#jim gordon x reader smut

[serving-saucy-fanfics]

My Gotham Smut Ideas You Can Vote On 😚 *🧡*🧡*🧡* (October 2024)

Which of these would you like to read (warning: suggestive cause it's smut)?

I thought up some ideas for Kinktober, definitely won't make all of them or just not in time:

Why is this poll font size so big? 🙈 Not Tumblr projecting my smutty thoughts 😂

Turns out I can only make one poll per post, so I'll link the other ones

Part 2 (probably the last one, after all, I write for other fandoms too)

[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.

[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.

[sunflowerrosewood]

Gotham and DC Masterlist

Gotham and other DC masterlist for the characters

💗 - Fluff 🎆 - Smut 💔 - Angst

🌻 - Headcanon 🌹 - One Shot 🍄 - Imagine 🌸 - Multiple parts 🌼 - alphabet 🍀 - alternative universes

~~~

Oswald Cobblepot

First Night at the Mansion 💗🌹

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Innocent Yet Intelligent 💗🌹

Edward Nygma

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Jim Gordon

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Jonathan Crane

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Jervis Tech

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Jeremiah Valeska

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Jerome Valeska

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

Victor Zsasz

He Has Nightmares 💔💗🌻

[celestialsister0918]

So excited to find this!! Life has been so busy this week I somehow missed this gem even though I’d been waiting for it. 😘

Jim would indeed be sooooo good at this. He gives 1001% to everything.

Title: The Dark Day

Rating: NC17 (language and smut)

Summary: You and Gordon try to make breakfast, but get distracted. It's fine.

Notes: This is part two (but technically part three?) to The Dark Morning and The Dark Night.

Warnings: language, explicit oral sex

Making breakfast together was always a game of who could distract who first, one that both of you played rather well. You would divide the prep work, each of you working at opposite ends of the kitchen counter, and whichever of you could distract the other long enough to finish their portion first would get to kick back while the loser cooked and later, cleaned up the mess.

This morning was no different. After falling back asleep for a few more hours, you got up a little after twelve o’clock and decided to have breakfast despite the lunch hour. You were stirring ingredients for pancake batter into a bowl while Jim was cutting onions, breaking and whisking eggs, and grating cheese for omelets. From the corner of your eye, his head turned toward you, and you couldn’t help the smirk that began to form on your lips.

“It’s completely unfair,” he said, looking back to make two more cuts on the onion and setting the knife down. “Just so you know.”

Your smirk widened. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me in my underwear before.”

You had decided, much to his chagrin as well to his delight, to cook breakfast in the very clothes you slept in — a white, ribbed tank top and black boy shorts. He was also wearing his pajamas, which while being much more modest than yours were just as effective at distracting you. Something about seeing Sergeant James Gordon, who was usually immaculate in his suit and tie, in comfortable flannel pajama pants and a soft t-shirt just made your mouth water. Add to that the way his hair was just messy enough to be sexy rather than funny, and you swore that you being in your underwear was merely you evening the playing field.

“True, but that doesn’t mean it has any less impact,” he replied, leaning back to get a look at how the boyshorts only covered about two-thirds of your ass. “Christ, and you look so good in them.”

He came up behind you and put his hands on either side of your hips, his finger slipping under your tank top, and his head resting on your shoulder.

“Why do you look so good?” he whispered, taking your earlobe between his teeth and kissing along your jaw. He pulled you back against him and slowly pulled your hair to one side, placing it in front of the opposite shoulder.

“You know there’s only so much of a cushion you have before I catch up to you,” you warned breathlessly, leaning back against him.

He ignored your counsel, instead dropping a kiss on the back of your neck.

“What gives you the right to look so good so early in the day?” he purred against your ear, kissing a path down the side of your neck.

You hummed, hands stopping mid-stir as your eyes fell shut. “You’re cheating,” you said in a shiver.

His answer vibrated against your pulsepoint. “You started it.”

One of his hands slipped lower, his finger sliding under the waistband of your panties, earning a gasp from you. Tipping your hips back, you brushed his bulge with your ass, smiling when he grunted against your skin. There was movement in his pants that you felt, a light brush against your ass that alerted you to the fact that he was becoming just as turned on as you were.

“How long do you think this stuff can stay out without going bad?”

“I think the FDA recommends no more than two hours at room temperature,” you answered, turning in his arms and closing the space between you. Pressing your lips against his, you pushed him away from the counter, your fingers immediately finding his soft hair.

His glasses skimmed your forehead as he pulled them off, pausing at the corner of the counter to set them down before he let you push him against the wall. His hands cradled your face as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue gently tracing the seam of your lips. As your tongues tenderly wrestled in your mouth, the two of you rolled along the wall, turning the corner into the hallway as you tugged at his shirt, bringing it up and over his head while he led you back toward the bedroom.

When your lips met again, he had caught your bottom lip between his, sucking softly as the two of you stumbled down the hall. His deft fingers slipped under your tank top, pulling it off you before he left it on the floor just outside the kitchen. Holding you against one side of the hallway, Jim dipped and took your nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply.

“Fuck!”

He hummed, biting down on the peak in the mouth. “We could do that,” he purred, kissing his way back up to your lips. “But I believe you said something about licking every inch of each other, didn’t you?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” you replied with a smirk, rolling sideways so that he was pressed against the wall instead. Giving him one last kiss, you started a path down from his neck to his chest, biting one of his nipples as you sank to your knees.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” you said with a playful smile.

“No, you’re not,” he replied, smirking down at you. His head fell back against the wall, groan rumbling in his throat as you mouthed him over his flannel pajama pants.

Following the outline of his thick bulge, you curled your fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled them down. You licked your lips at the sight of his cock bobbing in front of you and wrapped a hand around him, lifting it to pull his balls into your mouth one at a time. Jim groaned, his hips arching toward you as one hand threaded fingers in your hair. With the flat of your tongue, you lavved from his sac all the way up the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft until you reached the tip. You pulled his foreskin back and took the glistening head between your lips, shifting your eyes up to his face as you sucked softly.

The moment his eyes met yours, his cock gave a lurch, nearly slipping from your mouth. A gasp caught in his throat when you started to sink down his shaft, taking more and more of him into your mouth until you were relaxing your throat and letting him slip down.

“Oh God, Y/N,” he groaned, his fingers tightly curling around your hair.

