#jim gordon imagine

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

Tags: @eclecticwildflowers, @illiana-mystery

warnings: swearing

I rubbed my forehead as I took another sip from my cup, draining it in one go. The noise of another cup being put down made me look up. Jim stood there with a case file under one arm, cup of coffee in his hand and a smile on his face.

“late night? Or early morning?” He asked, pressing a kiss to my head as he moved to sit next to me. I rubbed my eyes and grabbed his hand, tilting it to catch a look at his watch.

“Both I think.” I said, letting go of his hand. Jim chuckled and leaned over to flip through the file in front of me. “Maybe I should head to bed.” I said, rubbing my face before leaning into Jim.

“want me to join you?” He asked, pulling back to look at me. I shrugged. “Yeah I’ll come with. I can read a file in bed. It’s fine.”

“you’re commissioner. You can do what you want.” I yawned as I stood up. Jim took my hand as he walked with me back to our bedroom. I climbed into bed and he waited until I was comfortable before climbing in next to me. I moved over to lay on his chest while jim wrapped his arm around me, file laying open on his lap.

“I’ll wake you in a couple hours.” I groaned as I turned my head into his chest to block out the light. “You need to eat. I’ll make you something. Don’t worry about it.” I nodded and let myself drift off. When I woke up later, my face was turned into a pillow and Jim was walking in with a tray of food. “Afternoon sleepy head.” He teased, setting down the tray and leaning in to kiss me.

“thought you said it would only be a couple hours.” I grumbled, brushing the hair out of my face as I looked over the tray. Jim smiled as he brought it closer. “You didn’t need to make this much food.”

“thought you deserved it.” Jim shrugged. “After pulling an all nighter like you did.” I nodded as I started to eat. “That file? What’s it on?” I swallowed my mouth full and smiled at him.

“case study. Thought I’d take a look at some of the older cold cases.” Jim nodded. “It’s some of the older joker murders.”

“I thought we solved all of those.” Jim’s said as he stole a piece of toast off the tray.

“the Arthur fleck ones.” I said, covering my mouth while I ate. “The original joker.” Jim rolled his eyes and I laughed. “Yeah I know. It also takes me across the Wayne murders and i thought i was seeing something there. Maybe some way to tie them to him and actually make them stick this time.” I shrugged while Jim looked impressed with me. “I’ll have to look again but I’m thinking now that I’ve slept and ate, maybe there wasn’t really something there at all.”

“well if anyone can find it, it’s you.” Jim assured me. “I’d be happy to help if you need it.” I nodded as we continued to eat. “Any other plans for the rest of the day?”

“depends. What do you have in mind?” I asked. “I might be able to be persuaded to put the file on hold.” Jim leaned over and kissed me deeply, one hand on my cheek.

“I can think of a few things.” He said, pulling back slightly as I trailed after him.

“you drive a hard bargain commissioner.” I teased him. “But I think I’m in agreement.” Pulling him back with me as I laid back, I kissed him just as deeply.

[batfam-imagines]

Okay are you taking Batmom requests? Cuz I have this absolutely hilarious idea.Blind Batmom gets taken into questioning cuz she "witnessed" a crime. The 2 officers are newbies not knowing she's Bruce's Wife, but Gordan and the others do. There's a line in my head that keeps playing.

Officer: Tell us what you saw!

Batmom: Fine you want to know? *takes off shades* Im blind ya asshole.

Gordan: *laughing his ass off*

“Hey, Gordon! Did ya see who the rookies have in Interrogation room 3?”

“The new kids already dragged some poor guy in?” Gordan quickly stood from his desk, following the group of officers heading to the interrogation viewing.

“Oh you’re gonna love this, Commissioner. But you might wanna call whatever lawyers GCPD has on retainer for the rookies. Her family’s gonna be pissed about this.”

Jim paused, his hand on the doorknob, “Shit.”

Inside the room the two new officers are sitting across from a smartly dressed woman who’s wearing sunglasses and a large dog that’s lying beside her.

Rookie #1, obviously tired of playing nice, slams his hand on the metal table and jabs a finger at the woman, “Just tell us what you saw!”

“Listen, ma’am, we just want to know what happened last night. You are the only witness left who could have seen Batman’s identity. We have several reports that his mask was compromised during the fight. Everyone at GCPD would be grateful if you could tell us anything you saw.”

The woman lets out a harsh breath, “Fine, you want to know?” She pulls her sunglasses of, revealing acid burn scars around both eyes, “I’m blind ya assholes, I didn’t see shit.”

Gordon lets out a barking laugh, doubling over, “Get those assholes out’a there before they get the whole department shut down!”

Once he’s alone in the observation room, Gordon lets out a harsh breath, “Damn rookies. How the hell am I gonna explain this to her kids?”

[avalon-of-babylon]

I fucking love genuinely out of touch rich guy Bruce Wayne. Like realistically, yeah, he knows the value of a dollar and how far it gets you but just off the people around him it would be fucking hilarious.

Dick who's lived his entire life in the circus asks for some lunch money.

Rich guy™️ Bruce hands him a thousand because he doesn't have anything smaller.

Reporter Clark Kent casually venting about his 2 mortgages.

Rich guy™️ Bruce tries to relate by talking about how hard it is to juggle his 27 private properties across the world hidden in various shell companies full of millions of dollars worth of batman gear.

Meanwhile Oliver Queen who just has the 1 house, shoves everything into a gym bag and flies his own ass places is sitting there like what the fuck.

Jason certified street kid and son of a drug addict currently splitting rent 5 ways "Yeah it's been hard to keep the lights on with Roy in rehab"

Rich guy™️ Bruce "why don't you dip into your trust fund?"

Jason certified problem child perpetually on the edge of getting disowned. "My what now?"

Commissioner Gordon, father of two, fully aware his daughter is batgirl, spends half his paycheck on his son's indefinite psychiatric treatment, cant afford to leave the rent controlled apartment he's had half his damn life, with a literal nightmare job in the worst city in the world, paranoid because of the stupid amount of corruption around him constantly, and is always on the edge of a mental breakdown.

Rich guy™️ Bruce "You need a vacation. There's this amazing place in the Bahamas you should try-"

Commissioner Gordon, whose idea of a vacation is faking his death for a week in a sting operation, already sobbing.

[gilverrwrites]

My horny ass has been watching Gotham again.

A-Z Gotham Men* and how they fuck you.

*like 75% of Gotham men: Alfred, Bullock, Butch, Ed/The Riddler, Jerome, Jervis, Jim, Lucius, Maroni, Penguin, and Zsasz 🖤

18+ MINORS DNI

Almost everything Alfred does is practiced, and purposeful and despite all his training, he’s still rough around the edges. But when he looks into your eyes, when he hears his name on your lips, all of that hardness and posturing dissipates. He tries to praise you but it comes out all muddled and breathless. So he worships your body as best he can, gently brushing your most sensitive parts with strong calloused hands, rocking your bodies together until you’re as lost as he is. Sometimes he does it with those white cotton gloves still on, and he neglects to clean them for days after because he can still smell you on them.

Bullock talks a big game, but he’s not the man he used to be. Still, what he lacks in youth, he makes up for in enthusiasm. Swollen lips kiss and suck at you, wherever he can find, his scruffy facial hair leaving beard rash on all his favourite parts. Firm, clammy hands pull and grope and guide your body, showing you how he likes it done. “Oh yeah, ooooh yeah, baby.” He pants between ragged breaths and clenched teeth, “Feels so fucking good baby, just like that.” When he’s done he wipes you down with a wet cloth and a cheeky grin, offering to buy you a drink he’s needed since you started.

Butch is big and sturdy and such a good boy. Butch is happy to say whatever you want to hear, to do whatever you want him to do, for you to use his body however you need to get off. “Anything for you Ma’.” He gets high on the scent of you, whimpers when you touch his cock, and eagerly licks up any mess he’s made, whenever, and wherever you allow him to. He’s at your service, just tell him what to do, so long as you shower him with your praise and adoration when you’re done. He especially loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, and plant your kisses behind his ears.

Ed is curious and attentive. His voice is shaky as he asks “Is this okay?” “Does that feel good?” “Is all this because of me?” His long fingers tentatively exploring every inch of you, in and out, memorising every jerk of your body, retaining every noise you make. He refuses to cum until you’re ready, until you’re fully entwined and engrossed in each other.

But The Riddler knows you’re needy. The Riddler takes advantage of that desperation, because it makes you dumb and mailable. He uses your body for his pleasure, he knows where to twist and pull to make your walls wet and tight around him. When you try to speak, he shushes you, cups your cheeks in gloved hands and coos; “I know, I know. Don’t speak. Just take it.”

Jerome is unpredictable. Some nights he’s a tease, making you beg and plead for your own defilement. It’s an act, entertainment, and you’re his favourite performer. When you’re good to him, he’s good to you, but when you’re bad, he’s really really bad. But it’s hard to be good, because he likes to move the goalpost whenever he senses you getting comfortable.

On other nights he’s clingy, and dutiful. He uses you to keep his cock warm, cradling you, swaying your bodies back and forth, inching himself deeper and deeper inside of you, and laughing into the crook of your neck.

Jervis is composed, and poised. He rolls his sleeves up and lets his hat sit askew while you ride him. Likes to watch the way you wither and pant, your eyes grow more and more vacant each time you work his cock deeper into your burning core. Likes to whisper and woo you with his sweet nothings. “Aren’t you a treasure? Fucking yourself for my pleasure?” It’s such a thrill to watch you come undone for him, especially when you’ll unravel yourself willingly.

