hey, I saw that you write for Victor Zsasz and I was wondering if you could write something where the reader is Oswald's younger sister and decides to go live on the mansion after Oswald inherits it and tells her to move in, then he discovers that since she moved in, her and Zsasz have been getting along too well. Gotham's most dangerous man and his younger sister who wasn't even related to any crimes.
AN; i was Nawt expecting the victor zsasz renaissance in 2026 but i am also Nawt upset abt it. quite the opposite in fact. love that goofy ahh fella
Wordcount; 602
TW; oswald's paternalistic streak..... eek!! nothing egregious but, like, you cant deny that he'd be toxic abt this sort of thing 😬
No.
No, Oswald thinks, no, as all other thoughts turn to static and rattle around in his skull. He stands there, nailed to the spot, slackjawed and blank faced, grasping at straws; there is no good reason why one of Gotham's most dangerous men should be standing so close to you with that expression on his face.
Victor's hand is on the small of your back, far from any exposed skin, and yet that doesn't diminish Oswald's knee-jerk reaction at seeing you and his right-hand hitman playing house. There's nothing domesticated about the bloodthirsty killer beside you, and Oswald of all people should know.
His fingers twitch.
"Oh. Hey Boss," Victor greets, sparing Oswald a glance. He lifts his hand from your back to wave.
Hiding the sordid bits of his "business" activities from your keen eye has been hard enough on its own. Oswald thought it’d be easier to keep you out of the line of fire when you'd moved into the mansion; the last thing he needs is for you to form some kind of attachment with the goddamn hitman.
Oswald grits his teeth. "Hello, Victor."
The pale, leather-clad man dips his head in acknowledgement. Well, good. At least he remembers his place, though for how long that will last is anybody's guess. Perhaps Oswald's flying off the handle right now, assuming far more than he should, but you're standing in the kitchen with Victor at your side, panting like a dog—
"You alright, boss?" Victor asks.
"Fine," Oswald says through pursed lips, "Just fine."
"Could've fooled me," you snark from across the room, not bothering to look up.
"Having fun?" Oswald asks, and even he can hear the syrupy-sweet, over-the-top note in his voice.
You roll your eyes, but finally look up from what you're doing (from the looks of it, making chocolate chip cookies). "I guess."
Victor's tone is even, empty. "She's a riot."
"Yes, well. I suppose some things never change," Oswald replies, forcing himself to laugh.
You shoot him a look that screams 'what the fuck are you doing?'
Oswald catches your eye and starts to say your name. He stops himself after the first syllable.
Oh, he needs to talk to you. He needs to explain that you're safer if you stay away from Victor — yet Oswald knows you well, and he knows for a fact that the only reason you'd ever do anything he said was if he had a damn good reason why you should.
So he can't talk to you! Because he'd have to explain that Victor's dangerous! He'd have to explain that Victor's a cold-blooded killer! Which, inevitably, will make you grill your brother about why the fuck he's in league with a dangerous, cold-blooded killer, and then this whole carefully constructed house of cards that he's set up to keep you out of harm's way will come crumbling down around him.
Still: this situation can be salvaged.
"Victor? A word," Oswald finally says.
Your brow furrows, suspicious, but you say nothing as Victor leaves your side to follow Oswald out of the room.
He has a semblance of a plan to fix this. He'll send Victor on a long-winded job, a task that will keep him out of doors and away from you.
You — you've never stepped a toe out of line. You feel guilty when the cashier at the corner store forgets to ring up one of the items in your bag. You don't have so much as a speeding ticket to your name.
He'll be damned if you get caught in Gotham's crossfire because of his right-hand man.
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.
Hey, are you still writing about Gotham?
I wanted to ask if I could request a Gotham story featuring Victor Zsasz x female reader—specifically, one where the reader is shy and has social anxiety? And this is their first meeting.?