Swallowing around him, you hummed and brought your free hand up to massage his balls while you slowly pulled back up, prolonging the anticipation of a proper blowjob for as long as possible. His jaw clenched, the hand in your hair tugging every few seconds, as though he was trying to keep himself from using his grip to move your head over him. Smiling around him as you reached his head, your tongue circled the v beneath his tip, earning another grunt. You swallowed the precum that oozed from his opening and began to bob over his hips. Your other hand stroked his base, smearing the saliva that your mouth left behind.

The only thing you loved more than the taste of Jim Gordon were the sounds he made while you tasted him. Deep, soft, throaty sounds that let you know just how delirious it made him when you were on your knees, worshiping his cock as though it was the last thing you would do on this earth. And coupled with the noises your mouth made as it slid up and down on his shaft, it was enough to make you come without him even needing to touch you.

It wasn’t long before his hips began to rock, his fingers once again tightening in your hair, and this time he didn’t hesitate to use his grip to guide your movements. His moans came closer together as he neared his orgasm, prompting you to double your efforts for a few more thrusts.

“I’m gonna cum!” he moaned.

Inhaling deeply through your nose, you took him all the way down your throat again, swallowing around him.

A harsh growl ripped from his throat as his release burst from the tip of his cock, shooting down your throat while you swallowed around him. You cast your eyes up to his face as you pulled up, keeping the suction as you slid back to his head and swallowed the last of him before you let him pop free of your lips. His forehead was shiny with sweat and his chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. Taking him between your lips again, you sucked the head of his cock gently, drawing out his orgasm and humming anytime an aftershock made him flex in your mouth. Pressing one last kiss on the underside of his head, you stood up and smiled at him like the cat that ate the canary.

His eyes slowly opened a moment later, head tilting down to kiss you full on the mouth as he stepped out of his pants, and picked you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around him as he carried you into your bedroom and carefully laid you on the bed. He kneeled on the floor in front of you, pulling down your panties and moving to settle between your thighs. With a smirk flashed up at you, he dipped his head and licked you with the flat of his tongue, sending a flurry of tickles from your center to your nipples.

You arched your back, eyes closing as you used your heel against the back of his shoulder as leverage to pull him closer. His tongue narrowed to a soft point as he began to draw indistinct patterns over your labia, sending more gentle bolts of electricity through your sex. A sharp gasp passed through your lips as he suckled your labia, his tongue gliding between them a few times before it dipped closer to your entrance.

“Jim,” you whimpered in a shudder as he traced your opening.

Pressing his face closer, he dipped his tongue inside you, getting a proper taste of your pussy. Needing more, your legs moved to plant your feet on the bed, widening your knees as you rolled your hips against him. Of everyone you had ever been with, Jim was the only one who made you feel worshiped when he used his mouth on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses over every inch of your sex, sucking every bit he could, and seeming to enjoy every minute of it. You had realized as much when one night, he had taken it upon himself to spend two hours straight playing with you with only his lips and tongue. Needless to say it had been the best two hours of your life.

“You taste so good,” he purred, finally moving up to tickle your clit with his mustache before he flicked his tongue over it. After a moment, he pulled the bud between his lips and suckled, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down against him. One of his hands left a few moments before his finger pressed against your opening, slowly sinking until he was buried deep inside you. Beginning a slow in and out pace, his free hand slid up your stomach until he reached your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between two fingers.

You moaned deeply, body squirming beneath his touch, arching your back and rocking your hips alternately. One leg draped over his shoulder again, your heel pulling him against you as he added a second finger and switched breasts. You gasped when he nipped gently on your clit and fisted the comforter beneath you, chasing the orgasm you could feel brewing just beneath the surface. The hand on your breasts slid down to press on your lower belly while the fingers inside you curled, reaching the spongy tissue on your upper wall.

“Fuck! Jim, right there! Don’t stop!” you cried, arching your back again as the tingles between your legs reached a fever pitch. Your hips lifted off the bed, trying to get closer to him as the coil inside you tightened even more. You were right… there…

A moan caught in your throat, your mouth open in a silent cry as your muscles gripped his long fingers and your orgasm spread through you like a warm glow. You held your breath, hoping that doing so would make it last just a little longer and your hips bucked wildly against his lips and tongue. Toes curling and flexing, your body slowly settled into tremors as your moans gradually softened into deep, long sighs.

Pulling out his fingers, he flattened his tongue again and licked your seam, dropping kisses and licks on your skin as he leisurely made his way up your body. His belly grazed against your pussy, sending another flurry of tingles through you as his lips pressed against yours. His half-hard cock was pressed against the underside of your ass with just enough pressure to let you know he was there.

Kisses lowering to your neck, he held you close, bringing his lips to your ear to whisper, “You look so beautiful when you lose control like that.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, you held him close as you came down from your orgasm. His mustache scratched lightly against your neck as he kissed the column of your throat.

“You are really good at eating pussy, Jim Gordon,” you said, biting your bottom lip when he chuckled against your skin.

“Think we’ve got time for a shower?” he asked, grazing your cheek with his nose affectionately.

Nodding with a smile, you lifted your head to capture his lips once more, humming contently. Rolling off of you, he pulled you up off the bed, the two of you making your way into the bathroom, where he turned on the water.

He followed you into the shower and the two of you took turns wetting your hair, when you turned to him, a smirk still firmly planted on your face as you said, “Looks like I win this time, Gordon.”

He knitted his brows. “I would call that a draw.”

You shook your head. “No way, you stopped working first, fair is fair.”

He rolled his eyes. “How about a compromise?”

You arched a brow in interest. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll cook, you clean up.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal.” Reaching for the shampoo, you began to wash your hair before you washed Jim’s. “And then maybe later we can snuggle up and watch a movie?”

“Probably much later,” he answered, rinsing his hair after you’d rinsed yours. “I fully intend to ravage you again after we eat. And again, and again, and then maybe one last time. Then you can clean up the kitchen.”

You grinned, closing the space between you to kiss his lips. “Yes, sir, Sergeant Gordon.”

[i-smoke-chapstick]

‘WILDFLOWER AND BARLEY,

-GOTHAM!EDWARD NYGMA X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Sometimes you don’t think you deserve him….other times, you think it’s for the best that you stay.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!riddler x female reader. SMUT AND ANGST!! reader is toxic, but eddie is too, so its ok. eddy being vanilla but also strangely dominant. guys this fic is FILTHY. also,, part 3 to gotham characters eating you out. takes place with like season 2 eddy, post kringle. Did i write a fic inspired by a Hozier song that isn’t even released yet? yes. readers taking advantage of eddy. but also, eddy is more than willing to give. kind of a character study. im so sorry if i made reader too mean ive had this idea for a week😭

fic requested by @clementine-writes-things <3

♫ “My coffee black in my bed at 3 / You’re too sweet for me. You’re too sweet for me.” Wildflower and Barley by Hozier

You’d fucked up, majorly.