As to be expected, Jim is the vanilla type. The quiet type, the strong and sturdy type. He makes love to you like it’s his duty, holding you down in missionary or the mating press as he hammers into you in powerful, uniform thrusts into your both coming undone, your name escaping his lips in an atypically soft whisper when he finishes deep inside you. What’s less expected is his oral fixation. Jim likes to relieve his stress by loosing himself between your legs, by licking and sucking and biting all the parts that make you flinch. He likes to know he’s left his mark on you, even if it’s confined to the places only he can lay his eyes on.

Lucius is like the cat that got the cream, grinning the whole time, every time. No matter the place or position, he peppers your skin with kisses, the curl of his lips evident with each press of his open mouth. He likes it slow and deep. Holds your feet over his shoulders and sink in until you can both feel his tip press against your cervix. Tell him how good that feels, smile back at him and he’s a goner. He likes to finish in your mouth, likes to watch the way your body perks when his cock twitches against your tongue, the way your expression softens, and your lids grow heavy when his thick, warm cum hits the back of your throat. You can barely roll over to grab the tissue before he’s on you again, ready to assault you with yet another round of smile-laden kisses.

Maroni likes a show, likes to be entertained, likes to know he makes you feel good without barely lifting a finger, he’s just that good, you know? So he lets you grind against him, or lets you ride him, nice and slow. He might play with your nipples when he wants you to make those pretty little noises, or press your tongue down with his think fingers when he wants you to be quiet. After you’ve found your release he holds your hips in a vice-like grip as he bucks up into you, deceptively fast for a big guy, until he unloads wherever he sees fit.

Penguin fucks you in a frenzy, high on your body, using you like every time is the first and last chance he’ll get. He ruts into you in short, sharp movements. He likes to see you on your knees, worshipping at his feet, taking him in whatever hole he pleases. He likes to rub his cock on your face, likes to mark you with his musk. When he speaks, it’s between shallow, harsh breaths, he begs demands that you call out his name, again, and again, louder and louder, ensuring everyone knows you belong to the King of Gotham.

Zsasz doesn’t care about your pleasure or comfort. In fact, it’s your pain that gets him off. Zsasz will fuck you dry so he can watch you flinch. He pinches, and wrenches, and grabs you like a ragdoll. He enjoys choking you until your neck is bruised and swollen, until you're crying deliciously salty tears that he loves to lick up. He likes to cut you on those fleshy, tender parts, likes to see your deep red blood on his pale hands. He loves to fuck you until you’re shaking, until you’re sore and overstimulated and begging him to stop.

[not-a-matopoeia]

Dick: And nope means nope like you said

Bruce (sobbing)

Image Description:

Panel one: a young (robin) Dick Grayson and Batman are standing there, Bruce leans over and says “Dick…chum…where are your pants”, to which Dick says “Nope!” A giant shit eating grin on his face

Panel two: Robin and Batman, Robin has his hands in the air and looks excited, Batman, with the cowl on, breaking the forth wall while Jim Gordon in the very background says “Put some pants on that kid Batman.”

[howl-fantasies]

My, oh my, the drama here. No, the cataclysm!

HOW WOULD THEY REACT?

EDWARD NYGMA / THE RIDDLER 👓

-- Maybe one of the very few times you would hear the 'F word' from him. He would immediately notice something is very wrong with this Y/N.

-- She has the same face and body and her eyes, god her eyes. Even as sharp, they would clearly lack this unique spark of pure sadism the woman always has.

-- Her eternal grin would be the same, though. You know, the one suggesting she ate the canary or knows something about you/your plans/plots/there is always something you don't know yet.

-- Which is pretty concerning since this PHONY Y/N now works with the cops! He would make his personal mission to bring the original Y/N back and is even ready to work with Victor to do so.

-- He genuinely is concerned for his dear friend who now is God knows was all alone and without anyone she knows. His brain would be wild. What if she's injured? What if she's gone forever? What if she decided to stay in this parallel universe? Or worse! What if she meets someone better than Victor or him and decided to stay with them or bring them back to Gotham.

-- He would 100% abduct Lucius to force him to work with him on something able to help get her back.

-- During his mission, be ready to see him like in the Arkham City game, sleep depraved, addicted to coffee and more dangerous than ever. Pretty sure he wouldn't even bother to take a single shower before bringing back Y/N. Yikes!

>>

OSWALD COBBLEPOT / THE PENGUIN ☂

-- It's not a tantrum at this point, it's a freaking hurricane. He would be beyond mad and wouldn't care to break his vocal cords. He needs to yell, vent, and basically break everything in his house.

-- He told Victor *in the OS where villains and Jim realized they have been total douche with Y/N* that he needed the woman by his side.

-- Not because he particularly appreciates her, but because she's like him: a plotter, and a very talented one. Always able to figure out what he was thinking and where he wanted her. Imagine this capacities now working for the GCPD! A true disaster!

-- He's so mad, he's ready to demand Victor kill this Y/N and wouldn't care about the trauma he might cause.

-- At some point, and probably after a scolding *Thanks Maggie*, he would drop this idea. What if the 'true' Y/N also dies if someone kills her here. Oh damn, no. Not under his supervision, cause he would lose a very useful ally and also lose Victor's loyalty. Nope, nope, nope!

-- Would demand Victor stalk her and make sure no villain or thug scratch her insufferable persona. He would also publish a communicate for the whole underground. Something like:

"Dear fellows criminals,

We all noticed something was very wrong with Mrs Y/N Zsasz. Fortunately, we also realized this woman isn't our true dear colleague.

After intense investigations, it appears a breach opened somewhere between two universes and switched Mrs Zsasz.

Situation is under control, we are collectively and actively working to bring her back permanently and return the other her in her original world.

This is Gotham, curiosity happens all the time so don't panic nor try something stupid while we all are dealing with this crisis. Mr Zsasz doesn't really have patience those days but will always find some time in his tight schedule to make you regret any foolish move.

Thank you for your understanding.

Best regards,

Oswald Cobblepot, King of Gotham City"

>>

VICTOR ZSASZ / LOCAL HOMICIDAL MANIAC AND SADIST 🔪

-- How can I put this?

-- His twisted head is a mess. He's facing a "brain 404 error."

-- He's terribly mad. Furious. If we take a look inside of his head, we'll basically see this:

-- Yeah. He wants blood right now. A bloodbath. To make someone pay for this farce.

-- His wife, his beloved, twisted, sadistic, insufferable wife didn't recognize him. She was... somewhere else. And her Doppelgänger was now running free in town, helping cops and flirting with Gordon.

-- There is no good egg anymore. The fucker will die.

-- Frankly, he wouldn't even try to kill his wife's twin. She had the same features and he knows he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger even with a deep mental preparation.

-- His Y/N is alive, somewhere, and he wouldn't take the risk to kill her if he kills that version of her. He's a patient man, he'll wait.

-- When Oswald demanded him to do it, oh God. Penguin can thank Maggie for the talking and Basil for his brute force. As soon as the words get out of his furious mouth, Victor jumped on his feet, snarling like an angry beast and shove his gun into said mouth. Only Basil's super-speed saved Oswald from the bullet he was supposed to take.

-- While Basil holds Victor back, Maggie tried to convince him and everyone to calm down. This crisis truly made the mansion a mess.

-- When Ed contacted him and offered to join forces to bring his wife back, he said YES. He also was ready to put his hate for Riddler aside if it meant bringing his lover back.

-- Both of them would even work together to make Jim pay for being Y/N's center of attention. Poor man didn't ask for it but will face the consequences. 👀

-- Mentally, Victor would be in a pretty precarious state. Without his wife to ground him, he would go on a killing spree and cover his body with tons of sweet, sweet scars. He would never directly confront her, though. And never make himself known when he would stalk her. It would be too painful to see her unable to understand him or judge him.

>>

JIM GORDON / THE MAN WHO THINKS HE'S A SUPER-SOLDIER (wrong universe dear) 🚔

-- Poor him. Yes, poor, poor him. Imagine his shock when he saw Y/N standing in the middle of the GCPD that morning WITHOUT A GUN, A BLADE OR A FREAKING ROKET LAUNCHER.

-- Here she was, wearing white like she just fell from heaven and playing innocent. WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK?!

-- It didn't take him long to understand something was pretty wrong. When he asked her what she wanted, the woman was transparent about her situation. She was on her way to work as a lawyer when *poof* she disappeared and reappeared here. So she did the only thing a citizen is supposed to do: go to the cops.

-- O-K? Ok, ok. Alright. He needed a good two minutes to stomach it. But, after all, it's Gotham, strange things happens. All the time. People supposed to be dead, sometimes for good, never stay dead too long. Some crazy dudes were wreaking havoc in Lycra every day, so some parallel universe and exchange between bad Y/N and good Y/N could be possible.

-- Until they find a way to understand what happened to her, he asked her if she wanted to make her talents useful here, as a consultant detective. She agreed.

-- It just took her an hour or two to start flirting to sexually harass him. And oh boy, that version of Y/N, like the original one, wasn't a prude.

-- She very straightly explained him she was now horny and wouldn't mind a quickie in the morgue. She also detailed everything she wanted him to do and her to do to him. Congrats, Jim is now ✨forever traumatized.✨

-- After this, he knew he was fucked when (and not if) Zsasz will hear about it. He immediately asked Harvey where he put the diving suit and decided to wear it at all time until the 'Gotham Y/N' was back. A few weeks after wouldn't hurt too, he thought.