AN; tried out a new format!! felt like switching things up, living on the edge, idk idk anyways hope you enjoy...... hope this is, as nsync says, all you ever wanted and all you ever needed
Wordcount; 1.1k
TW; cursing, stressful situations, lowkey claustrophobia kind of
Jim Gordon's a dead man, and you'd love to say that to him, but he's technically kind of your boss, and also the crowd around you is pressed so tightly that you're too busy trying not to suffocate on your own breath
As the GCPD's newest temp, you were used to doing the jobs nobody else wanted to do. So when Detective Gordon asked you to do him a favor, you'd expected to grab him a coffee or file his paperwork — not to be shuttled halfway across the diamond district in your workwear
Turns out you'd been the detective's ticket into the Iceberg Lounge...
As in, the Penguin's new nightclub.
A detail that the detective conveniently withheld until you were already there
(Sure, Detective Gordon had assured you of your safety, said this was completely allowed within the GCPD's departmental playbook, etc. etc. etc., and since this excursion was outside of work hours, you were making overtime. The extra couple bucks were enough to make you agree, however reluctantly, but at present, you're convinced that you've made a massive mistake)
Now you stand at the polished wood bar, one hand braced against the wooden countertop, the other fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as Detective Gordon confronts the Penguin a stone's throw away
As he launches into one of his well-intentioned, one-sided lectures, talking at Penguin rather than to him, you gaze out at the crowd, noncommittal and super chill. You look far calmer than you feel — internally, you're cursing the detective, cursing yourself for going along with this so easily, and trying desperately to ignore the way the nightclub is compressing in on itself, throttling you in the process.
You know for a fact that the clubgoers are too wrapped up in their own glitter and champagne soaked evenings to pay you much mind, but you walked into one of the city's hottest new clubs in your workwear. It's impossible to feel like you don't stick out!!
You close your eyes, focus on the feel of the wood grain under your fingers, try to parse Detective Gordon's self-righteous speech out from the pulsing, ground-shaking music and the shouts of the crowd, and for several moments you stay like that
You wouldn't say calm washes over you, it's too damn loud in here for that, but you feel less unsteady, buried under a blanket of audio static, tuning out the chaos around you... until you feel like you are really, genuinely, truly being watched
You blink, search the crowd with panicked eyes, tug on a loose string hanging from your sleeve, shift your weight from one foot to the other and back again, and risk a glance behind you
There. In the corner.
Impossibly dark eyes lock onto yours. They're intense, almost enough to make your knees buckle; clean shaven, clad in leather, pale as a ghost, it's a miracle you didn't notice this man sooner... he doesn't exactly blend in with a crowd
When he notices you noticing him, he grins. Lifts a hand in greeting.
After several seconds of internal debate (they feel more like minutes, in truth), you awkwardly wave back
The stranger's grin widens. The crowd shifts, blocking your view of him, and when you can see the corner again, he's vanished
Surely he wasn't a stress induced hallucination. Surely.
You tune back into Gordon's conversation (argument?) with the Penguin. The latter's the one talking now, animatedly and unhinged, when a new person shoulders their way into the conversation (again, argument?): the ghost
He's trouble personified. He oozes danger, from the sharp edge of his canines to the holster wrapped around his chest, but something about him makes you feel like you can take full breaths again. Like for the first time since you stepped into this nightclub full of strangers, you're not drowning
"Zsasz," Detective Gordon says, voice low, and the name is familiar to you. You don't know why.
"Always a pleasure," Zsasz drawls, absentmindedly picking a speck of lint off of the detective's suit jacket before lifting his gaze to you. He watches you with a quiet intrigue that makes your head spin. "Didn't realize you were roping civilians into your plans, Jim."
Belatedly, you realize Zsasz is talking about you. You open your mouth to speak but Detective Gordon beats you to the punch, scowling.
"She's got nothing to do with this," he insists, "Leave her out of it."
Well, maybe you shouldn't have dragged me here in the first place, you think, tugging on the hem of your sleeve a bit harder.
"Certainly," the Penguin pipes up, clapping his hands together in a poor imitation of excitement. "Victor, would you mind seeing her out?"
"Not at all," Zsasz replies, stepping past a spluttering Gordon and placing a hand on the small of your back.
