GOTHAM X READERS

EFFORT [JEROME VALESKA]

Living in Gotham had never been easy, and some of your friends wondered why you would stay there despite all the crime, corruption, and being in some level of danger every day. You knew it might have sounded crazy, and it probably was — but you still thought of Gotham as your home, as flawed as it was.

This particular night had been a long day at work, and your boss had set you free two hours past your regular work time. He had done that a lot lately, whipping his workers to the edge, threatening to fire you if you dared to complain. So when you got home and kicked your shoes off and hung your coat into the closet, you felt at peace for the first time for hours.

You went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge and took out the lemonade jug you had had sitting there for a few days now, sniffing it before shrugging - good enough. You poured it into the glass, adding some ice before chucking the lemonade down your dry throat. You let out a breath after swallowing, and watched the lights sprawling through your home street.

"Rough day, doll?" a voice drawled from the darkness of your living room, and you spun around, throwing the glass before even looking at the intruder — you knew exactly who it was. That fiery-haired boy had been following you for weeks, enough for you to see nightmares with his voice. You'd recognise it from anywhere.

And sure enough, it was him. He dodged the glass easily as it hurled into the wall behind him. He lounged on your couch, clearly anticipating you throwing something but he laughed anyway. "Woah, you have an odd way to greet your guests."

"Jerome," you growled, lifting the lemonade jug for protection. "What are you doing here?"

He stood up, smoothing out his jacket. "I saw your boss shouting at you today. Not very nice of him. I'm planning to give him a talk later, but I first wanted to check on you."

"Fuck you! Get out of my house!" you shouted, waving the lemonade jug at him.

He pouted at you. "Am I really that unwelcome here? But I made all this effort to find you, to get into your apartment — I could get used to hanging out here occasionally, if you let me."

You ignored it, turning to your bag for your phone, but Jerome reached you with a few quick strides, taking a hold of your wrist and pried the lemonade jug away from you, placing it on the counter. "Ah, ah, ah. Let's not make this difficult. We could have so much fun, you wouldn't want the police involved in our fun, would you?"

You tried to pull your wrist off his hold, but he just tightened his hold. You took a step closer to him. "Let me go, or I will make sure your balls will never again function."

He tilted his head. "I just want to get to know you better."

You tried to struggle yourself free as you seethed, "The feeling isn't mutual."

His smile disappeared for a moment. "That's not very nice to say. I've been watching you for weeks. I know every little quirk and habit of yours. Doesn't my effort mean anything to you?"

"You're sick."

His grip tightened again for a moment before he slowly let go, and you pulled your hand back as soon as his grip loosened enough, rubbing the red marks he left on you. He stepped back and sighed. "You know, you aren't the first person to tell me that, and won't be the last either."

You took one more step further from him, your spine colliding with your kitchen counter. "What do you want from me? Why me?"

His grin returned immediately, trapping you in between himself and the counter. At that moment, you wished you would have been one of the people they experimented with in Arkham, that you could just... melt through the floor to escape, or something like that. He lifted his hand, caressing your cheek. "Isn't it obvious? I want to study you. I want to learn what makes you tick. Why aren't you like the others, others are boring but you... you're like a puzzle. And I love puzzles."

Your gaze jumped around the kitchen as you tried to make up a way to get past him. The kitchen knife was tucked away with your cutting board next to the sink, and your phone was still in your bag over your shoulder, but with Jerome so close that you could almost feel his breath... not a chance.

"S-stay away from me," you stuttered out, grimacing internally at your attempt to sound brave. "I-I mean it, I'm, I'm going to get you locked up, I..."

He pouted again, cupping your chin. "Oh, doll. It's cute how innocent you are sometimes, do you really think the police will find me? Or if they even bother looking properly just for you? Have you forgotten where you live?"

You swallowed, knowing he was right. The police wouldn't have time to protect you like that, you weren't important in any way.

"My friends will notice if I disappear," you squeaked out, and he hummed.

"That's the best part of it. The thrill of being chased. But don't worry doll, I'm not here to take you away. Not tonight, anyway." He took a step back again, and looked around. "But I see you're in no mood of company today, so I'd better get going. Your boss waits for me anyway, that warehouse is cozy for me but for my guests, it's... less cozy."

He walked to the door, and you stared at him as he went. You finally found a piece of courage, and asked, "What are you going to do with him?"

He turned to you slightly, raising his eyebrows. "Your boss? Well, let's just say... he may not come to work tomorrow. Or ever, depending on my mood. Don't be too surprised if that happens, he needs to learn that my doll deserves some respect."

Your heart jumped, and before you even had time to consider it, you took two steps towards him. "Jerome, I may lose my job if you kill him. And I can't pay my rent, or bills, or food if that happens."

He looked at you, and smirked. "Leave all that up to me. Just sit tight, all of your worries will be gone by tomorrow."

Before you could reply, he was out, his steps echoing in your stairwell — and even when you knew it was wrong, you were unable to dash after him and plead with him to not kill your boss. You just stood there frozen and only went back inside when you heard the stairwell door close. You closed your door with a soft click and leaned against it, taking in deep breaths.

You knew you should call the police. Or even one of your friends. Tell someone. You knew it, but yet you just stood there like an idiot. A thought that filled your head, that you should just let him do it. It was true that your boss was being unfair, forcing you to work like slaves. Overtime without bonuses, knowing his workers wouldn't be able to afford to get fired. And his superiors didn't care about it. As long as money was pouring in, your boss was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

So maybe... this was a way out. Maybe you should just let Jerome do what he will to the boss. And it wasn't like you knew which warehouse he was talking about, there were hundreds in Gotham. You could just pretend to be shocked when the news rang out about what happened.

You knew it was still wrong, and it may be that this was exactly what Jerome was after, but you couldn't help it, the feeling of finding a way out.

So, you closed your eyes for a moment before you straightened up and made your way to the couch, moving it to clean the shattered glass from the floor — and you found yourself being intrigued about his next visit, even when you tried to shoo yourself from thinking about it.