-- As always, he was astonished by Harvey's chill attitude. His colleague didn't even frown during Y/N.2's story and just took another coffee while she tried to push him to the morgue. How in hell was he able to keep his calm so brilliantly while the whole city was ready to collapse without Y/N?!

-- *Spoiler*: Harvey received a text a few minutes ago from Y/N. She had her phone with her and tried to find a frequency able to reach him. She may sent at least 90 "Dude, even the shitty bottles from the whole bar wouldn't make me have a bad trip like this one." He answered her. "Happy to know you're alive. Gotham is a mess without you, everyone is losing it." She would wait a few minutes to answer and simply ask him the other "her" phone number. Which he gave her.

------- 1 New Message ------

Unknown

Girl, it's the little devil on your shoulder who's talking.

Y/N.2

Oh, so it's you, the other me. Can't say I heard great things about you here.

Y/N

Don't be too judgmental with me now Hermione Granger. Your colleagues also think you're a Queen Bitch. Same shit but different sides of the law spectrum.

Y/N.2

True. Happy to read you didn't have any issue acting like me.

Y/N

Did you ever lift your boss (the pervert) by his balls against a wall?

Y/N.2

What?! I was working on filing a complaint before we switched! What have you done?!

Y/N

Made an omelet. Sorry not sorry.

Y/N.2

Switch us back this instant you dumbass!

Y/N

Look, I might have found a way to switch us back to our right places. BUT, even if you're all good and shit listen to this: let's wait another 24hours before switching. It will give us pretty strong arguments to negotiate a salary increase and basically anything we might want. No more omelette making for you and no more playing detective of the light for me.

Y/N.2

Sounds actually pretty good. Fuck, this city is growing on me.

...

By the way, who's the bald dude following me everywhere? He tried to shoot Jim an hour ago?

Y/N

Oh. It's just my husband. Jim didn't tell you? Don't worry about it too much. Hide your panties, we're never too careful. And be gentle, don't say anything or act like you spotted him, let him think he's an awesome ninja or something. He's a bit shy.

Y/N.2

You're sick. Everyone in this damn city is. It's funny in a way.

Y/N

Enjoy it for the next 24h then.

Y/N.2

If you want to make another omelet, find a dude named Henry. He was a total douche. I destroyed him verbally but still feel salty I have to say.

Y/N

On it.

Y/N.2

👍

Hey @howl-fantasies, @immortal-velociraptor, and @keffirinne! I suddenly got this random gotham thought smacked right through me a couple seconds ago and I wanna know what you guys think.

So I just remembered the multiverse existed even on DC so...

How would our Gotham friends react to some other Au [name] switching places with our [name] and they have to figure out how to get the [name]s back in their world but wait for it... This [name] is good.

She never lost the sarcasm no, nor the bitchy attitude but she's a woman of the law. She's a genius detective that still kicks ass and drinks with Uncle Harvey but y'know, good.

While I know at that point Gotham would already be in chaos but let's add a little cherry on top shall we?

This [name] flirts with Jim non-stop, making the poor guy heat up with the amount of filthy things that are coming out of her mouth, and she even adds on a little kabedon(idk if I spelled that right).

Anyways~ I personally think Vic and Ed would loose their minds. Basil would hate it for sure and is a salt away from crying in the corner and wishing for his mommy back. Maggie would be crying in the corner too lol. And for some reason I am currently imagining Oswald clinging on [name]'s leg and hissing on Jim. 😆

[batmanlovesnirvana]

What would Bruce Wayne be cancelled for ?

[maweallgotohell]

Jerome Valeska - Brother's Assistant pt.1

+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:

+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:

pairing: Jerome Valeska x fem! reader

warnings: none

summary: Jerome locates Jeremiahs residence and decides to pay his brother a visit - to kill him. But when the door opens, he is met with the prettiest and kindest woman he has ever seen. But how will Jeremiah react, especially when it turns out, that Jerome has caught feelings for her, his assistant and best friend? And how will Jerome himself react in such a situation?

+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:*﹤+*:ꔫ:

He found him.

He searched for him for all these years and now he found him. His brother. And he wanted to kill him.

For all these years he made dozens of plans and figured out the best ways to spread fear and get his name all across Gotham so his brother would notice.

He wanted him to feel unsafe.

He wanted him to be afraid.

A few weeks ago he found out what name Jeremiah now went by and after knowing that it wasn't all too complicated to find him. Well yeah, he lived in a fuckin' bunker in the middle of the woods (fuckin' paranoid bitch), but with a name like his, it wasn't very difficult for Jerome to make out his location. Just threaten the right people and you're ready to go.

And there he stood. In front of his brother's labyrinth bunker. Was he nervous? Yeah. But he was determined to kill Jeremiah.

For the last few weeks, he tried to find a way to break into the bunker without being noticed, but there wasn't another entrance. Just the main one. And so he just... pressed the doorbell?

It was weird for him because it felt like a polite gesture. He felt like a brother, who wanted to visit his twin for dinner, while he was the "evil twin", who came to kill that son of a bitch, he had to call his brother.

* ring*

To his surprise, it wasn't his brother's face, that greeted him at the door, no. A beautiful young woman opened it swingingly, her silky (hair color) hair swaying with her movements. It was quite early in the morning, which was why she was still wearing her nightgown, the dark green silk hugging her curves perfectly and the lace gracefully accentuating her (skin color) skin. Her warm and welcoming smile greeted him like a cozy hug and he couldn't help but stare at her.

" Hello?", she asked, her voice sounding soft and gentle, as if she was an angel, that came down to earth just for him.

Her face changed and turned into a frightened one immediately as she recognized his features. She must've recognized him from the news or from stories his brother told her, he thought, but that wasn't the case. Not at all.

" Omg, Xander! What happened to your face?! Are you okay?! Are you hurt?!" She rushed directly towards him.

" Uhm, hello..? No, no Miss, I'm Jerome, Jeremiah's, uh, I mean Xanders' long lost twin brother.", he answered nervously.

Why did he stutter? And why did he lie? Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, but he wasn't honest either. How could the presence of a woman make him this nervous? He should've shot her right then and there. But he couldn't. She was too. .. breathtaking and.. . interesting to kill. He somehow knew she was different. He felt it.

Her expression softened and her smile found its way back onto her face. She hugged him as a greeting, which kinda took him by surprise.

" Omg hello!", she grinned. " I didn't know Xan had a twin. Glad to meet you! I'm YN." You held out your hand for him to shake.

...Xan?

You had a nickname for him? Was he your boyfriend? Jerome came to kill his brother, only to fall for his girlfriend? Wow. That was weird, even for him. And how could someone like Miah even pull a girl like you? Tf?

„ Nice, nice to meet you too YN.", was all he could bring himself to say.

" Xan will be so happy to hear that you're here and that you found him."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the front door with her.

" Come in. Follow me.", she said as she closed the door behind them.

The sudden touch of hers took him by surprise as he stumbled after her into the building.

It was silent for a bit, only the sound of their footsteps against the concrete was to be heard.

Then Jerome found the courage to speak up.

" Sooo YN.. is "Xander" like.. you know... your boyfriend?" He found it so awkward to ask you that, whyever that was, but he just had to. He had to know that to contemplate, whether he had to kidnap or kill you if his brother really was your boyfriend.

She stopped in her tracks to turn around and look at him, only to burst out in laughter.

" Oh god, no.", you giggled. " I'm his assistant and we're like best friends. No romantic feelings between us, really. But I live here. We both needed someone to live with and we've worked together before since we met at St.Ignatius and became best friends there and later, roommates. And here we are."

He was relieved. You weren't with his brother. But were you single? He knew he was there for a different reason and definitely not to go all heart-eyed over his brother's best friend and assistant, but the question occupied his mind completely.

You stopped in front of a door and put your key card in front of the card reader.

" We're here.", you said. "This is the living room. Make yourself comfortable, Jerome. Do you want anything to drink?"

He nodded.

" Soo we have coffee, a few types of tea, water, hot chocolate or orange juice. What would you like?", you asked him with a genuine smile.

" Oh, uhm, coffee sounds amazing. Thank you."

You nodded.

"I'll be right back."

And with that, you turned around and left into the kitchen, which was right next to the living room.

" Xan should arrive here soon too btw. I think in half an hour or so. I'd be happy to have you stay here and accompany me while we wait for him. Only if that's fine for you, tho.", you smiled.

Jerome had always been able to accurately identify and define his feelings. He was also able to consider and assess them rationally. And right now, he felt something he never thought he could feel. Admiration and joyful excitement.

You could've told him to leave or come back when Jeremiah was home or given him an appointment to meet up with his brother. But you didn't. No, furthermore, you invited him to stay with you and said you would like him to accompany you. You weren't even a little bit scared of him, not even because of his "awful" features, which he found sometimes. No, you didn't do any of that. Instead, you were genuinely nice to him and treated him like everybody else, or rather special.

You made him feel wanted just by these small things you did and your naturally nice behavior, which was quite rare for him.

He thought he had, no, he was sure that he had developed a small crush on you. Even though it was unusual for him to trust someone that easily or feel drawn to someone, especially that fast, he wasn't afraid of it at all.

It felt like being near you lifted all the weight he carried off his shoulders without effort. And he wasn't scared to experience these new feelings, because he felt like they wouldn't do him bad at all. It was strange but exciting at the same time and he couldn't wait to learn more about you.

