ALSO NEED A DRUNK GIRLFRIEND WITH JEREMIAH AND HOW HE DEALS WITH HER ANTICS (Bit drunk rn ivr)
OOOOH you’re a bit drunk?? perfect timing then because drunk girlfriend reader x Jeremiah Valeska is actually PEAK ✨comedy ✨chaos ✨cuteness—and I just know he’d be unhinged, deadpan, and secretly soft while trying to deal with his wine-soaked menace of a girlfriend.
Standing outside some velvet-roped cesspool of bass, glitter, and poor decisions, wearing a black turtleneck and trench coat like he’s the grim reaper of good vibes, glaring at the bouncer.
“She’s inside,” the bouncer says again, barely suppressing a smirk. “Corner booth. Pink dress. Said you were her ‘evil sexy science boyfriend.’”
Jeremiah closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Of course she did.”
—
You don’t see him at first.
You’re too busy holding a martini glass wrong and trying to explain to a decorative plant that “he’s sooooooo misunderstood.”
Jeremiah appears beside you like a shadow—silent, unimpressed, breathtakingly over it.
“Sweetheart.”
You look up, squinting.
Pause.
GASP. “JEREMIAH?!”
You throw your arms around him, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. He catches you with one arm and the coldest stare known to man.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you slur with glee.
He raises a brow. “You called me thirty-two minutes ago. Rambling something about sparkles, mozzarella sticks, and the deep oppressive loneliness of being sober.”
You grin. “I DID?! Ohmygod. I’m a poet.”
He slides an arm around your waist to stabilize you. “You’re a lightweight with too much glitter in your hair.”
“You love it.”
He exhales. “Tragically, yes.”
—
The car ride is… an ordeal.
You’re sprawled in the passenger seat, legs up on the dash like you’re doing a drunk girl Vogue shoot, humming to yourself and occasionally poking his cheek just to make sure he’s “real and not a government experiment.”
Jeremiah doesn’t even flinch.
“Stop that.”
“You’re so handsome when you’re cranky,” you giggle, tracing his jaw with one finger.
He side-eyes you. “If you keep that up, I’ll crash this car into the nearest river.”
“You’d never,” you whisper, batting your lashes. “You love me.”
He tightens his grip on the wheel.
“Unfortunately.”
—
Back at the lab, he practically carries you inside. You’re barefoot. You’ve somehow lost one earring. And you’re mid-rant about how “all men are trash but not my man because he’s like… an evil candle. Cold wax. Fire brain.”
He deposits you gently onto the couch, crouches to remove your heels, and you melt.
“You’re so sweet. You’re like… like… a murder angel.”
Jeremiah sighs, undoing the buckle of your shoe.
“Stop talking.”
You flop back dramatically.
“But what if I never stop? What if I sing?”
“Then I’ll chloroform you.”
You gasp. “KINKY.”
—
Eventually, he brings you water and aspirin.
You drink the water like it’s a potion that’ll grant you immortality, then poke his chest.
“Did anyone hit on me tonight?” you whisper, eyes wide.
Jeremiah stares at you.
“I don’t know. Do drunk frat boys count?”
You grin. “Were you jealous?”
His jaw tightens for half a second.
“No,” he lies.
You smirk and climb into his lap.
“You totally were. You get all quiet and twitchy when you’re jealous.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push you off.
“You’re imagining things.”
“You pulled me off that guy by my elbow one time and said, ‘Touch her again and I’ll test nerve gas on your entire lineage.’”
Jeremiah lets a slow, sinister smile curl on his lips.
“I was being polite.”
—
Eventually you crash—right in his bed, face-first, starfish-style, one arm hanging off the side and the other reaching vaguely for him.
He watches you for a moment.
The glitter on your cheekbone. The way your mouth twitches even in sleep. The way you mumbled his name like a comfort, not a warning.
He brushes a hair from your face.
Then quietly mutters:
“You’re lucky I love you, you menace.”
And he slips into bed beside you, pulling you close like muscle memory.
Author's Note: Since my other account @cheekyredwillow got deleted. I am adding some of my favorite fanfictions to this account and revamping this one with new ones. I hope to make an actual list of fandoms I am still a fan of! NO requests for the time being.