He guides you around the throngs of people effortlessly, avoiding the worst of the crowd. If it was anybody else, anywhere else, you wouldn't like the way his hand's on your back. Tonight's different. You don't know why you find the stranger's touch grounding instead of frustrating. You don't know why you're so happy to take a backseat while he guides you back to the elevator. It feels right, for some reason
He doesn't say a word the whole time, just a silent guardian nightmare. People move out of his way — out of your way, by extension — you make it to the elevator in no time
You don't expect him to get on, but he slips inside after you do, gaze trained on you as the doors slide shut
"So," he says, "How'd you end up in a place like this?"
"Overtime pay," you say bluntly, watching the numbers on the wall panel go down. The silence in the elevator is making you feel better already, but you're so drained from the past twenty minutes that you can't muster up more than a few words at a time.
Zsasz laughs, actually throws his head back and laughs. "My kinda woman."
You can't help the faint smile that comes to your lips.
He notices. Doubles down.
"You're a cop, then?"
"No."
"Ah." His expression shifts, like suddenly everything makes sense. "Parties aren't your thing?"
"Strangers," you correct. "Crowds. I don't know."
Zsasz hums, then falls silent.
The elevator car keeps descending.
"I'm a stranger," Zsasz says quietly, and you feel his eyes drilling into the side of your face. It feels like he's trying to intimidate you, maybe, see if you'll crack, but you're too damn tired from your day to care.
You shrug. You can see his grin widening from the corner of your eye as the elevator comes to a halt.
He says nothing, of course. The doors slide open.
"Goodnight," you say hesitantly as you step off the elevator. You don't look back, and you don't have to — you know he's keeping an eye on you when you head into the rainy Gotham night.
Adrian + Ed + Dex is such a psycho combo you’re so incredible at showing it 🥴
I think they’d all crash out if virgin!Reader lets one of them pop her cherry… maybe Adrian’s upset about the bonding!
ANON YOU ARE SOOO SMART FOR THIS!
Adrian is indeed positively fuming. It's not funny to him now. That's his best friend, and by virtue of every law in the universe, your virginity also belongs to him! Think of the bonding experience! He fantasizes about how close it would make the two of you.
If you did decide to tell him, and pick him, he'll light up like a puppy dog. And then immediately drag you to the nearest room. Hey, maybe even the room you're currently in. Who cares if Economos is three feet away and fake gagging? Lead the way, bestie. He's down for wherever and whenever ;)
Que Adrian immeadiatley pressing you up to the wall and groping every part of you he can get his hands on. And licking. He takes that old saying, "I licked it, so it's mine." veryyy literally.
Adrian may be passive aggressive when the other two are brought up. He'd be hurt if you gave your v-card to someone other than him. Very, very hurt. And a hurt Adrian Chase turns into an emotional Adrian Chase. And an emotional Adrian Chase turns into a frustrated Adrian Chase. And a frustrated Adrian Chase tends to turn into a murderous Adrian Chase. He's got a twitchy trigger finger.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, Dex is also quietly fuming, but more so because he views you as something pure. The status of your virginity both stresses him out and makes him all the more obsessive. I firmly headcanon Dex as a virgin too, and you being one as well solidifies this idea in his head that you are meant to be together. That he needs to protect you from everyone who wants to steal this light from you.
Slight NSFW, but Dex daydreams about taking it more obsessively than the other two as well. He likes to think he would make it perfect for you. Go the whole nine yards with candles and flower petals. He'd be gentle. He'd make it the best for you.
Realistically he'd end up fucking you into the mattress like an animal.
So...uh...maybe Dex isnt exactly a good choice for your first time. Unless you're into literally being split open on your first go. Not that he'd ever admit that. The thought of hurting you is equivalent to blasphemy. However the man has little self control where you are concerned. (+Given this being his first experience too, he isn't in control of the situation at all. He doesn't know how it feels, or what to do, besides fuck.)
Dex is the kind of guy to watch porn and analyze it (in a very detached manner) to prepare himself. So is Eddie.
Speaking of Eddie, he isn't much better than Dex, having only two previous bodies on the body count. Kristen and Isabella both were the last time he got some play, and even then it wasn't a terribly good experience.
Finding out your a virgin to Eddie is significantly less stressful than it is to Dex and Adrian. Both Dex and Adrian want this aspect of you specifically, and they want it bad. It's almost a pyschological thing for them. They both mythologize it.
