know for sure have gone unsaid.
He looks so pretty like this, even with your blood on his hands and your slick around his lips.
“I love you,” You damn near scream, you plead. You need to cum.
And he finally lets you.
At those words, a loud growl rips through him, pain reaching a peak as he plays with the cut on your thigh and expertly devours you. He manhandles your body even closer than what you thought possible, shoving his face into your pussy like a man starved.
He rides you through your orgasm, licking and looking at you. Your chest heaves under him, and your sure the sheets are red from the blood in your thigh.
When he finally parts, he lifts himself over you- so he’s face to face.
He’s a touch too composed for your liking, and he hovers over you. His face blank.
You two lay in scilence, and you feel the burning pain in your thigh more and more as the aftershocks from your orgasm subside.
In a quick movement, he kisses your nose in a quick peck.
“I love you too.” He grins like a school girl- before flopping over next to you as if nothing had happened. “Thats all I wanted to hear,” He shrugs, eyeing the ceiling with his head propped on his hands behind his head.
A/N: Hello! It's been quite some time since I've posted and written. I have been recently watching Gotham, and I'm obsessed. This is the first time I've ever dabbled in the DC realm, so please go easy on me. This will hopefully be the first of several one shots for the show Gotham. Please do not be afraid to send in a request but do know that I am only at the beginning of Season 3, so who I write for may be limited. But if you like this one, please send in a request for another! I hope you all enjoy
§
The sound of your shoes against the tile floor mixed with the hustle and bustle of the GCPD. You moved around officers hauling in criminals screaming for justice as you made your way to your little corner of the building. You hadn’t been working at the GCPD for long. In fact, you were happy where you were previously employed. You would have stayed there forever had a former employee, who was now caged up in Arkham, not decided to torch the place. So, when you found yourself out of a job, you did what any ordinary distraught adult would do. You called your best friend and scheduled a date for some much-needed wine therapy. Unfortunately for you, your best friend was hanging out with her close buddy, Kristen Kringle, when said call was made.
You had only met Kristen a handful of times and were not a fan. She always struck you as shallow. Every time you spent time with her, she would only ever talk about how much she hated her job but enjoyed all the male attention from the officers. So, naturally, when your best friend told you that Kristen could get you a job as her assistant at the GCPD, you were a little skeptical. But, since your options were limited, you reluctantly accepted and eventually found yourself being Kristen’s own personal servant.
You hurried through the building until you came upon the Record’s Room door. Just as you were about to enter, the trill of Kristen’s giggle filled your ears, causing you to pause. You peeked around the corner to find Officer Dougherty trailing his fingers up and down Kristen’s arm. His head was angled down as he whispered something into her ear, earning another laugh. You rolled your eyes before turning on your heel with a huff and headed toward the M.E.’s office. When you entered the room, it was empty. Lee always ran a bit late, but you knew she wouldn’t mind if you hid in her office. She was used to it by now.
You dropped your bag onto the floor and began aimlessly walking around the room. Vials of odd-colored liquids were chilling in a refrigerator, and several medical tools were lined on the table in the middle of the room. You meandered over to the lone skeleton in the corner and began lifting up its limp arms. You gave them a light shake causing the whole thing to rattle when the door opened.
“Making friends over there?” Lee asked.
You dropped the arms and let out a little chuckle.
“I couldn’t help myself. He looked a little bonely.”
“Not a pun this early in the morning, Y/N” Lee groaned.
You just smiled as you moved to plop down into her roller chair. As you watched Lee set up for the day, you began slowly spinning the chair. She sent you a glance over her shoulder.
“Kristen has company again?”
You scoffed and said, “Officer Dougherty, now.”
“She sure moved on quickly from Flass.”
With every spin, you briefly looked at Lee and said, “Don’t even get me started.”
Lee let out a breathy laugh and then continued to move around the room. You were spinning in silence when the door opened again, and none other than Ed Nygma entered. You slammed your feet down in an attempt to stop the spinning and nearly sent yourself flying from the chair. A bright smile spread across Ed’s face the second your eyes locked with his.
“Miss Y/L/N.”
“Hi, Ed,” you said, his name coming out like a secret you didn’t want anyone else to know.
“I thought I might find you here.”
You and Ed hit it off immediately, which inevitably meant that your crush for him blossomed rather quickly. You remember it like it was yesterday. It was your first day on the job, and Kristen had delegated sorting to you. So, you were crouched behind the filing cabinets going through shelves of folders, when Ed walked into the Record’s Room. You didn’t see him right away. You could only hear was his chipper and smooth voice as he greeted Kristen.