Warnings: cursing, mentions of killing, nothing too graphic.
~~~
Jim Gordon
~Jim has dealt with so much shit
~Between going after villains to dealing with the PD
~So when you two fell asleep one night
~He had a nightmare you were killed by multiple Gotham villains
~You don't notice he has a nightmare until you feel cold
~When Jim is sitting in the kitchen nursing something to drink
~But not facing the bedroom
~You have to come up from behind
~And hug him tight
~He will probably jump
~But he melts in your embrace
~He wont tell you want happened
~But he will allow to be vulnerable
~And allow you to just mumble in a sleepy voice all the reasons you love him
Edward Nygma
~Edward didn't have nightmares often
~But seemed to have them after being in Arkham
~Then escaping to home
~You would only know when you heard him arguing with himself
~That he shouldn't wake you up
~That this makes him useless
~As you could hear him mutter these things
~Pull him down to the bed
~So you can cuddle into him
~And promise that you'll always be there
~Both sides will melt
~And he'll tell you about the nightmare
~So you'll understand his pain
Oswald Cobblepot
~Oswald had nightmares often
~And you usually knew
~The reason is that he talked in his sleep and would hold onto you tight
~You would feel his hands tighten
~And whimpers fall out of his lips
~You’ll probably have to wake him up
~Just to let him know that he is not alone
~He will be sweaty and his heart racing
~But as long as you kiss his lips
~And squeeze his hand
~Oswald will calm down
~Go get a washcloth to help him cool off
~And intertwine your hands before you fall back asleep
Jonathan Crane
~Nightmares plague his head all the time
~And it isn’t because it is his fault
~It usually has to do with his father
~And another person that you will know when he wakes up
~Because he gets as far away from you
~He is shaking in fear
~It’s usually when he does not consume himself in fear
~But appears in his nightmare
~Allow him to slowly calm down on his own
~He’ll immediately climb back into bed
~Because he needs to feel you by his side
~Usually he falls asleep slowly after
Jervis Tech
~Jervis usually has nightmares that his Alice runs away
~You ran away because he harms you
~Jervis is one of the ones who will wake you up
~Just to make sure you are real
~And still loves him
~Before you get tired again, you’ll notice the fear in his eyes
~Whisper to him how much you love him
~And kiss his cheek
~Before cuddling into his chest which calms him down
Victor Zsasz
~Victor wont show he has nightmares
~You usually know when you wake up
~And he’s sitting in the shared bathroom just staring
~No emotions are shown
~But you know what is going on
~So you’ll have to go in
~And kneel where you look up at him
~He won't say anything
~He’ll just pull you into his lap
~And holds you tight
~Just the silent of the night is going to be heard
~Victor will pick you up and bring you back to bed
~Usually it takes just that before the two of you fall asleep
~Victor will probably mention his nightmare later on in the week
~When he is ready
Jeremiah Valeska
~Even after the spray, Jeremiah still gets nightmares
~It happens to be about him almost killing you
~And he’ll wake up to you being sound asleep
~He’ll touch your arm
~And sigh
~Usually you know something happened because he’ll be in the lab
~Bent over
~And probably throwing things in anger
~When you ask him what’s wrong
~You’ll see the anger turn to worry
~An emotion you do not see often
~And Jeremiah will walk over to you to hold you tight
~Demanding you wont leave him
~Even though you never thought that way
~It’s feeling you near him that causes him to want to go back to bed with you
Jerome Valeska
~Jerome did not have nightmares too often
~He was awake in the middle of the night usually
~But when he did fall asleep and had nightmares
~He was similar to Oswald by holding you tighter against him
~But you would still be asleep
~Until you feel him kissing your face and neck while rubbing your hip
~When you slowly wake up, Jerome will kiss you lips and grin
~Usually you wouldn’t ask much
~Until you watch his grin falter
~That’s when you touch his face
~And kiss him softly till Jerome makes you fall back into his chest
~Once the two of you hit the bed, he’ll still be rubbing your arms or hips
Reader (You): Compassionate and understanding, you willingly step into Jervis Tetch’s world, embracing his eccentricities while sharing in his cherished fantasies.