Eddie doesn't. He's a bit too logical for that. He considers the whole idea of virginity to be nothing more then a social construct. And in Eddie's pov, whether or not you're a virgin, you're getting laid down regardless. By him, of course.
That confidence only lasts because he's sure that you'll pick him over these two morons. (His words, not mine.)
Eventually though, he does get in his head about it. Unlike Dex and Adrian who are spiraling from the beginning, it's a slooooow descend for Eddie. It probably starts with a subtle want to share this experience with you, and ends with him having anxiety-induced nightmares over them touching you.
We all saw how he tried to kill Jim Gordon with a giant hydraulic press just for getting back into Lee's life. You might have to listen to all of his crazy torture porn fantasies and ideas on how to kill the other two.
Eddie catches on quickly to the situation at hand. The idea of anyone other than him having their hands on you makes him sick. Makes him want to cut their hands off.
Realistically I think Eddie would be the best choice for your first time. He has the ability to excercise some self control unlike Dex, and might not be talking the whole time like Adrian (Who rushes the main event a tad. He just gets excited okay) Eddie is a good balance in this department. He might be the only one that's actually gentle.
Until the Riddler comes out and starts rearranging your guts in a pussy drunken haze, that is.
Who would win? How would they interact with eachother? Is the reader just that cute and sunshiney and magnetic? Is the reader normal af and has the magic of attracting fucking freaks?
OH. MY GOD.
this ask literally just changed my life. Thank you so much anon you are a genius 🧠 also apologies for typos in advance i got really excited for this ask
When it comes to Adrian and Ed, I like to think Ed just fucking detests the guy. Adrian’s lack of understanding for the most part (social and otherwise) would get under his skin like no other.
He would probably be the sassiest man on this list, rolling his eyes and side-eyeing you whenever Adrian is brought up. He has no patience for what he refers too as blatant, mind boggling idiocy. He’s also probably the only one on this list to visibly crash out over this whole scenario. (Dex just doesn’t show it to you upfront like Ed does.)
Speaking of Dex, Eddy is ten times more threatened by him than by Adrian. Dex reminds him too much of his police force days. In his eyes, Dex is just the type of manic fed that would bully him in the GCPD. Eddy tends to pyschoanalze Dex from afar, with great distaste. He most certainly jabs at Dex being completely mentally unstable and impulsive. Look whose talking, Ed.
Unlike Adrian, Dex and Ed are also self aware enough to realize the blatant absurdity of their opponents. And themselves, to a degree.
Eddie is using that big brain of his to plan the most insane torture traps for Dex and Adrian. He thinks of all the saw traps he could put them through. Yeouch.
Adrian is less on the antagonistic side…at first. But simultaneously also the most conventionally jealous on this list. Whereas Ed and Dex could be considered possessive, a more fitting adjective for Adrian would be territorial and bitchy about it.
Adrian turns SO clingy, you’ll be lucky if you find the time to even see Ed and Dex, let alone talk to them. Seperation anxiety personified. He likes to pull you close and not leave your side. He’s shameless. Probably waits outside when you go to the bathroom. This makes Ed and Dex more murderous by the second. Even if Dex thinks Ed is a melodramatic freak, and Ed thinks Dex is a gunslinging brute- there is one thing they have in common. Adrian Chase gets on their fucking nerves.
And Adrian loves it. In his eyes, you’re already his bestfriend, his girlfriend, his. But this overconfidence doesn’t mix well with his increasingly obsessive desires. It’s one thing for Dex and Ed to already be criminals…which means he was going to kill them anyway, (or at least try too.) But now it’s personal. Adrian almost sees it as an act of chivalry. Don’t worry! He’ll be your hero, baby. He’ll keep you safe!
I like to imagine unlike Dex and Ed who both have incredibly intense, viceral reactions to their jealousy, Adrian’s still starts small and ends quiet. Jealousy isn’t a new emotion for him, but he can’t quite name it. Sociopath problems. His jealousy comes out in petty remarks that get increasingly threatening- until he’s unnervingly silent, already thinking of ‘shooting both of those fuckwads in the face.’