You two chatted a bit until you noticed that you hadn't informed Xan about your guest.

" Sorry, I hate to interrupt you, but I just noticed, that I haven't told Xan about you being here. Lemme just send him a message real quick."

He panicked immediately. What if Miah warned her about him and made her have a different view of him? I mean, sooner or later, Miah would come home and she would find out, who Jerome 'really' is, yeah. But he didn't want their nice little talk and their shared time to end so soon.

"Uhm, YN?", he spoke up, his voice rather quiet. The young woman looked from her phone, back up at him, a questioning expression on her face.

"Could you maybe not tell him I'm here?" His low voice now sounded rather hesitant. Your eyebrows furrowed a bit in astonishment.

"I...I wanted to surprise him. After all this time we haven't seen each other, you know?" He was surprised by himself. He said those words with such emotion, that even he himself would've believed that he missed his brother that much.

Her astonished expression settled again and gave way to a lovely smile.

"Oh yeah, sure! That's a very sweet idea. Xan will be so happy to see you", the young woman cheered.

Jerome exhaled in relief but then lowered his head as well as his voice.

"I doubt that. See, I wasn't always the best brother for him, you know. It may be that he doesn't want to see me at all, let alone talk to me or even have me here. Don't be disappointed then, YN. It's okay, really. I don't want to bother you two. Really, I don't."

He said that. And he sounded like he really missed his brother or felt sorry for the things he did.

Did he? No, very surely he did not. He came here o kill Miah, not to reunite with him and be like 'best buddies'.

But he didn't feel as if what he told the girl before was a lie. Because it wasn't.

The sad undertone in his voice was not a result of missing his brother so much, no. It was because he knew that when Miah returned, he would no longer be able to spend time with the beautiful young lady sitting across from him at that very moment, looking at him sympathetically.

She had changed everything for him in that short time. He had already heard that when you are in love, you no longer have control over what you feel and think. But he had never experienced it. Until this very moment.

No.

Until that moment when she opened the door for him.

" Jerome, please. How could someone, especially Xander, ever be that resentful."

He sighed.

He contemplated telling her the truth. That his brother built this whole bunker they're living in, just to protect them from him.

But he didn't.

Because he was... scared. This was the first time since he killed his mother that he was truly afraid of something.

He feared losing her. And it was more terrifying than anything else.

---------------

While Jerome and YN chatted and got to know each other better, Jeremiah just then received a text from her.

> Hey Xan! You home soon? We have a surprise guest. C ya.<

At first, he thought of it as a normal text she would send him. Everything was fine.

But then it hit him like a crash.

Nobody knew where they lived. Nobody.

He panicked immediately and quickly got in his car, so he could be home as fast as possible. What if YN was in danger but didn't know yet? He could never forgive himself if something happened to her.

----------------------------

word count: 1820

The first part of a new short series (probably gonna be 2 or 3 parts again). Hope y'all like it.

C ya

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXVI. “whiplash”

parts: previous / next

plot: sobering up brings a host of emotion to the surface. your next interaction with Bruce takes things a step further.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, anxiety, panic

words: 7.2k

a/n: hiii !! been a little longer between this and the last chapter, started my final year of grad school and have had to adjust to a lotttt more work! but i got this done and i'm exciiited to keep writing <3 this will not be the new norm! grad school will not take away my fic time !! i refuse !! anyway, the characters took me places in this chapter I wasn’t anticipating 🤭

The night had been lengthy. As daybreak hit, and the ceiling had gone blurry from staring at it so thoroughly, the high-res image of him fuzzed into nothing more than an outline. The shadow of him followed you to the counter, where you ordered the first thing you noticed on the menu, plugged in your card, and waited for your latte in vain.

A girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen walked around the counter with an apologetic smile. “So sorry, but we’re out of oat milk.” She had bright brown eyes that turned down at the corners, and a lopsided grin. You continued to tread water, forcing back memories of your cursed adolescence that had led you here. You nodded at her first suggestion, slinking closer to the wall as you reset your waiting. You wanted to grab her by the shoulders, tell her to get out, to leave. That the city would swallow her up, smother her dreams, break her.

You wished you’d listened when your parents had done that to you.

Wood paneling brought warmth to the small dining area. A speaker nestled between some spider plants wafted lofi music from the far corner. A few friends clustered together with laptops and cheap spiral notebooks on the spindly tables and chairs. Your mind wandered around itself like an echoey ballroom, poking and prodding at each thing out of place. Why had you ever come to Gotham?

Your phone buzzed, but the cinch in your stomach knotted your fingers from grabbing it. It was a hot stove, burning a hole in the pocket of your hoodie so much you could almost smell it smoldering. Prioritizing your attention to the steady tempo of the heartbeat in your ears was the only reason you were still standing.

It buzzed again. Then again, giving you no choice but to stare the horse in the mouth. Mar was responding to the barrage of texts you’d sent her last night to distract; two-player games, memes, entirely too specific questions because you’d hoped she’d free you from the night’s torment. At some point, you’d deliriously tried to telepathically text Walter, so desperate for anything other than the frames of Bruce and you that slammed against your eyelids like hail.

Your thumb slipped and moved you back to your messages menu. The pull you felt toward his name was all too similar to slowing past a car crash, straining your neck against all better judgment to look away. You clicked on it, feeling like you’d fallen back into bed, the sheets coarse against your skin.

You’d taken a shower the second he left, stopping for nothing save locking the door. The water was ice cold, an attempt to shock away the play acting itself out behind every blink. Every movement of your arm across your body felt like a bullet, or a hot knife slicing through the top layers of skin. You fought through body wash like it was his hands gliding over you, wincing as they passed over the gigantic scarlet bruise assaulting your thigh.

You’d been convinced you were losing your mind, and swore not to take weed ever again.

After toweling off, tears stinging your eyes over the endless suffering of that shower, you wanted nothing more than to slip into a state of nonexistence. No thoughts, no hopes, no fears, no consequences. But the phone stared at you, and you stared back, knowing you had to text him.

The barista came out and handed you your coffee, and you startled to the point she apologized again, eyes squinting slightly. You muttered a thank you, and slipped out into the street.

Leaving the café had you feeling like a thief. Like someone was out to get you, breathing down your neck whispering I found you out. I know your secret. Walking past pedestrians felt like they could see right through you. Like you were stripped naked walking through downtown, pining for an alleyway you could slip into for a moment of reprieve.

The main intersection downtown had a notoriously ‘sticky’ walk light—sometimes it would go off too often, creating a horrific hazard for people too trusting, or it would only buzz rarely, leaving you stranded between you and your destination for far too long. After the third light cycle with no signal, you were forced to suffer an indefinite wait, the phone a heavy brick in your hand.

Almondmilk foam caressed your lips as you diverted your attention to the texture and spices in the latte. Still bitterly hot, you relished its sting, fingers tapping anxiously on the inflexible plastic back of your phone case. Burn me. Scald me. You slammed a gulp of it, and for a moment the desire to stare at your screen faded to gray. After a few seconds soothing your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you squinted your eyes open to see if the walk signal was lit. No such luck.

When you thought about rushing into traffic, you made yourself take a deep breath. You needed to get a grip, and tried talking yourself down. So what? You’d been high, had an unprecedented dream, and the thoughts had lingered. The situation didn’t need to be stickier than that. As exposure, you looked through the messages from the night before, the first few of which you’d tossed and turned in bed before sending, suddenly overthinking every syllable you ‘spoke’ to him.

Hey, it’s Y/N. Back yet?

Home safe.

You recalled being shocked he was such a fast texter.

Thanks for following up. Got your number saved.

Does that make two numbers in your phone now?

Three. Running out of storage space at this rate.

1.Alfred

2.Alfred (Cell)

3.Me

How’d you hack my phone?

Lol (laughing out loud)

Thanks. Had no idea.

Now that Bruce Wayne is in the public eye, you gotta know this stuff.

Hope I don’t run into him. Heard he’s a total tool.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

You know Bruce, desperate to talk.

By this point you’d been grinning in bed, forgetting the turmoil of the past half hour. You’d set your phone on your nightstand, until two minutes later when it lit the room up.

I did have a great time tonight. Sorry if I intruded.

I owe you another bottle. And Skittles.

I liked the company. Wasn’t looking forward to being alone, hence the edible.

I’m sorry for how I acted this morning. If it helps, I’m safe.

It does. Glad you’re feeling better, really.

Appreciate you looking out for me. I’ll try to make it easier.

You’d have been lying if you’d said that didn’t make your stomach flip a little.

You don’t need to feel bad about this morning. It makes sense why you’d feel that way, the pity stuff.

Doesn’t mean you had to be in the crossfire.

How’s your head? Your leg?

Better. I think the weed’s helping somehow.

Good.

If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.

I forget the toll these things take.

By this point it was like a spell had overtaken you, like his kindness was a slippery slope of contagion enveloping you before you’d even realized what you were messing with.

For someone who claims these interactions are so new, you sound pretty normal.

Alfred fills the gaps.

I’m imagining him standing over your shoulder telling you what to say.

I’d sound more British.

In the pause of you laughing to yourself, he sent another text.

Followed up with Gordon before you texted. Miller’s still in custody, no chance of bail. Hope that helps you sleep better tonight.