God, what were you thinking?

Edward Nygma, the quirky forensics guy. The loon, as your fellow officers eloquently put it. And you didn’t necessarily disagree. He was certainly a peculiar fellow. He had always a thing for…what was her name? Kristen Kringle. That was it. You’d been working with him for years, watching him moon after her. You could…understand the appeal, you guessed. She had a sexy sixties librarian type of thing going for her. She kept to herself. Maybe you should’ve done the same. She’d dissapeared a few weeks ago.

You somehow landed yourself in the bed of Edward Nygma. You’d been hooking up…For the past two weeks in a row. No judgement, yeah?

It started as a joke. You and the other officers, chatting with beers and obnoxious comments towards the other tools in the GCPD. Jim Gordon…Harvey Bullock. The way the men couldn’t seem to keep their mouthes shut, especially Jim.

Well, you’d gotten plenty tipsy, staying after work. You pummled those beers back like it was your last night alive. And hell, living in gotham? As an officer? It very well could be.

They were all drunk and laughing out of their minds. Anything anyone said seemed overly funny. Especially when one of your fellow cops brought up the name, “Nygma” like the name was it’s own disease.

“You think Y/N could sleep with him?”

“Yeah, Y/N, go fuck the loon. I wonder what it’s like.”

“You think he says riddles when hes cumming?”

“Whats long, hard, and has ‘cum’ in the middle?”

The numerous voices of your “friends” rung out, and in the moment, drunk out if your mind, you too thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

“I could do it.” You affirmed, alcohol giving you the liquid courage you wouldn’t typically have. After the “oooooo”ing from some of your coworkers, you decided, fuck it. Edward was tall, had nice cheekbones, and was smart. You could do worse than a one night stand.

So you confidently marched into that forensics room, high on the dare the other cops had given you.

You found him, looking into one of the forensics mirrors. He was muttering to himself and you snorted. Weirdo. Oh well.

He pushed up his glasses when you two made eye contact. He was sweating, for some reason, in that lanky labcoat and rubber-gloved hands. He stood up straight and went rigid when he saw you.

“Ms. L/N-“ He was about to question, when you rammed your lips onto his. You remember it like yesterday- how hesitant he was. The way he parted for air, breathing wildly at you. He kept trying to ask questions the whole time you were eagerly undressing him. But he didn’t seem to mind your fowardness.

Well, just your luck, that one night stand was the best fuck of your life. The way his cock fitted perfectly into your body, like it was made for your cunt alone. You two fucked on the forensics cabinets, your coworkers in the next room over, and it was exhilarating. Especially when the usually reserved Ed got unusually rough, pulling your hair and smacking your ass just right.

By the time you two were done…you were fucked out of your mind. Pleasantly surprised.

Since then, you hadn’t been able to get away. You told the cops it was vanilla, and reveled in their dismay. But…you came back for seconds. And then thirds. And then fourths. And then you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up in your own bed.

And just as if you were Kristen…he started following you. Your coworkers snickered. You’d see homemade cupcakes left on your desk. You’d catch him staring at you from the other side of the precint. You writhed under his gaze. For a man with not much expirence, he was obnoxiously good at sex. And he was even more obnoxiously good at not understanding the meaning of coworkers with benefits, and not a relationship.

But…mornings like these? You can’t complain.

Taking yourself back to the present, you awoke in his bed. The sunlight of the open windows bled through your eyelids, and you felt yourself smack your lips. You blinked yourself awake, same as you always did. You shifted underneath the covers, which had been neatly adjusted over you. It was infuriatingly comfortable. You let a yawn escape your lips.

“Ah, good! You’re awake!” You heard his voice chime, far off in the kitchen. You looked up, seeing his tall frame. He stared at you adoringly, and you felt your heart pang.

He carried a tray of coffee and breakfast. You sat up. It was the usual morning routine. He made the most exquisite breakfasts for you.

“A necessity to some, a treasure to many. I’m best enjoyed among pleasant company. Some like me hot, some like me cold. Some prefer me mild, others prefer me bold. What am I?” He spoke the riddle quickly.

You blinked at him, tired. You shrugged nonchalantly.

He made his way over to you, swiftly and delicatley placing the tray in your lap.

“Coffee.” He looked a bit dissapointed at your lack of answer, but brightened back up instantly. “Almost black, not quite. 1 Sugar. No cream. Just how you like it.” He noted, and it was in this moment, you felt the weight of your actions. He’d memorized everything about you. Whatever records you liked, he’d play softly. He’d learned your favorite flavor cupcake, and how you took your coffee. Gods, he’d even bought the brand of toothpaste you had at your house, so it was familiar brushing your teeth in the morning.

You squinted, adjusting yourself to the sunlight of the room. Golden. You felt the weight of the tray, and met his gaze. God, it was intense. The way his big, puppy dog like eyes harrowed in on you. Like you were the world.

He was practically wagging his tail, watching you take a slow sip of coffee. He wanted praise, as though perfected it, finally.

He was too sweet for you. You didn’t deserve any of this. But selfishly…you couldn’t resist.

You gave him a small nod in approval, letting the liquid glide down your throat. Damn it, The coffee was perfect.

He positioned himself next to you on the bed, sitting, legs crossed. He looked at you almost creepily, eyes never leaving as you finished your breakfast and coffee. You didn’t say a word to him, but you did listen to him ramble quite a bit. Every now and then he’d ask a casual question, and you’d stay silent, or give him a one worded answer. You’d see his smile falter, but he’d continue.

When you were done, he’d grab the tray from your hands. You let him do the work for you. You liked his bed. He came back, eyes big and bright. He sat once more, looking at you expectantly. You furrowed your brows.

“…What?”

He shrugged, giving a slightly nervous, manic giggle. You cringed a bit, but faltered when you felt his fingertips glide across your thigh.

Oh. Thats what.

“…We have work in an hour.” You replied. The mantra played in your head. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him. You felt guilty.

“I’ll be quick.” He affirmed, peeling the covers back. Oh, fuck it. Who were you to deny him?

He didn’t lie, he was fast. The covers exposed your skin, still undressed from the previous night. You felt the cool air on your thighs and pussy, and couldn’t help it. You caved.

In an instant, he was worshipping your legs, working his way up. He kept eye contact with you, laying gentle bites and pecks into the plush of your skin.