Jervis Tetch: A romantic and whimsical soul with a deep affection for Alice in Wonderland, he adores the reader and invites them into his personal Wonderland with heartfelt sincerity.
Trigger Warnings:
Mental Instability: Jervis’s fixation on Wonderland and Alice reflects his fragile mental state, which may be unsettling to some readers.
Power Dynamics: The reader’s role as “Alice” involves stepping into a significant part of Jervis’s fantasy world, which could imply subtle power imbalances.
Intense Affection: Themes of overwhelming love and admiration may feel emotionally charged for some readers.
Masterlist
Words: 666
--
It was nearing midnight in Jervis Tetch’s dimly lit lair, scattered with teacups, top hats, and ornate Victorian decorations. You had grown used to his whimsical, sometimes chaotic sense of decor, finding comfort in its odd charm. Tonight, though, felt different. Jervis seemed more energized, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he fidgeted with his bow tie, clearly eager for something he had planned.
Finally, he turned to you, his gaze warm yet intense, a glint of something deeper hidden behind his adoring smile. “Darling, I… I have a rather special request tonight,” he murmured, the edges of his voice tinged with excitement.
You tilted your head, intrigued. “Oh? And what might that be, Jervis?”
He held out his hand, gesturing toward a Victorian-style garment bag draped across a nearby chair. “Would you… do me the honor of becoming Alice? My Alice?” His tone was soft but filled with a yearning that you couldn’t ignore.
You walked over to the garment bag, unzipping it to reveal a dress—a classic, powder-blue gown with a white apron, much like the one Alice wore in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. He was entrusting you with a piece of his cherished fantasy, inviting you into his world in a way he never had before.
Smiling softly, you looked back at him. “Of course, Jervis. I’d love to.”
You could see his face light up as you slipped into the other room to change. When you returned, you found Jervis staring, his eyes wide with awe and admiration. “My dear Alice,” he whispered, taking your hand in his. “You’re perfect… as if you stepped right out of Wonderland itself.”
You couldn’t help but blush, and as his fingers intertwined with yours, you felt the depth of his affection radiating from his touch. The way he looked at you—like you were a dream come true—made your heart race.
Jervis guided you to a small, elaborately set table, complete with a dainty tea set and fresh flowers he’d likely picked himself. “A tea party for two,” he announced, pulling out a chair for you. “In honor of my Alice.”
You giggled as you took your seat, your fingers delicately wrapped around the handle of the teacup he poured for you. He watched you sip, captivated by the smallest gesture, as though every movement you made was part of a scene he’d dreamt of a thousand times.
“Do you know,” he began, his voice softening as he gazed at you, “I sometimes wonder if Wonderland isn’t a place at all. Perhaps it’s a feeling… a feeling I only seem to find when I’m with you.”
You reached across the table, your hand resting over his. “Then let’s stay in Wonderland a little longer, Jervis. Just the two of us.”
His eyes filled with emotion as he rose from his seat, coming around the table to stand beside you. He extended a gloved hand, which you took as he helped you up, pulling you close. The warmth in his gaze made your pulse quicken, and you could feel the intensity of his affection—an adoration as deep as the stories he cherished.
With his arms around you, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, his gloved hand cradling your cheek as if you were something precious and fragile. The intimacy of the moment left you breathless, and you could feel his heart racing in time with yours.
When he pulled back, his voice was barely above a whisper. “My dearest Alice… I’ve waited for this moment for so long.”
Gazing into his eyes, you brushed a lock of hair from his face, smiling. “Then let’s make it unforgettable.”
As he led you deeper into his Wonderland, you felt as though you were floating in a dream—a place where only you and Jervis existed, wrapped up in each other’s arms, bound by a love that transcended the madness of the world around you.
hey pookie dookie, would love (any gotham character you write for and maybe others) dealing with an upset reader!!
you want Jerome Valeska comforting you while you’re upset?
absolutely. 🔪💋 insane, dangerous, unpredictable—but when it comes to you? he’s painfully soft in his own twisted way.
ps. this is a new writing style! i’ve never really written in this style so i hope you like it!!
🔥 “Tell Me Who Hurt You”
Jerome Valeska x Reader
After a rough day / you’re trying not to cry
Genre: Gotham comfort + possessive softness
Warnings: Possessive language, implied past violence, Jerome being Jerome
⸻
You slammed the bathroom door shut, but of course it didn’t matter. The walls were paper-thin. He heard it. He heard everything.