Both Adrian and Dex have this shared mentality where you’re theirs. You’re Adrian’s bestfriend. You’re Dex’s north star. Realistically, fufilling one of these roles is a taxing job in itself. But two? At the same time? They mutually think you belong to them and them alone. They both can’t handle the seperation, divided attention, favoritism…Eddie has a rough time too, but Adrian and Dex are really really really bad about it. Adrian and Dex are just both too insecure for that.
Speaking of, Dex is a whole case on his own. And surprisingly, this gives him the upper hand! Unlike Adrian and Ed that have been stalking you ever since they fell in love with you…Dex has been stalking you since before you knew he existed. I feel as though with Ed and Adrian, they both fall in love with personality and loyalty over time. But Dex is different. Dex could see you coming from a mile away. He knew you were his north star the moment he laid eyes on you.
Which is why…Dex has to take this serious. He plans it like a mission tactic in his head. He intends to show you that these guys belong in an insane asylum. Not him. He’s one of the good guys.
And how better to show you that then grab a sniper rifle out his closet and hunt some freaks down? Just like Adrian, I feel Dex has a huge hero complex about this entire thing too. He’s going to save you. Protect you. Your peace together. And then once the bloodbath is over, he can curl up at your feet like a dog. And in his head, you praise him endlessly for being your knight in shining armor. Consider this his “one good deed.”
Unfortunately for Dex, Adrian and Eddie are like cockroaches. They just can’t die. It makes his jaw clench so tight some nights you think it might pop. And everytime one of their names is mentioned infront of him, his knuckles go white on whichever item he’s holding.
He makes a vow to you and himself that they’ll die. He swears it, even. He’d get down on his knees for you if he could. Unlike the other too, Dex is the only one I can imagine actually begging you to pick him. Adrian doesn’t understand the situation well enough too, and Eddie’s ego won’t let him. But Dex has no problems, swearing to you that he’s just superior. Some nights, while you sleep in his arms pressed against his chest, he thinks of where and when he could aim his knives at their throats. He smiles as he unwinds, relaxing at the thought and your touch.
In short, they are all daydreaming of killing each other…and actively trying too! Interesting thing about these characters is that I feel they are all pretty evenly skilled in their own ways, so it’s hard to say who would win exactly. They might just all end up killing each other anyways, or Dex could pull through with an insane trickshot 🙈
Either way, theres no outcome in this situation where all three of them make it out alive. They are all so incredibly devoted people, especially to their loved ones, that it just drives them crazy.
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; After a small argument with Victor, you quickly begin to realize he's the pettiest person you know. (and the biggest ragebaiter yeeeooch!)
⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!zsasz x female reader. SMUT!!!! PURE PORN. Dom sassy man apocalypse! unprotected smex, LOTS of positions (vic, you dog!), manhandling, marking, spitting, LOTS of degradation, (really victor just being a funny asshole), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing. Topping from the bottom. Ruined orgasms. Reader gets reasonably ticked off. Victor being on his man period + one of the girls. Arguing like a married couple. Not quite sure if I'm back from my hiatus completely, but I've finally gotten hit with the inspiration to write after so long. Missed by baby Victor!
♫ “Get that d!ck in ya mouth. / Know I'm the best, man, there's no debating. / Like, napalm she blowing on me.” Ragebait by fakemink
"Damn, sweets. Could you go any faster? I'm starting to get bored." He drawls, mimicking a fake yawn. His palms are gripping the fat of your ass as you bounce for your life on his cock, sweat on your brow. Despite the near inhumane pace, he's stretched out like a lazy cat, jaded look on his face.
"Fuh- fuck...hck- you." You hiss, hips moving as fast as you possibly can.
"Duhhh. You already are." He rolls his eyes, shrugging back his shoulders. An infuriating smile spreads on his face. He lifts his own hips up just slightly to buck into you...a tiny little motion that has your walls fluttering around the length of his cock.
Just a few hours ago, he had gotten his panties in a twist over you eating the last slice of pizza in the fridge. Because of course he did. You were almost positive you could shoot dead one of his own men...and he wouldn't bat an eye. But pizza...pizza is what pissed him off.