“Though my beauty is becoming,” he said, his smile seeping into every word, “I can hurt you just the same; I come in many colors; I am what I am by any other name. What am I?”
Kristen groaned.
“Mr. Nygma, I’m really not in the mood for one of your little riddles.”
“Do you give up?” Ed had asked, not even caring about Kristen’s hostile tone.
You could hear her huff before she said, “Yeah, I give up.”
You didn’t even know him yet, but for some reason, the way Kristen was treating him was pissing you off. Maybe that’s what possessed you to answer his riddle when he began to give the answer.
“I’m a–”
“Rose,” you said as you stood up, revealing yourself.
His eyes snapped to you, and you took a sharp breath. He was cuter than he sounded. Tall with hair combed almost systematically and eyes the color of a warm cup of coffee. And when he directed his smile toward you, it felt like you were struck by lightning. He pulled a rose you didn’t see him holding from behind his back and handed it to you.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
You took the rose from him, your fingers just barely grazing his velvety skin. His eyes traveled over every inch of your face, from the arch of your brow to the curve of your lips.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he began, extending his hand to you. “I’m Ed Nygma.”
You placed your hand in his large palm and couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted in your stomach.
“Y/N Y/L/N.”
The corners of his lips curled upward as he shook your hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/L/N.”
He held onto your hand for a moment longer than necessary before finally taking his exit. You were frozen in time as your body reacted to him even though he was no longer in the room. You could barely hear when Kristen began to whine about how Ed was the guy she told your best friend about who wouldn’t leave her alone. Her voice became a hum as you stared at the rose Ed gave you, and all you could think was that you were glad Kristen didn’t like him because you did. A lot.
That was six months ago. And ever since that first meeting, Ed would visit you every morning and give you a riddle. His daily ritual only furthered your feelings for him. As the months rolled on, you did your best to conceal your emotions, but it seemed that everyone knew of your ever-growing crush. Of course, that was everyone but Ed.
You sat up a little straighter in your chair as you waited for Ed to deliver his daily riddle.
“When you stop to look, you can always see me. But,” he said, sticking a finger in the air, “if you try to touch me, you can never feel me. Although you walk towards me, I remain the same distance from you. What am I?”
You began nibbling on your lower lip as you tried to work through the riddle, whispering to yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed as you brought your hand to your chin.
“Do you give up?” He asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
You waved your hands at him as you let out a string of “no’s,” but after a few more minutes of nothing, you finally let out a defeated huff.
“I give up. What is it?”
Ed’s grin grew, then he said, “The horizon.”
You threw your head back and groaned earning a laugh from Ed.
“I should’ve gotten that one!” You shouted. “That was a good riddle. Right, Lee?”
Lee hummed in response.
“Yeah, it was.”
Ed gave her a nod and said, “Good morning, Dr. Thompkins.”
“Ed,” Lee began with a gentle smile, “please just call me Lee.”
“Right. My apologies, Lee.”
He turned back to you, and your heart jumped in your chest. Even after all these months, you were still unable to figure out how he had such an effect on you. Ed just existing made you melt. You couldn’t help but think what would happen if he ever got his hands on you. Your bottom lip slid between your teeth at the thought.
“Well,” Ed said, pulling you back to reality, “I better head out. I’ll, um, I’ll see you later, Miss Y/L/N.”
You nodded and let out a weak “Okay,” before Ed turned and began walking toward the door. As he went to leave, you looked at Lee, who mouthed, “Say something,” to which you quickly shook your head. Lee rolled her eyes, and just before the door shut behind Ed, she called out to him. At first, the door remained shut, but when it slowly opened again, your heart sank. You tried to control the way your eyes grew to the size of saucers as you watched Lee, but you knew how you were feeling was written all over your face. Ed reentered the room and looked between the two of you.
“Is there something wrong?” He asked, his innocence doing something to your insides.
“No, of course not!” Lee said, moving toward him. “No, um, I was just thinking about our conversation we had a while back about cooking. Do you remember that?”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you sent Lee a look, but she ignored you. Ed nodded.
“Y-yes, I do.”
Lee smiled, and to the normal eye, it may have looked endearing. But to you, a close friend, you knew she was scheming.
“I remember you mentioned how you loved to cook and would like to have a double date with Jim and me.”
Your spine straightened, and you began to stand from your chair.
“Lee…”
“I was just wondering if you were free tonight?” Lee asked, ignoring your protest.