You were trying to be quiet—hands shaking, tears threatening, staring at the mirror like if you just stood still long enough it would all stop. The ache. The stress. The voice in your head saying you were too much, too emotional, not enough, wrong.
And then—three slow knocks.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Followed by a voice.
Sing-song. Mocking. Gentle.
“Y/N… are you hiding in there from me?”
You wiped your face quickly, even though you knew he knew. Jerome always knew.
“I’m fine,” you called out. Quiet. Flat.
A low laugh. “Wrong answer, sweetheart.”
The door creaked open.
Jerome didn’t walk into a room—he entered like the main act at a bloody circus. But this time was different. This time, he stepped in quiet. No show. No swagger. Just him, red hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes, smile faded into something more dangerous: concern.
He saw your reflection in the mirror. Saw the puffiness around your eyes. The clenched fists. The way you tried to look composed but were practically vibrating with held-in emotion.
He came up behind you, slow. Didn’t touch you yet. Just stared at you through the mirror.
“Who was it?”
Your throat tightened. “Jerome, don’t—”
“Who. Made. You. Cry?”
His voice dropped with each word. And just like that, the showman was gone. All that was left was the storm.
“I’m not crying,” you whispered.
He tilted his head. “Not yet, baby. But I know the before face. I’ve seen it in the mirror. Don’t lie to me. You’re not good at it.”
You couldn’t help it. Your lip quivered.
Jerome exhaled, and finally, finally touched you—his hands on your shoulders, not rough, not manic. Gentle. Thumb brushing up the side of your neck in a way that made you shiver.
“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he murmured. “You’re supposed to be the only thing in this godforsaken city that makes sense to me. Don’t let them get in. Don’t let them poison you.”
“They didn’t mean to—”
He grinned sharply, the way a knife might smile. “Oh, they never do, do they?”
You turned around slowly, and he took your face in his hands. His fingers were cold. His grip was careful.
“Tell me who hurt you,” he whispered.
You looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Would it even matter?”
His mouth twitched. “Only if you want them to stay breathing.”
You let out the smallest laugh. It broke something inside you.
And then—finally—you let yourself cry.
Not ugly, not loud. Just quiet, exhausted tears as Jerome pulled you into his chest, humming off-key and rocking you like you were made of glass.
“You wanna blow something up?” he asked softly. “Or should we just cuddle until the world stops sucking?”
Victor Zsasz x reader (Slow-burn, Jealousy, Possessive, Tension so thick it cuts deeper than his knives)
summary: Iceberg Lounge. Gotham’s elite gather. You’re dressed to kill. So is he.
Your laugh floats over the low thrum of jazz and expensive sin. You’re leaning on the bar, talking to a man you don’t care about — just someone charming enough to pass time with while you wait. But behind you, in the corner, someone very much cares.
Victor Zsasz watches you like a hawk watches a wounded rabbit — interested, focused, deadly calm.
He’s been pretending not to stare. Pretending he doesn’t notice how you’re smiling. How you touched that guy’s sleeve. How you tilted your head back when you laughed.
You know he’s watching. You don’t even have to look.
You feel it — like heat crawling up your spine. That familiar tension that coils every time Victor’s around.
The guy touches your wrist.
“Maybe we get outta here?” he asks, all teeth and ego.
You don’t answer.
Because Zsasz is behind him now.
Silent.
Unsmiling.
And holding a knife between two fingers, tapping it softly against the counter.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The man turns, and freezes.
Zsasz doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are only on you.
“You good, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. That’s new.
You raise a brow. “Peachy.”
Zsasz hums. Slides the knife into his jacket. Leans in. The man is still standing there, caught in the tension like a deer in the road. You swear Victor’s smirk grows because of it.
“See, I was gonna be polite. I really was,” he murmurs. “But I think if this guy touches you again… I might forget I promised not to kill anyone tonight.”
“Victor—” you warn, but he cuts you off.
His voice drops. His hand gently brushes a strand of hair behind your ear — with the same fingers that held the blade.
“Don’t make me carve a lesson into him. Please.”