The thought is so annoying that it makes you whine- frustrated by his lack of giving. No, he decided he was going to make you work for it tonight. Since in his words, he's out there working every night. To pay for said pizza. Dick.
A gloved finger comes to rest above your clit, purposefully rubbing around it- avoiding the cute little button he'd normally abuse greedily. He speaks absentmindedly, smushing around the wetness. You heave in a shakey gasp.
"Oh, wow, you're soaked. Really moist." He says, drawling out that stupid word he knows irritates you. When you clench around his shaft, tight and slick, he gives a low wolf whistle. The only betrayal on his face being a small eye twitch. "Okay, yeah, that one got me. Gold star."
You groan, pushing his shoulders back for leverage. He raises a non existent eyebrow, letting you push him back.
"This is new."
"Sh-Shut up!"
He lets out a tiny, breathy huff of amusement- barely a laugh.
His gloved thumb finally- finally- brushes your clit, light as a feather, then pulls away again like he forgot what he was doing.
“Oops. Slipped.”
You dig your nails into his chest through the leather. He doesn’t react beyond a another faint eye-twitch and a slow blink.
“Ow. Kinky. You gonna leave marks? I could use a new one. Right… here.” He taps his own collarbone absently, like he’s pointing out real estate.
You're gonna fucking kill him.
Your hand comes up, and in less than a second, a sharp Thwack! rings in the emptiness of the room. The only sound left being your soft, whiney pants. Only when his head turns back around- slow and steady, smile wiped away- do you realize what you just did. You slapped Victor Zsasz.
“...Huh.” Soft drawl. Almost impressed. “...Tax just went up, sweets.”
Before you can even think about apologizing, or running, he moves.
One gloved hand snakes around the back of your neck like it’s nothing. The other clamps down on your hip, yanking you flush against him so hard your clit grinds against his pelvis and your vision whites out for half a second. Then he sits up in one fluid, bored motion, flips you both, and suddenly you’re face-down on the mattress with your ass still in the air and his cock still buried to the hilt.
He hooks his forearm under your chin from behind. Loose at first, almost gentle- until he tightens it into a lazy headlock, just enough to arch your back and make every shallow breath feel like a privilege. His chest presses hot against your spine, scarred skin dragging over sweat-slick skin, and his mouth finds the shell of your ear.
"Oh-ho, listen to her." He breathes, smile tightening. The wet shliwckkk and ploppp of your swollen pussy ringing out. "I think she's trying to say something."
"Fuck- hng- Vic-"
"Sh sh sh, the grown-ups are talking." He hauls you up further in his arms, bucking into you with sharp and deep snaps. His thick cock slams against the inside of your spongey walls, hitting your most sensitive spot over and over again. "Mkay," He says after a moment, "Open up."
You have no time to question the order, lips already set in an 'oh' shape from the sheer force of his thrusts. A glove hand snakes around you, dropping the headlock in a moment of mercy, before he spits directly into your mouth.
His palm comes to clamp your mouth shut. The leather is hot on your lips.
"Well? Swallow." He orders, eyes watching and studying every movement. You don't have much of a choice- the thick glob running down your throat.
Another lazy thrust. Then another. Each one punches deeper, wet squelch loud in the quiet room, your slick dripping down his balls. He doesn’t speed up- just keeps that infuriating rhythm, grinding in deep circles that make your walls flutter and clamp like they’re trying to suck him dry.
He doesn’t let go of your jaw right away. Keeps that gloved palm sealed over your mouth like he’s making sure you don’t waste a single drop of his little “gift.” His thumb strokes once- slow, almost thoughtful- along the seam of your lips while he keeps grinding in those lazy, punishing circles, cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
“Mmm. Good girl,” he murmurs, voice velvet-soft and bored at the same time. “Like you were starving. Pizza wasn’t enough, huh?”
You want to fight him. You want to scream. You want to push him back, bite his lips raw and make him moan. Wipe that stupid, petty expression off his face.
"You're being- ahn-" You struggle out against his hold, speaking muffled underneath his glove.
