Gotham Imagines

Russian Roulette

Jerome x Reader

The Maniax. You had been a part of their little gang since the very beginning, when you were stuck with the group that was busted out of Arkham by the notorious Theo Galavan. It didn't turn out all that bad; after all, anything is better than the asylum. So under the control of the obviously corrupt businessman, in a sky-high apartment with five other psychos and an assassin...you found a home.

Almost immediately you found the presence of Barbara and Tabitha a comfort. They spoke on the same level as you, and you three tended to stick together, despite the bothersome presence of Dobkins, Helzinger, Greenwood, and...Valeska. Jerome had pushed you past your breaking point several times during attempts to get to know you, make you laugh, or worst...flirt with you.

Normally, you didn't mind too much when people spoke with you, but Jerome's crazy energy was downright irritating. Bothersome. Aggravating. His relentless jabber, smiling, and - oh god - the laughter. In your mind, you had Jerome pinned down as separate from the very start.

It came as no surprise to you that, one day, while flipping through the pages of a magazine on the common room couch by the fire, Jerome enters the room in a silky red robe and plunks down in the chair across from you.

"What is it, Valeska?" you drone.

"Oh nothing, I was just wondering if you Y/N would like to walk down to the gun rage with me."

You raised your eyebrows at him with a look that says, really?

"Flattering, I know. So...whatya say?"

"I think..." you get up and toss the magazine down onto the cushion, beginning to sashay across the room, "...you're good with guns. Try aiming one at your head."

His smile only widens. "Anything for you, gorgeous." You can hear his footsteps move through the room and you pause in the doorway, waiting to see what he's up to. His hand slides into a box on the floor, and it emerges with an average six-barreled pistol. "How many shots?" he starts, removing all bullets but one. "One? Two?"

Your lips are drawn into a smirk. "Three, and...I'll let you kiss me."

"You're on, sunshine," Jerome challenges with a daring grin on his face.

He brings the gun up to his chin and fires once. It's a blank.

"Easy as pie," he concludes, this time aiming the gun, upside down, underneath the apple of his cheek and shooting an nothing but empty cartridge.

"Oh, and Y/N..." he says, shoving the gun one last time up against his temple. "I'm glad you chose to kiss me."

You narrow your eyes and watch as his finger inches ever so slowly towards the trigger. The shot rings out loud and you wince, but open your eyes only to find Jerome, alive and well, dropping the pistol carelessly on the floor.

Before the gun even clatters onto the hardwood, Jerome's lips are forced upon yours. And for the first time...you don't mind.