He kissed his way up, tonguing the bite marks he left in his wake. You shivered when his lips hovered over your pussy. He wasted no time. No, he didn’t tease you, he needed to please you as quickly as he could. It was a need for him.

His tongue came into contact with your pussy lips, and you shivered. Instinctivley, you threaded your hands through his morning messy hair, and shoved his face into you. He reciprocated instantly, wanting nothing more than to make you feel good. He licked up and down, tongue flicking gently on your cute little pearl of a clit.

He circles it and taps it with his tongue, saliva dripping and mixing with your juices. His movements are quick and calculated, and he indulges you, body and soul. He hums in pleasure when you arch your back up into him uncontrollably. It’s almost uncharacteristic- the way he switches from being so soft and gentle, to practically making out with your pussy. You feel his fingers dig into your thighs, like he’s a whole different person when he’s mouth fucking you.

Your moaning and shaking, saying his name over and over. Somehow, your getting off to this. To the idea you don’t deserve him. That he’s such a nicer, better, smarter person than you. And although he doesn’t vocalize it, you wonder if he strangely shares the sentiment.

It’s almost like he knows. Like he’s self-aware- of all your selfish thoughts. Like this, him eating you out, him on his knees for you, making you breakfast in bed- is some sort of revenge.

He knows what he’s doing. He’s making you feel awful, guilty for your mistreatment of him- by giving you more and more of him. And you find yourself cumming in his mouth at the thought.

He greedily laps at your swollen clit, overstimulating you. You let out a loud yelp, and he keeps going, only for a few more seconds.

It’s weird. He’s weird. But as you sober up from your orgasm, shaking underneath him, you brush those strange thoughts from your head.

You look into his gentle eyes again, watching him ramble off apologies. You two will most definitely be late to work. You scold yourself. Why would you think such an odd thing? No, he’s a complete sweetheart. Not a degrading bone in his body. You think.

Yet…you still feel the bruises forming on your thighs. And the burning guilt of using him.

You left his aparment in a hurry, driving yourself insane. You seem to convice yourself it was a weird orgasm thought, maybe you’re more kinky than you thought; for some pseudo pyschological self degradtion.

You go to the precint, just as you do every other day. The work is effectively still just as boring and your peers are still just as insufferable.

You’re given a few files by some mysoginistic cop you haven’t aquainted yourself with, who obviously assumed you were the new record keeper. You snort, but decide to take it. You browse over the files, snooping. They are forensic files, and your heart drops. Ah. You’ll have to give these to him.

You enter the forensic room without knocking- at least, you’re about to. But you hear him mumbling to himself, and decide to listen in for a moment. Curiosity getting the best of you.

“You’re too good to her.” You hear him argue with…himself? “You need to show her whose in charge.”

“I am!” He retaliates to his own voice.

“By making her coffee?” He snarls, and your brows furrow. He smashes a file cabinet closed loudly. You jump.

“Yes!” Ed’s voice growls out, fed up. “If you were smart enough to understand-“ He begins, and you’ve heard enough. You enter the room.

Ed looks at you bewildered, and you look at the same. He’s sweating, and his hair is in dissaray. You two make eyecontact and you grimace. What the hell?

You hardly register what he was actually saying, and more that he was having a seemingly very heated conversation with himself. You watch him fumble with his glasses.

“…Ed?” You question, and he snaps.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is quick and sharp. Thats uncharacteristic. You wince.

“Uh, files.” You nod to the papers in your hands, and he blinks, standing up straight. He clears his throat.

“Right.” He recovers, quickly. You narrow your eyes at him, and hum, giving them to him. He’s about to speak, but you rush yourself out of the room, heart pounding.

He is weird. He is a freak. You chime. Your coworkers have been right.

Any shred of pity you had for him has dwindled significantly, and you mull it over in your mind.

Maybe you do deserve eachother, You think. You’re the best he’s going to get.

[thewritermj]

cameras flashes, that's how we crashed

battinson!bruce wayne X reader

part 1

summary: on a press conference, bruce finds a journalist who's up to his standards

warnings: usual gotham violence, quick discrimination of a serial killer, not actually smut in this, but in the future so NSFW MDNI

a/n: forgive any grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language!!! Bruce lives in the manor instead of the Wayne Towers cuz I like the manor vibe more, also I kinda picture Jim Gordon from the Gotham Tv show, cuz I love that version but it doesn't really matters lol. (nothing said above is useful for this reading but I just thought you should know) also, this takes place one year after the movie

Bruce sat quietly on the car, the ride was awfully short. He wished he had more time to mentally prepare to his first press conference. He was a recluse for most part of his life, but after the scandal about The Gotham Renewal Program, people deserved to know the truth. And the idea of continuing his family legacy of charity and philanthropy wasn’t all bad and kept Alfred out of his nerves for a while.

And even tough Bruce Wayne could crack a fake smile to the cameras, throw charity galas and events, the true help came at night. The only possible salivation Gotham could have, the real way he could help the city was as Vengeance. The Batman. He didn’t think of himself as a hero, or a vigilante, more of a necessary evil; all the violence and anger, the rage and the darkness of his work, his project; people would be outraged if they found out they were the same man.

“We’re here, Mr. Wayne” The driver announced.

Alfred, who as sitting across from Bruce on the limo closed the papers he was reading and smiles softly.

“Ready, master Bruce?”

Bruce sighs.

“Not really”

The car parked inside the underground garage of the Wayne Enterprises, Bruce and Alfred made their way to the elevator, not a word was said.

Bruce stole a glance at his reflection on the mirror. A black suit Alfred picked for him, a W embroidery on its lapel, his hair was short now, shorter than he liked, all slicked back by hair gel, but nothing could hide the dark circles under his eyes or the lack of sun colour on his skin. Sometimes, just sometimes, Bruce wishes he didn’t have to wear normal clothes, to comb his hair, ties his bottoms; he wishes he could live inside the Batsuit. He felt like the suit was his own skin, her armour, him and Batman were on, there was no Bruce Wayne without Vengeance, they were bonded forever and could never be separated from each other. He wish they could, he wish he could be Batman alone; no press conferences, no reports, paparazzi, no “Bruce Wayne crowned prince of Gotham.”

The elevator stops and the door open. Alfred goes our first and greet some people outside, telling them where to go.

“You have 10 minutes, Bruce.” He warns, “I’ll get them stared and you wait here till I call you”

Bruce nods.

He sits down on a leather couch and waits, starring at the glass doors. All the reports and journalists waiting for him, men and women, from Gotham and other places of the world.