The man practically stumbles away. Doesn’t even say goodbye.
Zsasz doesn’t look at him. Just watches you.
And you say nothing — because part of you loved it. The way he didn’t just get jealous. He got possessive. Not in the “I own you” kind of way. But in the “I’d burn the world for you and whistle while it burns” kind of way.
“Jealousy’s not a good look on you,” you say, finally.
“Neither is being touched by anyone but me,” he says, without missing a beat.
Your breath catches. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his smirk returns.
“You’re not mad at me.”
“No,” you admit. “But you scare me sometimes.”
He steps closer. Chest against yours. Voice a whisper meant only for you.
“Good. That means you know what I’d do for you.”
And the worst part?
You like it.
You like that the most dangerous man in Gotham looks at you like you’re the one worth dying for. Worth protecting. Worth not killing.
No tally marks.
No knives for you.
Just that twisted, soft edge of something he only lets you see.
Hi! I was wondering if we could have more jerome valeska x reader? Specifically theif!reader? Rewatching Gotham and this man lives rent free in my brain once again and there's truly no enough pics about him 💔
ABSOLUTELY !!!
thief!reader x jerome valeska?? you’re speaking straight to the criminally-in-love part of my soul. rewatching gotham and getting sucked into the jerome spiral is basically a rite of passage, and i will gladly contribute to your descent.
⸻
🔥”Partners in Crime”
Jerome Valeska x Thief!Reader | Criminal Romance | Dark Humor | Partners in Crime | Chaotic Flirtation.
summary: You break into a warehouse expecting an easy score—not a body perched on your loot. But Gotham has a way of throwing you straight into the orbit of Jerome Valeska, and suddenly, your night of theft turns into something far more dangerous—and far more fun.
warnings: guns, crime, dark humor, flirtation with violence, Jerome being Jerome, morally questionable romance, blood mention, chaotic energy.
You weren’t expecting a body when you broke into the warehouse.
You’d done your homework. Empty property. No security. A nice, juicy shipment of designer watches waiting to be lifted. Easy score. You’d picked the lock like butter, slipped in quiet, and were halfway to cracking open the crate when—
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, doll.”
You froze.
Someone was sitting on top of the crate. Legs swinging. Red hair messy and wild. A gun lazily dangling from his fingers, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was going to use it or kiss you with it.
Your heart jumped.
Jerome Valeska.
You knew the face. You’d seen it all over Gotham’s headlines—“Carnival Killer Escapes Again!” “Arkham’s Favorite Lunatic Back on the Streets!” You weren’t scared, exactly. But you were definitely awake now.
“I had dibs on this job,” you said, not flinching. “First come, first steal.”
He grinned. God, it was a wide grin.
“You break in through the back window?” he asked, hopping off the crate. “Or the roof? I’m partial to the dramatic entrance myself, but hey—you do you.”
You kept your stance calm. Knife tucked into your boot. Backup exit to your left.
“I picked the lock.”
“Ooooh,” he said, impressed. “Classic. Love that for you.”
He stepped closer, circling you slowly. Like a wolf with a new toy.
“You’ve got good instincts,” he said. “Good hands too. I saw the way you handled that crowbar.” He stopped behind you, voice brushing your ear. “You ever think about getting into the murder side of crime? It’s very satisfying. Bit messy, sure, but hey—so is love.”
You turned, eyes meeting his.
“I prefer stealing things that won’t bleed all over me.”
He laughed. Loud, chaotic, a little unhinged. Like he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re fun,” he said. “Pretty too. Smart mouth. I like that.”
“Flattery’s cute, but I still got here first.”
“Mmm, true.” He held up his gun. “But I’ve got the bigger weapon.”
You reached into your jacket and pulled out your own.
Silence.
Then he burst into laughter again, louder this time. “Ohhh, I think I’m in love.”
“You say that to all the girls who pull a gun on you?”
“Only the ones who look like they’d rob me blind and kiss me after.”
He stepped closer, pressing the barrel of his gun to your shoulder—lightly, almost affectionate.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “We split the take. Fifty-fifty. You get your pretty little hands on the loot, I’ll make sure no nosy cops interrupt us. You get rich. I get entertained. Maybe we grab breakfast after. Something romantic. Like waffles.”