You distinctly recalled thinking Talking to you is helping me sleep better before promptly throwing your phone across the room on reflex. It thudded into the pink chair of your desk, thankfully unharmed. You laid there, chest heaving, room spinning. Like a petulant, obnoxious visitor looking for any excuse to insert themselves, the mirage came back with a gentle pulse, and you felt his breath on your neck again.

You hadn’t responded the rest of the night, and that was where the text chain ended. By the time you’d gathered your breath enough to walk to your phone, it was too late to respond, made you too self-conscious. You’d hoped he’d leave it at that, and wouldn’t follow up more. You were petrified of the nightmare coming back.

The light turned, and after a triple check to make sure it wasn’t short-circuiting, you pocketed your phone and walked across, flinching at every crunch of a leaf under your shoe. Bruce had certainly been a favorable distraction from the reality of having been held at gunpoint, of being kicked and pummeled into the concrete, but you couldn’t shake the sweat-soaked feeling that clouded every thought about him: whiplash.

Walking home, the feeling was different than he’d ever felt before; rather than harassing himself about why he’d said this, that, or anything else, he felt… peaceful. A bit sore, but a good sore, like flexing a muscle you hadn’t exercised in a while. Simultaneously, he felt like he’d opened up too much for comfort and comfortably stretched his limits. It was disorienting, the usual word for how he felt around you. Rather than ruminating on words or tone, he looked at the flicker of the streetlights off the broken windows, how the puddles created a dew on the jagged edges of the brick in the alleys he slipped through. More than anything, he felt like he’d been cracked open. Like a sliver of light was getting in; the light of wanting to keep you talking on the couch. The light of getting lost in you.

As he drew closer to Wayne Tower, his legs felt more weighted. Maybe it was the alcohol, no, it was absolutely the alcohol, and he’d likely feel horrible in the morning, but for now, as he walked through the damp streets, his head felt less crowded. A nagging thought at the back of his mind was how the hell he’d fallen asleep so quickly. He was always keenly aware of his energy levels, having mapped them endlessly to accurately gauge how much longer he could stay out and fight. He hadn’t felt tired. It hadn’t even been midnight. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d fallen asleep that early. It was ridiculous.

It’d been about ten minutes into the episode that he’d noticed you were sleeping. As quickly as he could remember after, he’d followed your lead. He’d passed a long-abandoned park a half-mile from his house and a swingset creaked in the wind, mimicking the sound in his chest when you’d come back from the bathroom with a yawn. It’d been devastating to leave, but he hoped he’d played it off well enough.

Even cloaked in alcohol’s gentle embrace, he felt the sober him kicking at his walls. In the morning he’d be scared of this, and he knew it, he knew it as well as his feet knew their way home. He pictured himself in the batcave the next morning swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life, planning a campaign to make Gotham a dry town so he’d never again be tempted to fall into this. Or collect all the beers up in his tower so he could drink, drink, and drink the slope of your smile out of his memory.

Alfred was in the kitchen again when he’d entered; a fragment of him wanted to thank him, tell him he was right, that he’d opened some sort of door into something new. Instead he nodded at the man, striding past him like he wasn’t still coming down, like they hadn’t had the confrontation, and went up to bed.

As soon as he sat, his phone buzzed. Before inputting you as a contact, he read your number with focused repetition to commit it to memory. He sat back against his headboard, feeling its squish against the wall. As he responded to your messages, it dawned on him that he hadn't texted like this in ages, if ever.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks felt weak from the tension, and by then he didn’t care. After he sent the message about Gordon, he stayed up for the next hour waiting for what you might say back. Sleep interrupted his waiting, and he woke up the next morning with his phone still in his hand. He’d startled upon rousing, usually keeping it tucked into his nightstand or face-down on top of it. A few moments of blinking back to the room, and…

He felt like shit. Every feeling came back to him tenfold, alongside a mind-numbing headache. The gentle hold of last night’s vulnerability had degraded into a blanket of knives, puncturing every inch of his body. He ignored Alfred when he stormed down to get lunch, and ate it in a daze. He stomped up the stairs and threw on a hoodie and jacket, tightening the drawstrings and slapping a scarf over his face. He threw on a pair of sunglasses and called it a day, jogging the back alleys downtown, all deliberation gone on whether to visit or not.

In the hour before sleeping, deliberate he had; he’d ached over whether or not to visit you so soon. He owed you another bottle of wine, and some snacks, but he felt like shit inserting himself again. His feet slammed the pavement as he broke into a sprint, his teeth gnashing together with each thudding step. You’d only allowed him to visit because you’d thought he was in crisis, you probably felt violated having someone over while under the influence; probably thought he was irresponsible and opportunistic; maybe you’d even blocked his number by now.

Bruce had to take a detour from the usual route, having to slip onto the main road for a few blocks. He kept his head firmly down, never being out at this time of day and absolutely hating it. Keep to the right. Keep to the wall.

Someone slammed into his shoulder, falling and spilling the contents of their purse about the sidewalk. His head snapped up, noticing the color of your hair, stooping to collect what had fallen. Some lipstick, gum, keys. Did you recognize him? He moved his hand to his sunglasses to pull them down, a sneaky tell just for you, but when he looked up his stomach sank. The stranger grabbed her stuff from him quickly, hastily pulling the bag over her shoulder before rushing off.

Shit. He hurried and slunk more to the wall, the arm of his jacket skipping against the brick. He pulled against the snags when they caught, clipping along to the beat of his chest. He wanted it to be you so badly. Too badly. He felt nauseous.

Possibly in the worst timing of all, he found himself approaching the worst intersection in the city. Whenever he drew up his budget, he needed to lobby for it to be taken care of. Cars whizzed past, most drivers looking anywhere else but right in front of them. A passing thought: if they hadn’t died that night, they probably would’ve died here. How much blood was caked in the potholes and chunks of dry gravel?

The light came on, another force of hand making him interact with the world around him. Except when he did, his eyes dragged up to you at the other side, staring down at your phone while you sipped a coffee. The tips of his fingers went cold.

You were looking forward, but looked right through him. This was possibly the first time he’d ever been disappointed by invisibility; it was a trap, not freedom.

He’d look suspicious following you, but he couldn’t very well pull you to the side on a busy street corner.

He’d talk. He’d say something as you walked past, and you’d know it was him. You’d know his voice. You knew him.

He drew a breath before you walked past, but hesitated when you did. You’d been so close the ends of your hair had flounced against his jacket, could smell the subtle sweetness of your shampoo. He swallowed hard, his breath faltering. A light airiness bounced around his stomach. You were walking fast, he only had a few seconds…

He started walking toward you, but stopped after a few steps. You wouldn’t believe he hadn’t followed you, it would be too suspicious. He turned around with a snap, checking if the signal was still on, and jogged across the street. His head was a mess. He reassured the pit in his stomach that he’d see you on Tuesday for March’s rally, while also wanting to temper his hope, while also not wanting to have it…

“Hey, sorry, I was just in your shop, and—yes! Y/N. Oh my god, thank you, I’m a block away. So sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see you running across the street, your jacket flapping in the wind behind you, just like your hair, your phone pressed to your ear. At this point the universe was teasing him. Bruce Wayne can’t have simple run-ins. Certainly not with you.

You walked past fellow pedestrians, no one giving you a second glance, like you were another faceless member of the nebulous ‘public’. You were even allowed to say your name out loud, to use your voice without modulation, bare your face, dress how you’d like, go where you pleased. You disappeared a block down into a small café, and he wanted to follow, but he waited. You came out a few seconds later, finishing the pocketing of your card into your pant pocket.

You walked to the intersection a few feet from him. It felt bizarre watching you, like he was watching a movie happen in real time. A woman walked to the waiting area beside you, pushing a stroller with a very loud child inside. You and the woman exchanged grins, and you waved at the baby. Your hair flew into your face and you tucked it behind your ear, saying something he couldn’t make out. The woman’s voice got louder as she recognized you. “Wait, are you the journalist who did the interview with Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce stepped to the side a few feet, playing with his position against the wind to ensure he could hear.

“Yeah! It was wild, really cool he wanted to work with someone from GU.”

“That’s so fun. Congratulations!”

Even though the conversation was polite, it churned Bruce’s stomach to see your coffee trip be affected by your connection to him. She was only one out of many who had passed by without look or comment, but that ratio, and those interruptions, would only increase the more time you spent together. He felt like a monster, too big to hang out, encroaching on all remaining normalcy in your life.

The light turned, and you walked in tandem with the woman and her stroller. The wind was able to lap across your cheeks, not a camera to be seen; no shouting crowds, clamoring strangers. He turned and walked the rest of the way to his car, pulling the keys from his jacket pocket before standing limply by the driver door. Why couldn’t he walk up to you? Why was he wrapped to anonymous completion, having to obscure every inch of available skin for the crime of walking to his car? The scarf was stifling. His eyes sweat behind the sunglasses. At the beck and call of his dead family’s reputation was an excruciating place to live.

He jammed into his seat and restrained every muscle in his foot that wanted to slam on the gas, only letting himself do so once on the outskirts of town. The pedal hit the floor hard, and the world whizzed by in a blurry haze. He had half a mind to slam on the brakes, sending the car toppling over itself into the gravel ditch.

The image of it is what made him coast to a stop, the world slowing enough for him to catch his bearings. Once he was safely pulled to the side, near one of the city’s many graveyards, he pressed his forehead to the wheel, feeling what bubbled under the surface. Grief.