He’s nervous. Not nervous like he is before a fight, nervous he will be put on a corner, that he’ll be catch on a lie, nervous someone knows. It’s like someone in the next room it’s just waiting for him to appears, to stand up from their chair and ask ‘Are you the Batman?’

“Ladies and gentleman, Bruce Wayne” Alfred announces from the stage and glances at him.

Bruce works on his better smile he can put on and enters the stage; he’s received with thunderous applauses and blinding cameras flashes. He waves and sit on a chair, in a wooden desk in front of him is a glass of water and a microphone.

“Let’s get, started then” Alfred said, pointing to a woman in a grey dress standing with a microphone in her hand.

“Mr. Wayne, why did you decided to throw a press conference after years of reclusiveness?”

Bruce leans into her direction a bit.

“Well, I think all the events of the past year made me realize how much the Wayne Foundation means to Gotham and I’ve been a little reckless with that matter”

It was a good answer, he thought.

The following questions were easy too, “Mr. Wayne, how do you plan on taking care of the raised money? To prevent anything to happen again”, “What’s the difference between the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham Renewal Program?”, “What projects do you have in mind?”, and of course, some shallow questions, “What brand is your suit?”, “What car do you drive?”, question he almost laughed at. Did people actually wanted to know that?

Bruce was thinking how the conference was going well, easy, almost, not as he had pictured it before. Until…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

He flinched for half a second, he opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Another woman asked something he didn’t quite hear with all that was going on inside his head, but the word Batman was also there. And then another, and another…

“Mr. Wayne, what do you think about The Batman?”

The room turned into a complete circus. Grown adults talking over each other, fighting for a turn on the microphone.

You rolled your eyes. This happens every time, someone thinks about the name Batman and suddenly everyone has something to say. What does it matter Bruce Wayne’s thought of the Batman? There were so much important questions to be asked, so much more to discover about that man’s life and projects than a simple opinion.

You were begging to regret the moment you accepted the offer to come to this conference. You weren’t a regular journalist, you didn’t know how to write an article about the weather, fashion trends, social events, you wrote about thing most journalist didn’t want to, thing that most people were scare to read. People scared of the truth. You weren’t. You would dig and dig until the raw verity came to surface, it didn’t matter where or who you had to dig.

The man who had introduced Mr. Wayne appeared again and announced the press conference. No fucking way, no without the answers you wanted, you didn’t take this job to watch other people ruin it.

Slowly, you got up from your sit and walked towards the person who as holding the microphone and gently pull it away from his hands.

“Mr. Wayne…” but the voices around you were too loud.

You gave the head of the mic a flick, the loud keen sound made the room come silent.

“Sorry.” You apologized. “Mr. Wayne, why did you felt the urge to re-open the school project at the marginalized neighbourhoods of Gotham after your father failed attempted?”   

The men was halfway leaving, but he turned around reluctant, staring right at you. Those piercing blue eyes roaming your face.

“Well, I believe the project needs a second chance. Children and teenagers should be given a chance to have a good education, it helps getting them out of the streets.” He answered, without the microphone his voice was low, but the silence of the room let you hear him loud and clear. “Who do you write for?”

“The Gotham Gazette” You answered proudly.

Mr. Wayne whispered something to the other man and sat back at the chair.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss…?”

You smile politely and told him your name.

“Would you say that the Wayne Foundation has an impact outside of Gotham?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on the man’s lips. You shook the urge to smile back at him.

You could tell he was a bit nervous, but he had answered the questions with manners and the right words, maybe he didn’t notice, but he’s quite good at it.

“Yes. I think the work we do on the Foundation inspires people to do the same. If it works out, we can show the world that if there was hope for Gotham there’s hope for them too”

“Do you think there’s hope for Gotham?” You asked, out of spite, because you didn’t write it down before the press.

His lips contracted to a thin line and he thought of it for a few seconds before answering:

“Yes. As long as people like me and you care about what happens here, there’s still hope for the city”

You smiles.

“People like me?”

“You seem to know a lot about the charity work, and you care enough to show it to the world”

Your smile grew bigger and you felt a hint of warm rushing through your cheeks.

Mr. Wayne answered a few more of your questions before the press conference was over.

You were, oh, so proud of yourself. The information you gathered was perfect for what you had in mind and for sure, you could make it a good article. An admiring of the Wayne legacy, that’s what you called yourself. It has always called out to you what that wealth family did; they had no obligation to do it, to donate not just money, but time and resources to help those who couldn’t have what they did, to make Gotham something to be proud of. It’s a shame they never lived long enough to cure it, to heal it. However, you hoped that, maybe, Bruce did. At least he sound determined to.  

You gathered your things and your purse, but as you made your way to the elevator, a woman dresses on formal clothes approached you with a clean, sharp smile that made her look like a dental paste commercial.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind, following me?”

You frowned.

“Ahn…What for?”

“Mr. Wayne wishes to speak to you” She explained and her smile somehow grew wider.

Standing there for a few seconds, all you could do was nod as you followed her through a long corridor. What was happening right now? He wants to speak to you? Bruce Wayne wishes to speak to a journalist in private? And more important, to you.

She opened a door to a breath-taking office.

Right in front of you was a full wall window, a panoramic view of Gotham in all its “glory”, skyscrapers, apartment buildings, the clock tower, the bridge of the river, the field behind the road, you could see everything from up there. There was a wooden desk in front of the window, quite empty, and a chair that looked more comforting than any other you had ever sat.

When the woman closed the door behind you, your attention changed to the man standing on your left. Bruce Wayne was staring at you dead in the eyes with a facial expression of someone who just saw a ghost.

This guy seriously need some sunbathing. You shook that thought out of your head.

“Mr. Wayne. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes” His raspy voice responded. “Sit, please”

You took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the chair and he sat opposite of you, behind the desk, diving completely into the velvet chair. He crosses his fingers and stares at you again. It made you a little uncomfortable, he did that a lot, like a hunter watching its prey.

“So…”

“I’ve searched your work. You’re really good.”

“Thank you, sir”

“You won a Pulitzer, am I right?”

“Yes, a few years ago”

When did he get the time to read all this information? It’s not like you’re super famous, even the Pulitzer wasn’t a very known prize if you didn’t know the industry.

“For a book about a serial killer in Detroit” He said, a voice that verged into an interrogation tone. “The Divine Move?”

You blinked a few times.

“I…Yes. Nathan Walters.”

He lifted his eyebrows just an inch, telling you to continue the story.

You cleared your throat.