Ed’s eyes flitted from Lee’s to yours and back. His cheeks began to redden as he dropped his head and absentmindedly fixed his glasses.
“Oh,” he began, “um, I-I am free, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold up my end of the whole double date thing. I, uh, I don’t have a date.”
Lee’s gaze snapped to yours briefly before saying, “Just bring Y/N!”
Your whole body was tense, and you clenched your fists at your side.
“Lee,” you said, but it was as if you weren’t even in the room.
“I’m sure she has no plans.”
“Lee!” You barked, finally gaining her attention.
You gave her a look, but when Ed turned to face you, you did your best to look as if you weren’t about to pass out or commit murder. He began to fidget with his glasses again and avoided your stare as he said, “I, uh, if you’re free, um, would you like to maybe join us for dinner, Miss Y/L/N?”
When his stare finally met yours, you could see the vulnerability deep in his eyes. You looked at Lee briefly before nodding.
“I’d love to, Ed,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips.
You could almost see the tension leave his body as he relaxed his shoulders.
“Fantastic. How does seven sound?”
Lee clapped a hand on Ed’s shoulder and said, “That sounds perfect. We’ll see you later.”
A grin spread across Ed’s face before he gave a curt nod and exited once more. And as soon as the door shut behind him, you turned to Lee, who looked smug.
“What the hell was that?” You asked, but Lee didn’t care. She just looked at you and crossed her arms.
“You’re welcome,” she said, causing your jaw to drop, but before you could argue, she held her hand up to stop you. “I don’t want to hear why you think what I did was wrong. Now, you better head to records before someone starts looking for you.”
You stood frozen with your mouth agape for another moment before finally letting out a groan and grabbing your bag from the floor.
“This isn’t over!” You shouted as you showed yourself out, and just as the door was shutting, you could hear Lee’s chuckle.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. No matter how hard you tried to focus on work, your mind was elsewhere. A thousand scenarios were running through your head. What if Ed called you and told you that he actually found a date and didn’t want you to show up? What if he didn’t call and you got to his place only to see some other woman? Your stomach rolled at the thought. Even though you were excited to finally have an unofficial date with Ed, you couldn’t help the way your heart was trying to run away from you.
By the time your shift ended, it felt like you had aged fifteen years. You had been stressing for eight hours, and the evening hadn’t even begun yet. Kristen had already left by the time you gathered your things and began to make your way to the exit. You were digging through your bag when you ran into someone. When you looked up to apologize, you saw Lee and Jim.
“Oh! I’m so glad I ran into you,” Lee said with that same sneaky smile from earlier.
The hairs on the back of your neck stuck up as you asked, “Why?”
Lee let out a sigh.
“We won’t be able to make it to dinner tonight.” She placed a hand on Jim’s back and gave a small pout. “Poor Jim here has come down with a stomach bug.”
You looked at Jim, who was avoiding your stare, and your eyes narrowed.
“He looks fine.”
Lee elbowed him in the side, and Jim slowly brought his closed fist up to his mouth before giving a cough. You furrowed your eyebrows and let out a dry laugh.
“Did you just fake cough?”
Jim shuffled his feet a bit then, in the most monotonous tone, said, “I have been instructed to get bed rest…doctor’s orders.”
Your eyes grew as you looked back at Lee.
“Is he being serious?”
Lee just gave a bashful grin and a shrug before turning to usher Jim out of the precinct.
“Hey!” You shouted after them, but they didn’t turn around, and soon you were standing alone in the bullpen.
“Son of a bitch,” you whispered through gritted teeth as you exited the building and made your way to your vehicle.
It was as if you were on autopilot as you drove home. And when you finally arrived at your apartment, you could barely focus on getting ready for the evening. Your thoughts were a whirlwind. You and Ed had never been alone together before. In fact, you never spent any time together outside of work. Here and there, you would talk on the phone, sometimes even late into the evening, but you had never been on a date. You weren’t sure what to expect, especially now that Lee and Jim wouldn’t be there as a buffer. But even though Lee had set you up and you were nervous, maybe even scared, you still drove to Ed’s apartment at seven. You hiked up the stairs until you were staring at his cold metal front door. Your hands were shaking, and you turned to look at the steps that would lead you right back to the comfort of your car. You could have easily just gone back home and blamed your absence on a headache or your nonexistent sick goldfish. But you didn’t. Instead, you raised your shaky hand and knocked on Ed’s door.