The drive home was slower and more deliberate. Every time his foot itched to slam into a tree, or ram into an alley wall, he counted his breaths. By the time he got back he was drained, but wouldn’t let himself sit in it. His stomach grumbled, ached with emptiness, his meds rotting an ulcer into his abandoned stomach, but he didn’t care.

Not able to enter Wayne Tower by the front, he didn’t see the police car sitting on the curb; instead, Alfred was already in the cave, standing by the elevator so there could be no faux pas. “Detective’s arrived. Wants a statement for this past Thursday.” His cane echoed coolly on the concrete floor.

Bruce would’ve asked if there was another time, or a way to skip altogether, but that wasn’t an option when it came to helping you. He pulled off his disguise and ran a hand through his matted hair before following Alfred up the elevator. It was difficult not to overthink the first extended interaction Gordon would have with Bruce Wayne. At the mayor’s funeral, he’d turned his nose up at Bruce, going so far as to eye him with criminal suspicion. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do if Gordon were to find out, and he didn’t want to have to think on his feet today.

Gordon was sitting at the table in Bruce’s seat. Martinez stood beside him, his energy expanding to fill the dim room. Alfred flipped on the last of the lights, making everyone wince. “Apologies, thought it best to let the light in.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Gordon cleared his throat, Martinez taking the opportunity to speak with the thinly veiled glee of a child on Christmas morning.

“Sir, we’re here to collect your statement sir, about an incident that occurred on…” He continued to talk, but Bruce tuned it out, wanting them to leave already. He situated himself in your seat, clasping his hands together on the table.

“I was walking to a convenience store after the City Hall meeting. Passing by that alleyway, I noticed the shape of a gun being held to someone’s head. The man saw me, as he was facing back, and slammed on the gas as I approached. I didn’t know what was going on, until the journalist that I spoke to earlier this month fell out of the vehicle before crashing.”

Gordon notated everything, his tone light, but suspicious. He had this tone whenever interrogating someone he didn’t fully believe. “Lucky timing, huh?”

Bruce shrugged. “Glad I could help.”

“Of course.” He flipped a page in his mini spiral. “So, after she ‘fell’ out of the vehicle, what happened?”

He shoved down a brittle laugh. Did they really think he was nefariously involved in this? If only Gordon knew… if only they both knew. Martinez continued to have the same reaction to Batman as his partner was having to Bruce now.

“She told me he held her at gunpoint asking to recant her statement. Apparently they’d been in some sort of altercation the night before.” He wondered if he was speaking too matter-of-fact, if he should dull his adjectives and verbs. “Wanted to use her to get to my lawyers. Get him back in school.” He hesitated before saying the next part, trying to glean off pure body language if Gordon knew you hadn’t come back to your apartment that night.

“I wanted to help, so I brought her here for the night. Talked through things,”

“What things?” His pen sat menacingly above the ruled paper.

“About what happened then, and the night before. Got her situated in a room upstairs, took her home in the morning.”

“She trusted you to do that?” He peered over his glasses. Bruce nodded, and Gordon sighed. “Must’ve formed quite the alliance at the interview.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, feeling a shift in the room. What did he mean by that? Him too now? His voice was darker, grim, the rose-colored lens fading to purples and blues. “I don’t know what you mean.” He wanted Gordon to say it with his chest.

He didn’t bite. “Did she ask to come here, Mr. Wayne?”

“I told her it would be safest.”

“Didn’t think to report it?” His left hand fiddled with the curled pages at the bottom of the notebook, as if he were going through the motions, unfazed. Another one of his tactics to get people’s guard down. Maybe he’d even start doodling on the seams. “Slipped your mind?”

He grit his teeth. He knew Gordon was reading into the circles under his eyes and the laxity of his skin, both giving away too much to do on not enough sleep. “My priority was to make sure she was alright. It’s traumatic having a gun pointed at your head.”

Martinez’s eyes flashed just so, his chest puffing. Gordon rustled, closing the notebook with a plop. Bruce never liked employing that night in any form of defense, but this was threatening murky waters, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep a rein on his temper with Gordon’s passively placed, blasé accusations about you.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Wayne. We’ll be in touch.” Alfred saw them out, and Bruce waited to hear the door click behind them before pulling himself out of his seat, returning right back from whence he came.

The elevator was rickety, and it unnerved him, which was unusual. His muscles felt tight, his chest and throat constricted. Rumors about the interview had reached the GCPD, infiltrated Gordon, ooh. He walked to the front of his desk, facing the computer that had been untouched the past week and a half, one of the longest breaks yet. He pressed his palms to the edge of the metal and hung his head, coaxing his temperature down.

Clicking the computer on showed where his mind had been the days before the attempt. A dozen tabs with varying searches for Electrum came to life just as the days swept into him. Before he could jump back in, he forced himself into purgatory, opening a new tab to draw up new contingencies. The blank document titled Emergency Plan: Mental glared back at him. He closed his eyes and typed, holding his breath like a ball in his chest until the last word was released onto the page.

- Come on quickly: easily accessible button to phone Alfred

- Unstable reality when it hits: program unique signal to physical distress

- During periods of stress: increase assessment of stress on patrol

- Some form of tranquilizer/sedative readily available

- Orienting item: figure out

He hadn’t stopped hearing what the nurses, psychiatrists, and social workers said to him in Arkham, he’d just stopped caring. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong, not them, adding an entirely new level of shame to the affair. It took longer than he would’ve liked to manage recall as he waded through the memory.

His phone rattled on the table closest to the exit, next to the pile of the day’s disguise. It was easy to pull him away from the computer screen, the back of his thoughts in a constant search for something to distract from the unraveling of his mind, potentially the upheaval of life as he knew it.

It was you.

The sunglasses were a nice touch.

It was like the air got knocked out of him. Your perceptiveness could’ve made him jealous if he weren’t the current victim. He’d worn a different scarf this time, you’d only seen his jacket under struggling streetlights, a dark kitchen after getting your head pounded into pavement.

Had to get my car. Didn’t want to bother you.

Do you believe that I won’t tell now?

I already have for a while.

He put the phone down and told himself it was to focus back on the work, ignoring the squeeze in his gut, the thread you pulled simply by acknowledging him, making him looser, the seams splitting, letting the contents of him jostle and spill out over your lap.

BZZT.

Now I kinda want to prove you wrong.

BRB, calling the president.

Told him. He’s helicoptering over to Wayne Tower as we speak.

Bruce grinned against his will again.

Your fingers were clammy from cradling your phone, the remains of your coffee sitting cold next to you at the kitchen counter. The woman from earlier had commented on how it was ‘so late’ to be having a coffee, but that she understood. It had been difficult hearing her with Anonymous Dock Worker Who Was Definitely Not Bruce standing behind you.

Now you can see me hold my side of the bargain.

Waiting at my apartment in armor. I have a big stick, don’t know if that changes things.

My weakness.

Too bad people don’t try that more often.

Got you all figured out.

More than most.

This conversation was equal parts painful and thrilling. In honesty, you’d ignored him when you saw him on the corner, hyperaware of his presence from the moment you walked past him. You’d suspected it was genuinely to get his car, no secret stalking, but you couldn’t put your finger on why you were so convinced so soon.

This was where things went wrong–when you felt like you knew a person more than you did. This was where charisma and power pulled their initial weight, in making their victims swim in a sense of novel electricity. It was the reason you hadn’t spoken to him on the streetcorner, and why it took pacing your apartment for an hour to finally send him a text back. You were circling the drain, avoiding the swirling waters that you knew could pull you under.

You glanced over at the couch, the cushion still ruffled from where he sat. He can be so sweet. The symphony of his smile and his laugh together, planting a glow deep in your chest, padding you from the familiar, harsher realities of your past experiences with him. You didn’t want to ignore them. It would be irresponsible.

You grabbed your laptop and pulled up the schedule of events for the next three months. Bruce was harsh and unyielding.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

He was a recluse, someone whose most regular social contact was his own butler, who he treated pretty shittily.

Lincoln March - The People’s Candidate

Still, he kept showing up for you, slowly increasing in warmth each time.

Campaign Goals:

But only because you’d lied.

Fully-fund Gotham’s K-12 public schools.

He was only being nice out of guilt. You couldn’t read into it further.

Maternity leave has long been a partially-funded social program in Gotham, but if elected, I plan to expand upon…

He ran another hand through his hair, shutting his computer off. You were only acting this way out of guilt, handling him with gloved hands, every interaction careful and gentle. Impulsive, he crossed the room to don the suit instead of sending you another text. The snap of his armor into place atop his padding was the sound of Bruce Wayne slipping away. Relief washed over him as he dipped his fingers into the tarry paint. He didn’t have anything to do but what Gotham gave him tonight.

He called Gordon once he was on the road. He didn’t answer.

The streets were filled, a typical Saturday night. He slunk round the same alleys, the usual crime spots, even looped around the watchtower in case Gordon was there, messing with a broken bat signal. Nothing. Until he heard some shouting at a nearby subway station. He cut the lights on his car and slipped silently through the corridor, ears ringing with adrenaline.

A small group of men were harassing a young girl with a sparkly pink backpack. She couldn’t be older than thirteen. The men were whistling, one of them tugging on her ponytail. Her face was scrunched up tight with her hands covering her ears. He didn’t even think before jumping in.

