Gotham Imagines and One Shots

Wicked woman - Victor x Reader

Victor looked around, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. The assassin watching on as she picked her way through the chaos. Not a single bullet had left his gun, but still eight men lay dead. The smoke from both the barrels of her weapons still drifting up into the air, as (Y/n) kicked over one man and put a final well placed projectile between his eyes, for as she always said, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Now, credit where credit was due, and as Victor didn't do this often, he believed this fact made the praise all the better...........she was good. No, not just good..........amazing. What this wicked woman that he had fallen head over heels for couldn't do with a weapon, wasn't worth knowing. For it wasn't just guns that she could kill with, oh no, that would make her just like any other killer on the streets of Gotham. No, she could kill with anything. Victor able to recall one job, where she had used a dinner plate. Her victim staggering around for a moment with the fine bone China dining ware sticking out of his forehead, before dropping stone cold dead in front of her; and Victor had to admit that it was a huge turn on. The hired killer watching as she stepped over the dead bodies so that she could get to him. Her hand reaching up and brushing a droplet of blood from his pale cheek.

"Well, I think that we are all done here, and I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I skipped breakfast for these idiots. And one should never kill on an empty stomach." (Y/n) said, as she placed her hands on Victor's chest. A smile pulling at the corners of her lips, as she felt his arms wrap themselves around her waist.

Victor would happily admit that every time he watched her work, he became hungry for something, but it wasn't food. (Y/n) had a wicked streak a mile long, and a style and grace about her when she killed that made his mind race. It was like watching a prima ballerina perform when she did a job. But instead of it being Odile, the black swan, it was (Y/n) pirouetting and leaping gracefully across the stage of their latest crime scene. Zsasz always sure that he should clap and have her curtsy when all of her victims were dead. That he should throw roses onto the floor in front of her and call out for an encore.

He had often even compared her to an artist. The kind of artist whose work hung on the wall of Gotham Museum of Art. The kind of artist that created a masterpiece that would inspire others for years to come. But instead of a brush, (Y/n) used a weapon. And her medium was blood. Victor sure that if she was given half a chance, she would recreate the Sistine Chapel ceiling with internal organs. The creation of Adam created using the small intestines. The male assassin only able to imagine with a subtle smile, what the likes of Bullock and Gordon made of what she left behind.

As soon as he had met her, she had made an impression. Admittedly, he hadn't liked the idea of her being sent on that first job with him, Victor feeling as though his skills were being called into question. Yet that smile as they made their way through the streets of the dark and damp city............that smile spoke volumes. And the glint in her eye was pure wickedness. Zsasz finding himself looking forward to seeing what she could do. How this beautiful, wicked woman would perform. And he most certainly hadn't been disappointed. Sure, that if you looked up the definition of poetry in motion, there would be a picture of (Y/n) right next to it. His heart beating at a rapid pace, as she had walked towards him that first time. A spatter of blood and devilish smile spread across her face. Her lips connecting with his in a passionate, lust filled kiss. And ever since then, well, that had sort of been their routine. They would kill and then, well then..................

"So.........are you hungry, my dearest Mister Zsasz..............?" (Y/n) enquired again. Her soft, sultry voice bringing him back from his thoughts. Her fingers delicately ghosting over his head, which sent a wonderful chill down his spine.

"Oh, I'm hungry............." The hitman replied with a low growl. His lips attacking her neck. Victor pushing her backwards, through the chaos. Backwards towards the bedroom that he had caught sight of earlier. Her moans spurring him on, as he continued to kiss her. His lips moving down her neck to her shoulder blade and then to the top of her breasts. The hitman moving one hand from her waist so that he could roughly squeeze her backside. His own desperate and needy moans getting louder, as he felt the palm of her hand cup his manhood and begin to move.

"Do you think we have time before the boys and girls of Gotham's finest find their way here............?" (Y/n) managed to ask, as she fell backwards onto the large bed. Victor giving her yet another lust filled look, before going right back to kissing her. To biting at her flesh. To pulling the crisp shirt and well-tailored pants from her body. A slight chuckle of amusement, leaving his lips as he thought about describing the fools that worked for the city's police as Gotham's finest. Only wishing that he could see the look on the faces of Gordon, Bullock and their ilk, if they were to walk in on (Y/n) and himself making love with the blood and bullets that lay just in the other room.

"There is always time for this. Always time for me and you." Victor replied, (Y/n) helping him to remove his gun holster, before he pulled the jacket from his shoulders. The rest of his clothes quickly following after his weapons, before he crawled over her. His lips ghosting over ear. A few words being whispered before the room was filled with the sounds of yearning and desire.

"You will always be my wicked woman...................."