It took him a moment to get to the door, but when it slid open, and you saw him, your heart fluttered in your chest. His normally well-manicured hair was a little disheveled, only making him even more attractive. A bright smile split across his face.
“You came,” he said as he opened the door even further to allow you to enter.
You walked in and were immediately blanketed with a decadent smell emanating from the kitchen, and something that reminded you of clean linen. Your eyes shut for a minute as you took a deep breath. You only opened them again when you heard Ed shut the door and ask, “Do you know when Dr. Thompkins and Detective Gordon will be joining us?”
You let out a sigh and made a mental note to maim Lee when you saw her at work again.
“Um,” you cleared your throat and turned to face Ed,” they’re actually not coming.”
“Oh?”
With that simple sentence, you could see the anxiety seep into Ed’s demeanor.
“Yeah,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck, “Jim wasn’t feeling well.”
It was quiet between the two of you for a moment as Ed stared and processed what you said. His stare was glued to the floor, and you were starting to think this was a bad idea until he lifted his chocolate brown eyes to meet yours and gave you his award-winning smile.
“Well, I guess it’ll just be the two of us then.”
Before you could say anything in return, he hustled past you and entered the kitchen, resuming his work on setting the plates.
“Please, make yourself at home. Dinner is almost ready.”
You took in the apartment as you leisurely made your way toward the table. It was rather small, but everything about it screamed “Ed.” His decor was modern and simple, and there wasn’t one thing out of place. From the books sitting on his bookshelf to the vinyl he had stacked next to his record player, everything had its own spot.
When you finally made it to the table, Ed had just placed two perfectly crafted plates of food down. He pulled your chair out for you, and when you were seated, he took his place across from you. The food looked just as good as it smelt. You honestly weren’t expecting anything special but were pleasantly surprised when you took your first bite. Several flavors danced on your tongue, and you had to hold back a moan.
“Ed,” you said a little too breathy, “this tastes amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
A pleased grin pulled at Ed’s lips, and he shrugged.
“Cooking is like a science, is it not?”
You gave a small chuckle before diving back into your plate. The rest of the meal went by in silence. You were too immersed in your food to even bother starting a conversation. But the way Ed’s foot tapped incessantly under the table did not go unnoticed. And when you both finished, Ed nearly jumped from his seat to gather all the dishes and begin cleaning. You followed him into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel. Neither of you spoke as you worked. But you could see a slight shake in Ed’s typically steady hands as he washed the plates. You noticed how every few seconds, he pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose, despite them not needing to be adjusted. You saw how his shoulders were just slightly more tense than usual. How could you not notice? For six months, you had cataloged everything about Ed and stowed it away in your mind. You knew everything about him, even if you tried to deny it. And as badly as you wanted to convince yourself that the evening was going well, you knew that Ed had been acting different since you had arrived.
When the kitchen was cleaned, you hung the dish towel to dry and leaned against the counter opposite Ed. His eyes never met yours, but your gaze was trained on his fidgeting figure. His hair was even more tousled than before, showcasing the beginnings of a few curls. Your fingers itched to brush them back off his forehead, but you didn’t dare move. And you knew the easy thing to do would be to just grab your things and say goodnight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Instead, you took a deep breath and said, “Ed, is everything alright?”
His eyes flicked up from the floor to meet yours, and his forehead creased at your question.
“W-what do you mean?”
You threw your hands in the air and let out a small grunt.
“I mean, you’ve been acting weird all night.”
You watched as Ed swallowed as you continued.
“Usually, things aren’t so…tense between us,” you said to your shoes. Then you raised your eyes to meet his again. “Did I do something wrong?”
Ed’s face immediately softened at your question, and he closed the distance between the two of you. He took your hands in his as he shook his head.
“No, no, you didn’t do anything. It’s, uh,” he dropped his hold on you and began to pace.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered more to himself than you.
You furrowed your brow at him and tried to place your hand on his arm, but he was moving too erratically for you to touch him.
“Do what?” You asked, causing him to stop in front of you.
Ed took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, focusing his stare on you.
“Miss Y/L/N.”
“Ed,” you said, “just call me Y/N.”
He shook his head and readjusted his glasses once more.
“Right. Y/N.”
He looked at you again.
“I, uh, for a long time, um, oh geez.”
You watched as his mouth opened and closed several times before he balled up his fists, pressed them to his eyes, and let out a high-pitched whine.
“Ed,” you began, taking a step closer to him, “are you o–”
Suddenly, Ed’s hands dropped, and his eyes pierced into yours.