His fist connected with the nearest man’s jaw, amplifying a rush of adrenaline through him. Suppressing a grin, he followed it with the other, ducking to dodge a hit from the man behind him. He spun out his right heel, rendering the man unstable, and slammed him against the brick with a jut of his elbow. Every punch he landed was easy, instinctual, bliss. The fighting felt different. He had vastly more energy. While the three men staggered back, he gestured for the girl to run. She mouthed something he couldn’t hear, a hit landing in the plane of his back.

Jaw. Nose. Rib. Kidney. A tooth of the man flew out amid the tunnel of punches, skidding into a puddle. Batman grinned.

“COME ON, MAN!” A hoarse voice, the tallest man of them, shouted out. They ran off, leaving the empty sound of terrified sniffles echoing from the far corner. He studied their clothes, their hair color, and height, giving a quick call on his wrist to the GCPD. The dispatcher confirmed they already sent cars to the area, and he calmed his heaving body before turning around.

The girl was clutching her backpack like a stuffed animal, shoving herself into the metal bars of the subway entrance. He made his voice softer. “They’re gone, you’re safe. Do you know where your parents are?” The only time he wished the suit was less threatening were cases like this. Kids didn’t need to be more scared than they already were.

“LACIE!” The strained shout of a desperate mother arrived at the same time as Gordon’s vehicle. The child raced to their mom, and Gordon sidled up with another notepad for his statement. He gave it, listened while the mother tearfully explained that the kid had gotten off at the wrong stop, and left before anyone could see the blood dripping off the knuckles of his gloves.

Against your better judgment, you loaded up Scypher, clicking to clear but ignoring everything in the ‘Social’ tab and all notifications. You locked your accounts to ‘private’, upset you’d kept them public this long, but paused. What if that makes me look suspicious? You set them public again, noticing a ping on the ‘Crime’ tab.

GC1 News was reporting on a shooting at a nightclub about three miles north. Only minutes before their reporting, you saw a swarm of posts from right after.

BATMAN JUSR SAVED ME

|

Wtf are you okay????????

|

YEA HE TOOK A BULLET FR ME IM HSAKING

You refreshed, frantic. He was fine, right? His suit was meant to take bullets. He was used to taking bullets. He was fine. You could hardly read the screen your hands were shaking so intensely.

Did anyone die?

|

The shooter I think. I was at a bar nearby, so far only one body has been brought out and no one in handcuffs.

You texted him.

Are you okay? I heard about the shooting.

No response. You put your hands over your head and talked yourself down for the second time today. He’s fine. He’s used to this. He knows what he’s doing. He helped someone. He’s just busy.

But two minutes turned into five, which turned into seven, and you could barely breathe.

Text me when you can.

Which turned into ten, then fifteen, with no further mention of his presence online. It was fine. It was fine! You tried to meditate on the image of Batman before you knew his identity. Someone competent, agile, strong, impenetrable. That was still true. That was still him.

Your phone lit up as you were sipping water at the sink, and you nearly tripped rushing over to it. Alfred!

“Miss. Is Bruce with you?”

“No, whe—”

“It says he’s parked about three blocks east of your apartment. I lost the signal to his suit.” You were already out the door.

You didn’t think you’d run that fast before, racing right back to where he’d dropped you off the day prior. Was he bleeding out? Incomprehensible? Unconscious? You ducked through an alley in a shortcut, jumping over piles of trash and dead rats. Your leg was starting to stiffen at the thigh, your knee crunching and grinding as you propelled forward.

You had to clamp your mouth shut after almost shouting "Bruce!” at the masked man standing at his trunk. He spun around, his cape swishing against the bumper of the car with a satisfying crack.

“What are you doing?!” His voice had slipped the octave, going back to Bruce, a slipup that unnerved him on a spiritual level. He surveyed the surrounding area with a paranoid daze, motioning hard for you to get into the passenger seat. The door was heavy, tactical, and the seats the same. The outside of your vision took in all the gadgets, wires making shapes you’d never seen before, but you were centrally focused on the blue of his irises against the backdrop of black.

“Are you okay? Alfred–”

“What did he say?” You were shaking, out of breath, gulping after every word.

“Your suit lost signal and you were parked here, I heard about the shooting online, that you were there,”

It took every available cell in his body to smother an angry rebuttal, his defenses beginning to stack.

“Someone said you got shot,”

He scoffed. “I didn’t get shot,”

“Are you hurt?” You grabbed his wrist and darted your eyes along his chest. His breathing hitched at the contact, even through the layers. His brow furrowed, but you couldn’t see it through the cowl. He felt like you were looking at him, not Batman, even though he was sure you couldn’t see anything but armor right now.

“Are you sure you’re not in shock,” your cheeks were red-hot, inflamed from the sprint and the fear crushing adrenaline through you. All you could see was black, darkness, you couldn’t see anything, you couldn’t get a good look. You fumbled with your phone to find a flashlight, but it fell onto the passenger floor.

“It was a normal patrol,”

A strangled whimper left your panicked, overwhelmed body as you strained to reach the phone. You heard a shick and a button unclasp. “I just need—”

“—To breathe.” A warm, non-gloved hand wrapped around your forearm, applying gentle pressure back towards the seat. Your eyes shot up to his like a deer in headlights, his touch creating a separate raucous within you. He exaggerated the slow movement of his shoulders up and down, opening his mouth on the exhale. You mimicked his breathing, comfortably matching it after a few cycles.

“I’m okay.” He nodded at you as your demeanor settled, his attentive gaze drilling holes in your memory. “I promise.” He let go of your arm and your hand snapped out to grab his. Your breathing hastened the second he broke contact, and only slowed once your fingers interlaced with his. He welcomed your hand with a reassuring squeeze and continued breathing slowly, deeply, guiding you out of the stratosphere. You squeezed back ten times harder, feeling like the barrel was at your temple again.

He let your hands sit together for a few seconds, your eyes trained on his like life support. He nodded again, letting you know he was still here though he was slipping his hand out of yours. Bruce glanced out the windows for onlookers and pulled off his cowl, unclicking the front half of his armor, tossing it to the backseat.

His hair was mussed, sweaty, the paint around his eyes smudged and smeared. He had dirt and faint droplets of red along parts of his jaw, with shadowy stubble underneath. He took your wrist, always with an astounding gentleness, and moved your hand to his chest, gliding your hand across the soft padding. “See?” Your hand moved along the sides of his body, across his stomach, and up to his collarbone. No snags, no wet spots…

Your palm felt like it was on fire, your heart thundering, cranked up to eleven. You slipped your hand past his collarbone, over his shoulder, and glided down his bicep. Still nothing. You shut your eyes, shouting at your brain to believe it, begging your thoughts to stop swirling horrific images, jumping to horrifying conclusions. Including the ego-dystonic impulse that wanted to tug your hand lower, pull him closer.

Bruce couldn’t hear himself think with your hands skimming his torso. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He didn’t know how helpful he was being now, his breathing way too shallow to help you regulate, his brain going offline. He studied your face, the only part of you he could see clear enough, scouring it to see if this was bringing you even a crumb of peace. He was jolted back into his body when your finger skimmed his exposed neck as you trailed to the thicker padding over his sternum.

You shut your eyes and pressed your fingertips into the padding, seemingly grounding yourself. Your expression drew increasingly relaxed until your hand pulled away, falling almost limp at your side. When you fell back against the headrest, he finally looked away. He flexed his hand against his knee where it sat now, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled. He hardly registered it as he struggled not to pass out.

It was about a minute until he tossed a glance your way again; a minute of sitting at the bottom of the deep end, rationing held breath. He only exhaled when you did, a loud one, now more calmly leaning to nab your phone. “I’m… thank you. That won’t happen again. Freaking out. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You don’t have to be nice,”

“I’d do the same.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

Oh. It was like Alfred had entered his psyche. A Freudian slip. You stared at the ground, evidently unaware of how candid an admission that had been. He was gridlocked. You fiddled with your phone until your shoulders sank, popping the door open without warning. “I’d better get home.”

He let your door shut before opening his, using any opportunity to gather himself before stepping out to the night breeze. He leaned his elbow on the roof of the car as you started down the gravel. “Text me when you get back.”

You gave him a thumbs-up.

He noticed a limp in your gait, feeling the smart in your thigh like it was his own. “And put some ice on that tonight.”

You unlocked your phone as you turned the corner. Bruce heard a buzz from the center console, and fished out his phone after settling into the driver’s side.

Will-do. So attentive.

He noted the concerned texts just before your message.

Just returning the favor.

[2d-beefcakes-my-beloveds]

Bruce: “Good evening Comissioner, this is my new partner. He’s very friendly.”

Dick: “Hi! :D”

Jim: “Bats, that is a chi-AAAAAA!!”

Bruce: “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite”

Jim, trying to shake the gremlin from his leg: “YES HE DOES!!!!! D:”

[taming-bats]

the only reason that the Identity Reveal[tm] is such a big deal is bc Bruce wayne is In the Fucking Media all the time. He's EASILY recognizable if someone sees his face. If he was just. A guy. Then there's a delayed gratification of seeing the face under the cowl. You'd have to do work and research to identify him.

(Think of that one scene from The Batman 2022. When one of the Riddler Followers was unmasked and Jim had to be like, man who tf even are you)

Like imagine Joker or someone getting a peak and just being like. Who the fuck is this guy? Where's the real Batman??? Like as if it's a fucking trick. I simply wouldn't belive it.

[bruciemilf]

A witness protection program batgordon AU is jumping around in my head like a ping pong ball rn. Awkward billionaire who's on a very tight edge after his house was bombed has to be in someone's custody and Jim really doesn't feel like babysitting a rich kid.