“He uh, he used to be the altar boy of the neighbourhood church and he chose his victims based on the sins he supposed they’ve committed.” You’ve shorten it, you couldn’t understand why a billionaire was asking you about the modus operandi of a criminal who was thousands of miles away.  “Why are you asking me this, if I may ask, Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re an investigative journalist. Why are you attending press conferences of a random billionaire?”

You supressed a laugh. Random.

“I grew up here, sir. I’ve always admired your family work, I took the opportunity when it was offered to me.”

“You seem to know a lot about my family history.”

“Like I said, I’m just an admiring. Although, I once thought of writing a book about the Wayne Legacy. Your legacy, sir.”

“Your legacy, sir”.

Bruce looked down at his cufflinks, the W prominent on a silvery material.

His legacy.

He once thought the Wayne Foundation was his legacy. But now he knew, his true legacy came in a bat shaped suit and sleepless nights; it came on purple coloured bruises and blood stained clothes.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well…it’s very hard to write about something when you only get superficial information.”

You were nervous, he could tell. You kept staring at the view behind him, or at your shoes, tanking a little too long to answer his questions. He wondered how could a journalist gets nervous, almost shy.

He gave you a puzzled look, not using any words to express his question. But you understood it.

“Using material that was wrote by someone else. All the records and stories about your parents have already been wrote by someone else before me, so I couldn’t say it was my work, could I?”

He hummed.

Bruce took a sigh. Maybe. Maybe this was a good idea, it could keep him in a good status with the press, plus, he’d be able to hide even further down his secret identity, having a journalist with him every day? No one would suspect his the Batman.

“There are stories and details that haven’t been told.”

You bit your lower lip.

He stared at you.

“What are you implying, sir?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

“If I tell you the stories, would you write it?”

You almost passed out.

Would you?

Who could say they had a proposal like that? Dig into the secrets of the Wayne family?

“Yes”.

___________________

a/n2: aaaah this is actually so boring I'm so sorry, also I think I made bruce a little more talkative than I would've but anyways I may change it yet.

a special thank you to @preciouslandmermaid for inspiring me to finally write this!! <3

[your-nanas-house]

"Scarecrow, Scarecrow"

◇ Pairing: Jonathan Crane X fem!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, edging, riding, handjob, Jonathan Crane, straight jacket, kind of dubcon at first

◇ Summary: Jim Gordon and his colleague go to interrogate Jonathan Crane.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

You and your colleague Jim Gordon had been in that interrogation room for more than an hour, nothing had succeeded in making Doctor Crane speak, not even the time since he was still sitting in front of you tied in a straitjacket that kept his entire body immobile and it was getting kind of uncomfortable— you could tell.

Your eyes remained on the black haired man the entire time as you let Jim do the attempted interrogation— attempt because it wasn't working at all and it was starting to stress him out, you could see it and Crane could see it too.

That was the main reason because you leaned closer to him to whisper something in his ear, covering your mouth with your hand slightly so not to make anyone but Jim hear.

You could see out of the corner of your eye you had slightly caught the maniac's attention, making his icy gaze focus back on you even when Officer Gordon got up, leaving the room after whispering something back to you.

It was just you and Jonathan, no one else, the cameras weren't working and you knew it, you were in a room in Arkham Asylum so there were no walls for the people outside to see through— a decidedly sick decision to make.

Jonathan opened his mouth, licking slightly his pink lips

"I'm afraid I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before, Officer...." he said, his eyes trailing on your body and back to your face as he waited to know your name.

You got up from your chair and looked around the room, studying your surroundings while moving closer to him

"Jonathan Crane, huh? I attended a few of your lectures— I must say that they were quite interesting but it was hard to focus" you explained with a blank voice while thinking.

His eyes kept following you, his mouth opened to say something but quickly shut when you sat on his lap

"Let's make a deal, shall we?" You started, licking your lips

"I bet you are quite touch depraved since they locked you in this place so— I can give you what you need if you tell me what I want to know. How does it sound?" You asked softly, not letting him reply immediately just by placing your hand directly on his covered crotch, massaging it slowly while feeling his cock get hard and stiff under your hand.

His breaths came out more labored as you continued the movement of your hand, applying a little more pressure and then quickly moving from that position to lean on the table to admire him before speaking again

"What do you say, Dr. Crane?" you asked seeing his adam's apple bounce slightly as he gulped

"F-Fuck fine but don't stop" he begged quickly, making you hide a smirk.

You moved back on his lap and started to grinds slowly against him, asking him a few questions which received no response.

"This wasn't the deal, honey" you pushed him down on the table, freeing his hard leaking cock before grabbing it with your hand

"Mommy isn't in the mood to play so answer the questions like a good boy to receive your reward, yes?" you whispered against his ear, making him whine like a slut for you.

It took him a few seconds to be able to answer at your comment, too focused on your still warm hand on his rock-hard cock

"Yes— m-mommy, god, please. I will answer anything" he quickly assured you, moaning happily as your hand started to pleasure him, stroking his whole length— moving his foreskin to be able to touch the tip and make him squirm under you.

Jonathan was answering your questions, moving his hips as best he could to fuck your hand making you more aroused as the time passed.

You honestly weren't planning to go all the way with him but the situation was making your pussy ache for release and a big cock like his to fill you completely.

You could see that Johnathan was getting closer and closer to his peak, hearing just his loud moans followed by soft whimper and prays that got replaced by a loud whine when you removed your hand from him.

His piercing blue eyes that were closed quickly opened, staring at you in a desperate way as he tried to understand why you stopped just to groan even louder when your wet pussy made contact with his leaking, thrombing cock.

You started to move your hips slowly, grinding your clit against his V-line before positioning his dick at your entrance not bothering to put a condom on it— too lost in your wish of pleasure.

Your pussy swallowed him up, taking all his inches easily because of how wet it was; your head dropped back as your mouth let out a pornographic moan that made Jonathan whimper and his cock twitch inside of you.

It took just a few bounce and the view of your tits to make Dr. Crane reach his peak, his back arched in a delicious way as his mouth dropped, letting out loud moans just for you.

His icy blue eyes rolled back under his pretty eyelids and his messy hair got more stuck against his forehead because of his sweat.

Sadly for him as soon as you reached your climax, you got up not helping him reach his own— you had the informations you wanted but he had been a brat at the beginning of your interrogation so you decided that he didn't deserved his reward.

Jonathan wasn't happy about it, you could see it in his eyes and the way he was clenching his teeth making his jawline stand out even more.