“I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express but the easiest to ignore.”
He took a deep breath and slowly inched toward you as he continued.
“I can be given to many or just one.”
His shaky and slender fingers traced down your arm sending shocks of electricity down your spine.
“What am I?” He asked, voice so low it was barely above a whisper.
Your mind was a muddle. There was no way you could think of an answer with his fingers brushing against yours and his heart clearly exposed. You shook your head, and Ed asked, “Do you give up?”
You gave a weak nod. Ed dropped your gaze for a brief moment before looking back at you and saying, “Love.”
Your stomach did a somersault at his answer, and your heart pounded against your chest. Ed laced his fingers together with yours.
“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been since the first time I met you.”
Every part of you was buzzing from his admission. You had been waiting months for him to show you any sign that he felt the same way you did. When he didn’t, you began to think your feelings were one-sided. But here he was, standing in the middle of his kitchen, holding your hand, professing his love for you. Your knees felt like they were about to give out, and all the oxygen escaped your lungs. When you didn’t say anything right away, Ed started fidgeting again. He released your hand and began tapping his glasses.
“Oh, great,” he said to the floor, “Now you’re uncomfortable, and I just ruined the only real friendship I have. Way to go, Ed. You–“
You didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. Instead, you took his face between your hands and slammed your lips to his. He was stiff at first, but it only took a moment before his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His large hands gripped the fabric against your back, and you didn’t waste any time letting your hands thread through his hair. It was as if everything was moving in slow motion. The way Ed’s lips moved in sync with yours felt unhurried. The way the heat bubbling in your gut slowly seeped throughout the rest of your body felt like drinking a cup of hot cocoa after being out in a winter storm all day. It was everything you had imagined and more.
When you finally pulled back for air, you brought your eyes up to meet Ed’s and whispered, “I’m in love with you too, Ed.”
“Really?” He asked, incredulous.
You just nodded, earning a small laugh from Ed before he pressed his lips to yours again. The rest of the evening, you and Ed sat cuddled up on his couch, listening to his array of records while you made a mental note to not maim Lee but rather figure out how you could ever thank her for setting you and Ed up.
Part Two of This Request asking about the Gotham Villains as Parents! I love these types of requests honestly. I am absolutely feral for ideas like this.
Included in this ask are the other Legion of Horribles Members: Brigit Pike (Firefly), Victor Fries (Mr. Freeze) and Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow) Tetch is excluded because... well you’ve seen the show.
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🧊 Daddy/Uncle Fries
He always wanted kids with Nora so kids are something he’s comfortable with
Attentive, Doting out of all the Rouges he’s the most balanced.
Bed times, Proper meals (as well as one can in a frozen tundra home.)
Introduces them to Dad Rock
FEIRCELY PROTECTIVE OF HIS LITTLE POPSICLE. 🍧 🍧
If He babysits- it’s all junk food, sugar and movies they’re not allowed to watch
Chill Uncle 🧊 🧊
“Hey we got pizza and they chugged a two liter on the way here bye- “
If the kid can’t turn to their actual parent, he’s always there.
Like Jonathon he’s always down to play whatever games the kid wants
Rad Heeler vibes
Spoils them secretly like Bridget
“I saw this thing I thought they’d like, or this reminded me of them…it’s no big deal …
🎩 Tetch is EXCLUDED.
He gives least favorite family member vibes
Creepy uncle you try to avoid
😱 Brotherly Jonathan Crane
Big Bro Scarecrow
Immediately feels protective upon meeting them
Man of few words but will always play with the kid if asked
In and out of scarecrow attire… just plops down for a tea party or action figures
Teaches them to draw and colors with them ✏️ ✏️
Reliable Baby sitter tho (the kids LOVE him)
Will have all their preferences in a book or committed to memory
Watches over them while they sleep yandere…just a little
“You’ll never need to fear again.”
Honestly, it’s a super cute sibling relationship
🧨 Auntie/ Older Sister Firefly/ Bridgit Pike
Tbh I don’t see her as a “mom” role
Cool Aunt Vibes/ Older Sister
Auntie Bridget ✌️
Acts like she doesn’t care about them
She does.
ESPECIALLY if the kid was pulled in off the street/ Narrows
teach the kid how to use flame throwers “For Self-defense only.” JK
Will steal them from school / sports / any event… any excuse to hang out
Matching outfits
Ice-cream and Arson 🍦 🔥
If the kid has relationship problems they go to Bridgit
“Cool, where do they live? we’ll set their car on fire.”