" Pass em to Martinez. Guy already treats Wayne like he's Jesus,"

" Don't say that. That's so offensive. Bruce Wayne is better than Jesus."

"...You say that like you actually believe it. If you do, seek help. But yeah, I don't want to look after him. "

" Well, you're gonna have to. We didnt give either of you a choice, but Wayne asked for you first."

Jim did not expect Bruce Wayne to smell like vanilla bodywash. Curiously, so does Batman.

[love-imagineitall]

Let Her Go

Pairing: Victor Zsasz x Assassin!Female!Reader

This is set in the first season only a little bit after Zsasz is at the GCPD for Gordon. Also I don't think I mention it in the story, but the reason that the reader was in prison for two years without getting broken out or anything was to go in and make more contacts in the female criminal world. Falcone had asked her to and after she thought she was done, he pulled his strings to get her released immediately.

TW: usual Gotham violence and allusions to smut, heavy make out sesh.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you kidding me Gordon!?!?"

"What the hell are you talking about Harvey?"

"Please don't tell me that is who I think it is that you have in that interrogation room?"

"Again I ask what are you talking about? I brought her in for killing a man right in front of me."

"Oh god," Harvey groaned shaking his head, "let her go right now" he said with a tone of urgency that Jim hadn't heard from his partner before.

"No, I've told you many times I'm not going to turn the other way just because these criminals have money or power," he says to Harvey seeming to be frustrated with his partner and the entire city of Gotham, as he steps back into the interrogation room.

"So, (Y/N) (L/N)? You want to tell me why you killed an innocent man? What did you want with him?"

"You must be the new hot shot," the woman in front of him smiled mischievously with her feet up on the desk. The way she smiled an kept her calm like that did concern Jim a little, but he pushed on.

"Gordon. Detective Jim Gordon nice to meet you. Now tell me why did you do it?"

"Jim... hmm, Jimbo can I call you Jimbo? I'm gonna call you Jimbo."

Harvey then entered the room and Jim noticed that he looked different, frightened even.

"Harvey! Long time no see"

"Hello (Y/N), I am so sorry about my partner. We will get you out of here as soon as we can there is no need to let any one know that you are here."

"No, Harvey, no we won't. She murdered a man right in front of me, she has to go to prison, but first I am going to find out why?"

"I love the place by the way it's been a while. Have you guys redecorated?"

"(Y/N)! I am done playing games with you now you are going to tell me what I want to know or I'm going to have to send you away for a long long time!" Jim yells, the frustration pouring out of him.

"Ooh, feisty" the woman says with a smile on her face. She turns to Harvey, "I like him"

"(Y/N)-," Jim starts.

"Look boys I'm only here because I wanted to take a look around, but now I've met the new guy and seen enough. I'd like to leave now"

"Are you kidding? That isn't how this works princess I saw you with my own eyes murder a man in cold blood, this is the police so yeah the only place that you are going is to prison."

The woman turns to Harvey, completely ignoring Jim, "Harvey, I'd say you got about a minute to let me go... we don't want a repeat of the last time now do we?"

"No ma'am" he says quietly shaking his head while pulling Jim to the side.

"You need to let her go like now," he says while constantly checking his watch.

"Who the hell is she Harvey?"

"You remember Victor Zsasz?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well look as scary and creepy as that dude is, she's a hundred times worse, she's even more deadly of an assassin than he is if you can believe that, but as of right now we haven't pissed her off. The thing I'm worried about is that those two aren't just colleagues, they've got this weird thing... and, and, and-"

"And what Harvey?"

"And he's not gonna be too happy that we've got his girl in lockup after he hasn't seen her for 2 years"

Just then the two detectives hear a gun shot, Harvey looks wide eyed at Jim, and pulls him back into the interrogation room.

"Uncuff her Jim! Uncuff her!"

"Right on time," (Y/N) says with a smile on her face.

The two detectives hurriedly rush to uncuff the woman sitting in front of them. As soon as they have her free and very pissed off Zsasz enters the room with guns a blazing.

"Hello darling," he says with a smile to (Y/N), immediately turning his attention and guns towards the detectives. The smile previously on the assassin's face now completely wiped away and replaced with an anger never seen before.

"Come on honey, we were just leaving" she grabs Zsasz by the arm, "oh and Jimbo, I'll see you around," the pair walking off with her sending Jim a wink. Zsasz walks with his girl out of the GCPD quietly leaving everyone there in awe and fear.

After the pair of assassins return to Falcone's house, (Y/N) immediately drags Victor up to the bedroom. After all the pair hadn't been this close in two years what with the woman being locked up in Blackgate prison.

"Ugh-" Victor groans as he pulls her in for a very hungry kiss

The two of them wasting no time and immediately going to the bed. She jumps on top of him, taking control and kissing him with even more passion.

She rips open his vest and going to pull down his pants when he flips her over and regains control, immediately kissing her again and pulling her shirt off. As the two are going at it and undressing each other, one of Falcone's men walks through the door to tell them to come down stairs, but as soon as he opens the door and begins to speak both assassins pull out their guns and shoots the man without breaking the kiss.

The pull back for a moment to catch their breath, and as they are breathing heavily, Victor tucks a piece of hair behind (Y/N)'s ear, flashes a toothy grin, and says "you are never leaving for that long again you hear me?"

Chuckling and grinning back at him, she replies, "wouldn't dream of it sweetness"

[rolloroberson]

John Lennon - It’s So Hard

[angelofthenight]

You: Gordon, is Oswald a good guy?

You: ‘Cause the whole city was throwing food and sharp objects at him.

[howl-fantasies]

A/N - Because I missed their little text-bickering. 🤯

---------- 1 New Message ---------

Riddl-ED

WHAT

THE

HELL

Y/N?!

--

Y/N

Is it suppose to be a riddle?

--

Riddl-ED

OF COURSE NOT DUMBASS!

--

Y/N

Just wanted to be sure.

--

Riddl-ED

Well now you are. Then, again, WHAT THE HELL?!

--

Y/N

Sweety, I know I'm super impressive and all, always know things that happened, are happening or are going to happen, but I'm not omniscient. And I'm not Galadriel, since she's an elf and everything. You'll have to be more precise.

--

Riddl-ED

Don't make me start about how it is just impossible for you to be Galadriel or we will never sleep tonight. Or the next. But you've made a good point. You're not intelligent enough to remember every little details of your day. So, let me enlighten you:

WHAT WERE YOU DOING AT THE STORE FIDDLING WITH BABY'S CLOTHES?!

--

Y/N

Thanks you very much TolkiED, I don't have the time to be nerdy with you tonight. Also, my limited brain works fortunately well enough to remember the code of your little bank account in the Gotham Central Bank. Or to find out any new code you would create in the future.

Concerning the clothes, well, what can I say. I bought a few, yeah. So what?

--

Riddl-ED

Stop playing stupid!

You can't have a child with him!

--

Y/N

Wow. Super bold of you to make this statement, knowing Zstalkersz will read it later when he thinks I'm not looking.

--

Riddl-ED

I DON'T CARE! You can't be pregnant Y/N! And you can't be pregnant with HIS child!

--

Y/N

You should be happy, you'll be a terrific gay uncle dear. As well as Oswald of course.

--

Riddl-ED

Don't bring him into this mess!

What happened to you?! Weren't you terrified of the simple idea of pregnancy? Gods! You cried like a river at the GCPD last time when you were late!

Btw how late are you?! You were supposed to bleed last week.

--

Y/N

Dude...

Are you following my cycle? Like, for real?

--

Riddl-ED

Of course I am!

I wanted to be sure to spot any sign in case you would be knocked up! And it failed! What did I miss?!

--

Y/N

Decency, I would say.

--

Riddl-ED

Are you going to keep it?

--

Y/N

Well, it's not really up to me to be honest.

--

Riddl-ED

What? Is he forcing you to keep it?!

--

Y/N

Not really, Victor is pretty indifferent.

--

Riddl-ED

I'm scoffing right now, let me tell you! How is it he doesn't care when he was the co-maker of this upcoming disaster?!

--

Y/N

Oh no. He was not.

--

Riddl-ED

?!

--

Y/N

Jim was.

--

Riddl-ED

WHAT?! YOU SLEPT WITH JIMBO?! HOW?! WHEN?! WHY?! AND WHY IS HE STILL ALIVE?!

...

GODDAMMIT ANSWER MY CALLS!

--

Y/N

I can't, phones aren't allowed during an echography, dear. Barb will kill me if she catches me texting or worse, chit-chatting with you. I'm not ready to die so soon.

--

Riddl-ED

She knows?! And let you live to text the tale?!

--

Y/N

Why of course. It concerns her directly after all.

--

Riddl-ED

...

...

You did it on purpose.

...

You were especially vague about everything just to let me think you were the one being pregnant.

...

How dare you!

--

Y/N

It was super fun. You were amazing darling, thank you so so much for this very good time.

--

Riddl-ED

I hate you.

--

Y/N

Don't block me so fast. How long do you think it will take to Oswald to piece everything together?

...

Wanna play a little prank with me?

--

Riddl-ED

...

Gosh you're a piece of work woman.

...

Sent him a text.

...

Keep me updated.

...

I'm still mad.

...

You'll pay for this one.

--

Y/N

♥️

...

You don't need to make me bleed.

...

Already have, last week.

--

Riddl-ED

You're disgusting. If not for the prank, I would have block you.

--

Y/N

😘