You were probably doing a mistake that you would regret if he would ever escape from Arkham but you didn't care so you left, leaving Jonathan Crane, aka The Scarecrow, with blue balls— still tied with a straight jacket and his cock out.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

[lucyswinter]

Request guidelines

Requests are : OPEN<3

Masterlist

Who/what I write for:

-Cillian Murphy/ characters: (Jackson Rippner, Tom Shelby, Neil Lewis, Jonathan Crane, Kitten Braden, Jim: 28 days later, Emmett: a quiet place part II, Raymond Leon, Robert Fischer, Tom Buckley)

-Criminal Minds: Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, JJ,

-The Bear: Sydney Adamu, Richie Jerimovich, Carmen Berzatto, Sugar Berzatto

-Saw: Lawrence Gordon, Adam Stanheight, Mark Hoffman, Peter Strahm, Amanda Young, Jill Tuck, Lynn Denlon (for ships: I’ll do chainshipping, coffinshipping, and shotgunshipping/lynnmanda!)

-American Horror Story (All seasons up to Cult with the addition of 1984. Only ships if they are canon (by season, I mean)! i.e: I won’t do Kit Walker (s2) x Madison Montgomery (s3) or anything! And for canon relationships, I will do any season besides NYC and Delicate as long as they are already together. For example, I would do Montana and Richard from 1984.)

-Nip/Tuck: Sean McNamara, Christian Troy, Matt McNamara, Julie McNamara, Liz Cruz, Eden Lord, Sophia Lopez, Kimber Henry

-DC villains (from the Nolan trilogy or Gotham tv show! I will specify from which one I mean. I’ll also write Batman but that’s the only “hero”/vigilante)

-Peaky blinders: Luca Changretta, Tom Shelby, Alfie Solomons, Finn Shelby, John Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Oswald Mosley

-Top Gun/ Top Gun: Maverick: any characters! (For ships, I only rlly know IceMav 😭 but I’m open to others! I’ll also do penny!reader)

-Bridgerton/ Queen Charolette: Daphne x Simon, George x Charolette, Anthony x Kate, Colin x Penelope (and all of these characters individually as well as Benedict, Violet, Eloise, and the Featherington sisters! *Edit for season 3*: Lord Debling, Lord Stirling, Lady Arnold, Lord Anderson, Francesca Bridgerton, Cressida Cowper)

-Community: Professor Ian Duncan, Jeff Winger, Abed Nadir, Britta Perry , Annie Edison, Troy Barnes

-Impractical Jokers: Joe Gatto, Sal Vulcano, James Murray, Brian Quinn

-Supernatural: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Destiel (will not do Wincest or Wincestiel)

-X-files: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, MSR

-BBC Sherlock (only JohnLock)

-Good omens (only Ineffable husbands)

-Hannibal (only Hannigram)

(Any other characters im open to! Just PM me to see if I know the fandom/media they’re in, or rec with a few options! I’ll ignore if I don’t know them <;3)

I will write: A bit ooc (depends on scenario 🤭), fluff, smut, small-ish age gap, AU’s, non romantic pairings, alternate endings, fem!/gn!/afab!reader, character x reader, character x character

I won’t write: Male!/nonbinary!/trans!reader (im a cis female so I will write gender neutral reader if requested, but most fics (unless specified) were written with a fem reader in mind :)), incest, underage reader (or character), dub/non-con

Thanks for reading! Feel free to PM requests if you aren’t comfortable sending them through the question button or want to work through the request :)

[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"

[serving-saucy-fanfics]

Heyy ,genuine question. Are you going to write that Jim Gordon x stripper reader? Cause I've been waiting 😞💕

(It's hard to find Jim Gordon x gn/male reader so this idea really took my eye. )

That's all, ty💗!!

I'm still recovering from Kinktober, I'll try my best to only write when I actually want to 😭

also when I gain back my energy, the first things I'll try to get done are the sequels for two things I started last month

So the Jim fic, while already started, will eventually be published, but maybe not even this year yet 💙

Still trying to balance his morals with the fact that I do want there to be some intimacy between the reader & him 😚

[lolawritesfanfic]

Masterlist

writing styles:

oneshot-💌

angst-💥

fluff-🎀

lemon/smut-🍋

drabble-💝

story-❤️

Yandere-🔪

Yandere Boys:

-Peter YB

❤️🎀🔪-Peter is jealous of Duke TK thinking TK and the princess reader are dating.

🔪-Prince Peter x Female Princess Reader- The reader is forced into an arranged marriage with Peter they aren't happy with it, Neither is Peter until they see the reader and see it as love at first sight and starts becoming yandere for them and will stop at nothing to have them even killing their bloodline so they have to get married sooner and becoming King not just of the kingdom but of them too.

🎀-Prince Peter x Princess Reader-Peter finds the reader crying in the garden, the princess doesn't know why she's crying but mostly thinks she's not good enough and peter comforting.

🔪💌-Prince Peter Blackmailing Princess's reader's family to get her to marry him.

💌💝🔪-4 suitors (Peter YB, John Doe, SunnyDay Jack, Alan Orion) fighting to win over the princess's heart.

