Imagines book for Jerome Valeska and Jeremiah Valeska. Requests are open. Jerome, Jeremiah and any other characters from Gotham all belong to the writers.

Rule #1: No one will lay a hand on you and live. Rule #2: Never do anything that will sacrifice yourself for me. Rule #3: Only we are in charge here. --------------------------------------------- She didn't know what she needed, only she what she didn't need. "It's not my fault you fell in love with me. The rule was not to, but you broke that one easily," Jeremiah mumbled under his breath. She kissed him deeply on the lips without a thought of hesitation passing through her mind. Jeremiah looked at his hand that was stained and dampened with her blood, and that made him tremble and mutter words uncontrollably. --------------------------------------------- Will be under editing when completed!

Rule #1: Don't fall in love with your master. Rule #2: You are nothing but a servant. Rule number #3: He is always in control. ------------------------------------------------------ "Don't move," he said to (Y/n) when she unwrapped arms from his neck. "Don't touch her," he mumbled. (Y/n) and everyone else jumped when the gun went off. Her cheeks were a soft red, her eyes were widened, her heart was racing, and strands of her hair covered her face, in which Jeremiah brushed to the side with his fingers that weren't pressing against the ground. "Where is (Y/n), Wayne? Hm? You are here because of the offer I asked for," Jeremiah snapped back. ------------------------------------------------------ "I'm in charge now," she whispered when lifting up his chin with a sly smile. -------------------------------------------------------- Story is still on plot yet scenes are mixed up slightly. Under editing as well.

A tale of psychotic love... Because even maniacs have feelings. No matter how grisly they are.

He was infatuated. So was she, but not with him.

Maybe it's the metal clamped to my sore flesh, begging to tear through my bandages. Maybe it's the wild grin imprinting itself on the inside of my eyelids, like the Cheshire Cat. Whatever it may be, I sure as hell know I've never compromised to myself so drastically. Nor have I beat myself down to a lull just to believe that the possibility of forgetting my parents faces is very real. In order to stay sane, I must brainwash myself of my hopes for a happy existence.