CAMERON MONAGHAN IMAGINES

King and Queen. (Jerome)

The pang of gunshots should sting your eardrums, but it brings a fire to your stomach. It's an insatiable burning that no one can withdraw from you. With the beastly hunger for wealth, you frighten the strangers to their knees by firing a rifle in the air. "Get down, I don't need to shoot you in the head, okay? Too many brains for Gotham to clean." You sarcastically remark, soaking in their yellow faces. It's the kind of sickly color, that shows their unchangeable emotion.

"Y/N! There's a civilian coming in! Should I shoot?" You minion huffs, with a hunch into the window blinds.

The hordes of cops outside make your escape a challenge, but a civilian coming in? It's possible that you're being set up. "Q, Don't shoot unless he takes a gun out. Come stand in front of me." You obnoxiously smack your purple gum, which matches the rest of your violet and silver apparel. 

Your human shield races to you, hopping over crowded families and disgruntled working class men. You shadow his body, raising a silver eyebrow, awaiting your visitor. The revolving doors are across the way about 15 ft, but they're tinted too far to know when someone is approaching; until the doors start to move.

In an impulse decision, you take possession of an elderly man, posing him as a second shield.

The creases in his face shrivel harder at the feeling of you hoisting his stiff joints to your service. You blow a bubble, popping it between Q, and the old man's ears. "Hey old man." You smile, massaging one of his shoulders. "You lived a long while anyway. It's your time." Hopefully, he can feel the wild grin lifting your cheeks. You finish off the massage with a hard pat, and his weak knees crumble a little. The adrenaline must've been flowing through his feeble body, because he was able to bring himself back up before you went to catch him.

In that moment, the black doors twist, unleashing the light of the moon. The silenced bank-goers suppress their delicate screams to a mumble when you twist back at them them with wide eyes.

Tempoed claps pounding from the civilians hands make you turn in the right direction.

"I know a good joke when I see one."

The all-too-familiar villain of the city slow claps in your favor, approaching you. His condescending posture has never been appealing to your dominant nature. A big chin and chiseled jawline, spine always points upright. It's unsettling, knowing someone is as sinister as you.

You mash your hands between the human shields, pushing the elderly man to the floor. A few bank goer's catch him while others just tear a hole in their lungs, gasping for air. 

"Jerome." Even your gum can't cover the bitter taste from speaking his name. 

Before you have time to mouth off, he lifts a finger from his pocket and holds it to your purple lips. "I was going to say that you're the joke."

Confident as ever, Jerome uses only his green eyes to look down at you.

"Get out of my territory." You spit, leaning back on a heel.

Trying to keep his composure, Jerome combs the ceiling with his eyes, taking a big breath. "I was allowed in here today because I'm supposed to get you out of this." His expression changes to a vicious grin. "Or something like that."

A beast awakens beneath your feet, rising to your throat. "You'll take nothing." You ascend up on your tippy toes to get in his face. His confident persona doesn't let down. He sighs, scanning the room.

Jerome gently pushes you back by your collar bones. "Listen." He says, squinting his eyes. "You may think you're hot shit being the Queen of Chaos, but I'm the King. So I'm going to do my work here, so I can walk out with some cash and no bullet holes."

He never asks or gives you choice. Jerome does what he wants. Which is why your once fantastic partnership was torn apart. "You will do nothing. These people are mine. This money is mine." You wave a hand at your minion carrying a sack of money.

The people flattened out on the ground grow restless, making small comments regarding your banter.

Jerome pauses as if in a state of confusion. He stands back, biting his lower lip, pondering something. "The money may be yours and so are the people, yet no one has you." He takes an unnecessarily long stride at you, colliding with your chest. His firm palm takes a strict hold on the low arch of your back, seizing you in his possession. "Except me."

Jerome darts for your matte lips, crashing against them hard. At first, your shock holds your neck stiff, but the familiar warmth of his mouth lets you loosen up. You cock your head, moving in for more of the buttery taste.

Without a choice, something hidden deep within you emerges, opening a pandora's box of memories. Wrecking grocery stores, butchering bodies for display. It was always done in good fun. One time, you kidnapped Jim Gordon and tortured him until his mind fell unconscious. All the Gotham news stations had your faces plastered on the screen. You'd make quirky videos with Jerome, threatening the citizens of Gotham.

It may have been seconds, maybe minutes that you were kissing. The air was sucked from your lungs as the contents of the world ran away. There was no bank, there were no people, and there was no money to go after.

"GCPD! Don't move a muscle!" A swarm of men in bullet proof vests had already lined up in the room, surrounding you in a circle.

The butterflies and pixie dust vaporize. Flashbacks of physical arguments, Jerome thrashing you against the wall, and kicking your stomach until your ribs shattered. The constant disagreements over who would be best to kill. The verbal abuse about your bossy mannerisms. You too have always been toxic. "Jerome." You manage to say, depleted of any high you just had from the kiss.

Arkham is a place you've only heard wives tales about. Some people turn to zombies from electrotherapy, girls are rapes in the co-ed environment, being cooped up with psychos and all.

Jerome's cheek swipes across yours as he heads for your ear. "You had to have seen this coming." His hot breath swarms your face.

Stepping back, he smirks, holding both his palms to the ceiling as to say 'I won.'

This is when you broke.

Yanking a gun out, hidden at your hip, you pull the trigger firing the weapon through his chest. Immediately, the condescending nature of him diminishes. All hope for power is lost in his eyes, looking like a beaten puppy. He catches himself on your shoulder, but you don't let his weight bring you down. It's everything you've ever wanted. To truly win. In this moment, you control the city, and these people are yours, this money is yours. Jerome is out of the picture.

His lips parted and eyebrow arched, he falls to his knees, sliding his hand down your body. Only your head follows him down.

"You were mine." He utters, before dropping his head at your feet and his grip releases.

A moment of peace passes with silence of all hundred or so people in the building. Jerome's limp body is curled up, the back of his head displays shiny locks of red as he practically kisses your toes.

Victory. Absolute victory.

"NOW!" An officer commands and the atmosphere roars with gunfire entire your world fades to black.

-----

omg omg omg omg omg omg my friend made a painted a picture of Cameron for my birthday, posted it to instagram and Cameron liked it. 

I shat myself and cried and bled through my ears. I am not okay.

bye

9:44 a.m.

-Bambi ;)