You raised a brow. “You serious?”
“I don’t do serious, doll. But I do do partners in crime. And you? You’ve got main character energy.”
You looked at him—really looked at him.
He was dangerous. Unstable. Probably a terrible idea.
But he was also the most fun you’d had in months.
You lowered your gun. Smiled.
“Waffles better be good.”
He grinned so hard you thought his face might crack.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, “you have no idea what you’ve just signed up for.”
⸻
Later, at the diner:
Jerome is covered in dirt and blood, talking about how he “accidentally” blew up a vending machine last week. You’re stealing butter packets just to keep your fingers busy. The waitress hates both of you. Life is good.
can i pretty PLS have a jeremiah valeska x reader wedding night? like i want this man to worship me on our wedding day frfr
OH, absolutely. you deserve that dark, obsessive, unhinged-but-worshipful kind of wedding night — and jeremiah valeska would make it hauntingly unforgettable.
setting: wedding night scene that’s elegant, twisted, and dripping with devotion, restraint, and obsession finally released.
⸻
🃏 “You’re Mine Now, Doctor.”
Jeremiah Valeska x You — Wedding Night
(Gothic Romance, Worshipful Obsession, Dark Intimacy, Psychological Seduction, First Time Without Glass)
⸻
The vows were whispered — not shouted.
No audience but you, him, and the ghost of your past lives.
No priest. Just a promise. Just the man who once studied you like scripture, now kissing your hand with terrifying reverence.
Arkham is behind you.
The glass is gone.
He’s no longer your patient.
He’s your husband.
And you’ve never been more terrified.
Or more ready.
⸻
The suite is candlelit — he planned every detail.
Ivory silk sheets.
String quartet playing from an old vinyl player.
A mirror by the bed, just slightly tilted, as if he wants you to see exactly what he sees tonight.
He says nothing when you walk in, still in your gown, shoes abandoned at the door.
He only looks.
Drinks you in like it’s his first time seeing color.
⸻
“I should take a photo,” he murmurs, voice like satin and fire. “Because you’ll never look like this again.”
You raise a brow. “Like what?”
“Innocent.”
He crosses the room slowly, gloved hand brushing over your shoulder, down your arm, to your wedding band — his ring.
“You’re mine now, Doctor,” he breathes. “Not in theory. Not in fantasy. Not behind glass.”
He steps closer.
“You’re mine in the eyes of the law. In the eyes of God. In your own trembling heartbeat.”
⸻
He undresses you like a ritual.
One button at a time.
One inch at a time.
Hands steady. Mouth silent. Eyes burning.
Every piece of fabric hits the floor like a vow being broken.
You expect hunger. Violence. Teeth.
But what you get is worship.
Jeremiah doesn’t pounce.
He kneels.
And when he looks up at you, lips brushing your thigh as he hooks your leg over his shoulder, his voice is hoarse:
“Let me have you gently first,” he whispers. “Let me ruin you slowly. Let me make you feel how long I’ve waited.”
You shiver.
Not from fear. From knowing this man has memorized you — studied your mind, your body, your breath — and now he’s about to consume it all like scripture.
⸻
“You have no idea what it did to me,” he says later, hands gripping your hips as he lays you back on the bed. “Watching you, day after day, knowing I couldn’t touch you.”
“You didn’t just want to,” you whisper, eyes heavy-lidded. “You needed to.”
His mouth curves. “No, my darling. I didn’t just need to.”
He crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then your sternum, then just below your bellybutton.
“I was starving.”
⸻
You lose track of time.
It’s not rough. Not at first.
It’s intentional.
Every movement. Every flick of his tongue. Every brush of his fingers is soaked in control. In reverence. In maddening, patient restraint — like a man who waited years just to feel your breath hitch.
He doesn’t let you close your eyes.
“Watch me,” he whispers. “I want you to remember this. I want to be the reason you forget everyone who came before me.”
You whimper his name.
It only spurs him on.
“Again,” he growls against your throat. “Say it like you mean it. Say my name like a prayer, and I’ll answer it like a god.”
⸻
Hours later, you’re wrapped in his shirt, legs tangled with his, heartbeat still dancing against his ribs.