"I'm being...what?" Thrust. "Say it." Thrust. "Use your big-girl words."
His free hand comes to trail spit-slick fingers down your chin, then lower- cupping one breast and giving the nipple a lazy pinch that makes you jolt. He's torturing you. He's enjoying it. Pay back.
Another lazy roll of his hips, stirring your guts until your thighs quiver and a fresh gush of slick coats his balls. He huffs- tiny, amused, barely audible.
“Aw. Trying so hard. Respect.” He almost wants to mock salute you, if for no other reason than the bit. But his hands are currently occupied.
He finally peels the glove off your mouth, but only so he can hook two fingers behind your lower teeth like he’s checking a horse’s bite. Keeps your jaw pried just open enough that drool starts pooling at the corner of your lips.
Drool slides slow and shiny down your chin; he watches it like it’s mildly interesting television.
“...Look at that,” he coos, voice soft and sleepy. Like he's making a note, an observation. Like he's taking a mental picture to save and think about later. “Leaking from both ends now."
He finally slips his fingers free of your mouth, letting your jaw snap shut with a wet click. Strings of spit connect leather to lip for a second before they snap. He wipes them absently on your cheek like you’re a napkin.
You try to buck back against him- anything to get more friction, more speed, more anything. He just plants one hand flat between your shoulder blades and presses you down harder into the mattress, immobilizing you mid-thrust. Cock buried to the root, throbbing, unmoving.
“Nuh-uh. No free rides.” He leans in, voice dry and taunting.
You’re right there. Teetering on the razor’s edge, every nerve screaming, thighs locked and shaking, cunt clamped down so tight around him you can feel every throb of his cock like it’s your own heartbeat. Your moans have gone high and broken like a kitten in heat, the kind that sound like you’re about to sob his name into the mattress. His lazy circles on your clit have finally turned firm, relentless, leather dragging perfect friction.
"Vic-" You hiccup, moaning, "Vic- M'gonna-"
Your back arches harder into the headlock, vision tunneling, breath coming in short, desperate hitches. Heat coils tighter, tighter- right on the brink, right about to shatter-
Ding-dong.
The doorbell cuts through the room like a guillotine.
Victor freezes. Mid-thrust. Cock buried to the hilt, throbbing, but completely still.
You whimper, hips twitching uselessly, trying to chase the friction he just stole. He blinks once. Slowly. Then a bright, satisfied smile pops back up across his face, the one that says everything’s right with the world again.
"Oh, hey, that must be the new pizza I ordered." He grins, grip going slack on you so fast you collapse into the mattress. "Perfect timing, right?"
He starts to pull out- too quick for your sensitive heat, every inch dragging along your swollen walls until you’re left clenching around nothing. A fresh gush of slick follows him, dripping obscene down your thighs. You make a broken little noise of protest.
He pats your ass once, almost affectionate. “Hold that thought, babe. I’ll be right back.”
He swings his legs off the bed like this is the most normal thing in the universe, zipping up the leather fly, and lets out another whistle while he walks.
You’re left there- face-down, ass-up, cunt still pulsing and empty, orgasm hanging in limbo like a cancelled flight. Every muscle trembles with denied release. You can hear him in the hallway, casual:
“Yeah, hey. Pepperoni and extra cheese? Sweet. Keep the change.”
The man obviously doesn't keep the change for long, because you hear the sound of a gunshot and thud.
The door clicks shut. Footsteps return. He strolls back in holding the steaming box like it’s a trophy, already flipping the lid open and snagging a slice.
He drops onto the edge of the bed beside you, takes one huge bite, chews thoughtfully while eyeing your wrecked, trembling form.
“Sorry. You still mad about the last one?” he asks around a mouthful, genuinely curious. Like you were the one pissed about this whole thing in the first place. “This one’s better. Truce?”
Hay guys sorry I haven’t been making posts with the invincible fanfic but I will make a Gotham batfam fanfic but first I got to ask which one do you want to see first
Gotham city fanfic with Danny phantom
Gotham city fanfic with Kevin Levin
Voting ended onJan 28
Both of these fanfics include a reader as their soulmate and dealing with the batfam and villains of Gotham city