-John Doe

-SunnyDay Jack

-Alan Orion

-Tate Frost

-Delivery Guy

-Damon

Supernatural:

-Dean Winchester

-Sam Winchester

-Castiel

-Crowley

-Gabriel

-Chuck (God)

Marvel:

-Steve Rogers

-Tony Stark

-Thor Odinson

-Loki Laufeyson

DC Comics:

-Batman

-Joker (Nickels, Ledger, Leto, Joaquin)

-Penguin

-Harley Quinn

-Catwoman

-Bane

Gotham Tv show:

-Alfred Pennyworth

-Bruce Wayne

-Jim Gordon

-Harvey Bullock

-Victor Zsasz

-Oswald Cobblepot

-Edward Nygma

-Carmine Falcone

-Salvatore Maroni

-Fish Mooney

-Butch Gilzean

Ouran High School Host Club:

-Tamaki Suoh

-Kyoya Ootori

-Hikaru Hitachiin

-Karuo Hitachiin

-Hikaru and Karuo Hitachiin

-Takashi Morinozuka

-Mitsukini Huninozuka

-Haruhi Fujioka

-Basanova

-Nekozawa

-Renge Houshakuji

Horror Slashers:

-Micheal Myers

-Jason Voohees

-Freddy Krueger

-Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins)

-Hannibal Lecter (Mads Mikkelson)

-Chucky and Tiffany

Orange is the new black:

-Sam Healy

-Desi Piscartella

-George Mendez

-John Bennett

-Joe Caputo

Yandere Simulator:

-Ayano Aishi

-Ayato Aishi

-Umeji Kizuguchi

-Gaka Hikitsuri

-Hohuto Furukizu

-Dairoku Surikizu

-Hayanari Tsumeato

-Tiru Sutiriku

Bully Scholarship Edition:

-Derby Harrington

-Gary Smith

-Bif Taylor

-Chad Morris

-Gord Vendome

-Derby Harrington and Johnny Vincent

-Tad Spencer

Disney villains

-Gaston Legume

💝🔪-https://www.tumblr.com/lolawritesfanfic/769350242091008000/yandere-gaston-x-female-reader?source=share

Requests are open for more characters. give me time to do my research if I don't know them and add them to the list. Enjoy reading.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

One Way or Another

by Brie_cheese0830 Living in Gotham is difficult, Y/N is a new detective for Gotham PD, highly skilled and good at what she does, and Jim Gordon asks her for help on a new case. A spree of missing residents and no traces of their whereabouts, the only thing she didn't expect was to be working with Batman, a man she believed to be not real. Words: 1360, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, The Batman (Movie 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M Characters: Bruce Wayne, Battinson - Character, Jim Gordon, Original Male Character(s) Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Reader, Batman/Reader Additional Tags: Angst, gloomy, no physical description of reader, x Reader, Protection, bruce does not know how to express emotions, reader is bit of a loner, quiet!Reader, Reader-Insert, Kissing in the Rain, lower class reader, all bruce wants to do is keep you safe, Murder, reader helps batman, Post-The Batman (Movie 2022), Slow Burn, No Smut, Murder Mystery, Bruce Wayne Falls first and falls harder, deTECTIVE READER via https://ift.tt/Qv6H5pK

[parkmin-ah]

« How can normal people will be so cute and sexy just like he. Even when he smile or laughs »😳💜💜

Like or reblog if u save babe 💜

[cainismydaddy]

Fuuuuck, I need some smut

Someone please just give me some good Victor Zsasz smut with plot. With more than one chapter please.

[jeromesxreader16]

Let Gotham Burn

I lean back with my tablet propped up against my legs sketching a new floor plan for a house my company bought and are going to flip it. Suddenly my assistant rushes in with no words. “You need to see this!” He turns on my flatscreen and switches over to the station streaming from Gotham City.

“Buildings exploding! We can’t possibly go there! The convention is going to be cancelled!” I look closer to watch the live news feed. Then I hear the smooth voice of honey entering my ears. “Tick tock Gotham. You’re on my watch.”

The camera stayed on his being. Pale skin, flashing eyes that bore holes into your soul. If you started to long at him he would be able to see your entire story. He learned from the best of course. “Harley are you listening? You need to call-” “Pack the car. I’m leaving tonight.” My assistant laughs thinking I’m joking, but I’m deadly serious.

“Do as I say or you’re fired. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself. Now go.” I speak calmly standing up and making myself a sweet drink. I stare at the TV smirking. “See you soon J.”

--

I knock on the next desk to mine lightly. “Excuse me.” a boy with round glasses, red hair, and innocent eyes look to meet mine. “Yes?” He asks in a shaky manor. I smile sweetly at him. “Your bookbag is caught on your chair. I didn’t want you to get stuck.” The boy looks down at his bag adjusting the strap out of the bars. “Thank you.” He quickly says getting back to his work.

I scoot closer to him. “My name is Harleen. Harleen Frances Quinzel.” I stick my hand out for his. “Jeremiah.” “Just Jeremiah?” He nods his head quickly. “Alright. Well it’s nice to meet you just Jeremiah.” He smiles taking my hand and shaking it firmly. “You too Harleen.”

--

The red haired boy and I were inseparable since that day. No matter where we were we’d always find eachother. Went on for a long time as friends, but we both knew deep in our hearts we were meant to be something bigger. As I lay my head in his lap looking up at the stars I catch him staring down at me. “Whatcha doing there J? You’re missing the beautiful stars!” He smiles pushing a strand of my hair away. “I’m looking at the most beautiful star there is.” I giggle pushing off of him. “Such a sap. Can’t say I don’t love it though!”

“Oh look Harley!” A shooting star flies across the night sky. “I wish… to never leave you, and were separated. Let madness take over until we’re together once again.” Jeremiah let out a chuckle. “That’s a good one. Let’s hope you don’t get any crazier.” I flip my hair laughing. “It would only be for the better darling.”

--

So here I am today. Walking in a graveyard all lonesome. I hear sirens blaring all over the city. His crew comes up to me screaming and laughing like crazy people. I look at them rolling my eyes, but allowing them to take me hostage knowing they’ll lead me straight to him, and as my thoughts come to ring true I feel my blood pumping as they sit me in a chair waiting to get torchered.

Blood staining the cold concrete below my feet. “You guys should really learn how to keep a cleaner work space. Geez. You’d think a pack of monkeys would be living here… Oh wait…” I laugh looking at them. They start to get louder and louder until another voice emerges.

“Let me take a look at this one!” a blonde comes into view with face looking like… just like a face you want to punch.

She walks around me then smirks. “Take her to the grinder.” the minions grab me and start to drag me away. “Whoa wait a fucking minute!” This caught her attention making her look at me with her little clown mask. “Hey you. Yeah clown bitch listen to me!” I shimmy out of their hold and stand in front of the blonde. I walk around her smiling sanely. “I’m the only one who gets the wear that mask.” I whip my knife out and stab her in the stomach several times until she falls to the ground motionless.

I pick up her mask looking at her face. “Not even that pretty. Come on man!”

“Not as pretty as you I will say. Not as sane either. Got on my nerves rather quickly. She’s not the right… fit.” I look up the rusted stairwell to see him standing there proudly examining my work. “Then why’s you pick her huh? See this? Trash!” I grab the mask tossing it the the side at his followers. “Seems I got exactly what I wanted. Just another playing card that was run out.” I make my way up the steps as he comes halfway down meeting me.

“Hello Harley.” “Hey there J.”

His hand come out and pushes me against the metal bar trapping me. “And may the world go insane.” J smashes his lips against mine pushing all the lost time into one kiss.

“This is Harley. Harley this is everyone. Call them your subjects if you want. This is your queen everyone! Respect her or that…(Points at Echo) will be your outcome. Now follow love, we’ve got much to relish in.”