And he traces your spine like it’s holy scripture.
“You were always going to be mine,” he murmurs into your hair.
“You knew?” you ask sleepily.
He chuckles softly. “The moment you walked into Arkham. Wearing that little perfume. Holding that clipboard like it could protect you.”
You smile. “And what about now?”
His eyes darken.
“Now?”
He leans in, teeth grazing your ear.
“I’ll never let you go. Not in this life. Not in the next.”
sorry for sending in another request! BUT I CANT RESIST YOUR PERFECT WRITING😍😩😍😍😩😍
I would love a jeremiah+jerome seperate headcanons on how they would stalk their lover (if you write for that topic!!)
first of all—never ever apologize for sending in another request.
especially when it’s about the ✨valeska twins✨
and ESPECIALLY when you lead with that sweet compliment 😭🖤 ily
yes, i do write for that topic (dark themes, obsession, possessiveness, stalking) as long as it’s within boundaries — and with characters like jerome and jeremiah, it fits perfectly.
here’s a headcanon breakdown for how jerome and jeremiah would stalk someone they’re in love with — separately, because those two? night and day.
⸻
🔥 Jerome Valeska — chaotic obsession
how it starts:
He sees you once. That’s all it takes. You laugh at something across the room. You blink too slow. You roll your eyes in a way that makes his breath hitch. And suddenly, the voices in his head are replaced with just you.
how he stalks you:
• Not subtle. Not ever. You know you’re being watched. You feel it walking home. You hear a laugh echo behind you that sounds almost like him—but no one’s there.
• He takes trophies: a receipt you threw out, a lip balm you dropped, the button that popped off your jacket during a bad day. He calls it “treasure hunting.”
• Has a photo of you (grainy, zoomed in, possibly from behind a vending machine) taped to the inside of his jacket. He kisses it when he’s bored.
• Breaks into your place. Leaves things behind on purpose. A playing card. A chocolate. A dead flower. Just so you’ll wonder.
• Genuinely believes it’s romantic. “I’m not stalking you, baby—I’m just making sure no one else gets to ruin you.”
• Memorizes your schedule down to the minute. Calls himself your “guardian clown.” If someone bumps into you or yells at you? Guess who ends up missing a few teeth that night.
• Talks to you even when you’re not around. Like you’re already dating. Like you’re his. He’ll murmur things to himself like, “She wouldn’t wear that if she didn’t want me looking.” And then he laughs.
unhinged moment:
He replaces a guy you matched with on a dating app. Same name, different face. You never go on the date—Jerome shows up instead. And the only thing he says when you freeze in terror?
“Aw, come on. Swipe right on me, sweetheart.”
⸻
🃏 Jeremiah Valeska — calculating delusion
how it starts:
Unlike Jerome, Jeremiah doesn’t fall fast. He notices you. Studies you. Doesn’t even know it’s obsession at first—he tells himself it’s “research.” But then your voice starts slipping into his thoughts. Then he gets angry when someone else talks to you. And that’s when he realizes: he’s doomed.
how he stalks you:
• Hyper-clean. Precise. Hidden. He tracks your phone. Hides cameras in places you wouldn’t even think to check. You have no idea he’s watching—he’s that good.
• Keeps files on you. Digital and physical. Likes, dislikes, trauma history, allergies, places you shop, brands you wear, your typing patterns.
• Follows you home once—just once—and memorizes everything. Your lock code. Your window squeak. Your preferred temperature on the thermostat. He never forgets.
• Keeps tabs on your friends and family. Knows exactly who could be a threat to your “connection.”
• Has drafted dozens of fake emails and text messages he never sends. Like:
• “Saw you today. You looked tired. Are you sleeping enough?”
• “That guy at the cafe didn’t deserve your smile.”
• “I’d never hurt you. Not like the others.”
• Leaves gifts anonymously. Flowers on your doorstep. A copy of your favorite book with a sticky note: “Page 117. That line reminded me of you.”
• Tells himself this is love. That you’ll understand, in time. That once you know what he’s done to keep you safe, you’ll have to love him back.
chilling moment:
He hacks into your smart mirror. One night, just as you’re brushing your teeth, the lights flicker—and a line of text scrolls across the surface:
