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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

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THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

#birds of prey #birds of prey fic #roman sionis x original female character #ch: varya astakhova #ch: roman sionis #ch: victor zsasz #roman sionis/original female character #my writing #fic: the land of gods & devils #me sweating profusely posting this #i am really excited about this though and i want to really really thank everyone who has been supportive of me pursuing this!!!!#creeping up on varya's birthday and also the one year anniversary of CYT making me super emo #<3 <3 <3

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the-mandalorian-clone-lover · 3 years

Text

Masterlist

Hey everyone! So, somehow, I have talked myself into making a Masterlist of my writing (mostly to keep track of Aces in Spaces but now that I’m posting some of my other writing as well I figured it was for the best. HUGE thank you to @housekenobi for the headers I am absolutely in love with them.

Author notes are on each fic, these are just links to them.

Soft Reading (Oberyn x Fem!Reader in an established relationship, he’s reading to you on a warm night after you’ve had a rough day)

Help by way of a Flower (Oberyn x Fem!Reader in an establisted relationship, he wants to help you when you suffer with writers block)

Welcome Home (Agent Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x fem!Reader, he’s just come back from a 3 month mission)

New Beginnings (Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x Reader, he's made the decision to give up being an agent, and he has a little surprise for you too)

Jack Daniels Vs John Wayne (Agent Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels x reader, little bit of found family, lot bit of fluff, spending a day with Jack and watching movies)

Shenanigans (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set toward the very beginning of the war, reader is 12 and proud to be earning scars in battle, fluff)

Rescue and Safety (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set mid-warish, reader is about 14, mention of the Bad Batch from the Clone Wars show, reader goes to a sleepover and it doesn’t quite go as planned. Turns out Dad General Kenobi has a plan to help)

Warm Familiarity (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, Set in during the war, reader is 14 and has started a routine with the troopers that Obi-Wan is unaware of, codywan is less than a squint away and lots of fluff)

Slow Reflections (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, Set during the war, reader is 15 and feeling very introspective. Obi-Wan is a typical dad and distracts, Cody spills the tea, more codywan cause they should get to be happy, fluff)

Mutual Comfort (Platonic Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Fem!Reader, comforting each other after Order 66 by retelling old stories to help you both laugh, reader is about 16)

Comfort and Reconciliation (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set on Tatooine, and how Cody came to find them after leaving the Empire, reader is 17, fluff)

Old Beginnings and New Endings (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set on Tatooine, several years after Cody returned, another companion comes to find out small family, reader is 21, fluff)

Mind Ones Own Business (Platonic Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set on Tatooine, Obi being a parent, Cody being a Fun parent, set a few days after Old Beginnings and New Endings, as always, fluff)

The family we know (and the feelings we don't) Pt. 1 (Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set on Tatooine, Cody is meddling)

The family we know (and the feelings we don't) Pt. 2 (Obi-Wan x Padawan!Fem!Reader, set on Tatooine, Obi-Wan is also meddling

(Created by @rentskenobi ):

Alex Law and Autumn (gn reader)

Roman and Red (fem!reader for mention of a dress)

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yellow (gn reader)

Chapter 1 Erica tells Roman she is Asexual (or Erica almost panics, Roman panics back, and then they talk like adults)

Chapter 2 Roman asks Erica about sharing her Asexuality (or, Butcher learns Roman can sing and Roman gets embarrassed)

Chapter 3 Roman gives Butch the run down on Asexuality (or, Romans high School speech classes finally come in handy, and Butch laughs at him for being obsessed with a clicker)

Chapter 4 Erica and Roman go for a walk and find unexpected things (or, Roman learns that sometimes dates can be just feeling grass and listening)

Chapter 5 Roman visits the support group along with Butch (or, Roman does extensive research, and Butch gets a date for his (lack of) trouble)

Chapter 6 Roman and Erica have a late night adventure (or, ice cream makes everything better even nightmares)

Chapter 7 Erica finds out about the support group and Roman has some things to explain (or, Erica learns that not every man is the same)

Chapter 8 Erica gets to go to the support group herself (or, Erica learns that she's not the only one Roman is positively affecting)

Chapter 9 Roman and Erica join Butcher and Hannah for a double date (or, Roman uselessly refuses to wear cowboy boots and spins the entire night looking at his wife girlfriend)

Chapter 10 Butcher and Hannah go on a date of their own (or, Hannah steals a piece of fabric that she feels should belong to her anyway)

Chapter 11 Roman and Erica celebrate their 7th month anniversary and Butcher does something Erica doesn't expect (but does appreciate) (Or, Butch finally gets to throw hands for Aces and Erica gets to be protected)

Chapter 12 Erica says something to Roman that he’s thrilled to hear (or, Erica says her first I love you)

Chapter 13 Erica puts into words what she meant to say the first time (or, Erica is equally if not more sappy than Roman and it's all the Legos™ fault)

Chapter 14 Roman and Erica take another step in their relationship (or, Roman commits the great scandal of nearly ordering Chinese food instead of tacos, and Erica has no problem laughing at him)

Chapter 15 Butcher has a question for Hannah this time (or the two of them shipping other ppl finally spilled over into being shipped themselves)

Chapter 16 Roman and Erica have a discussion and keep trusting each other (or both of them are awkward about moving in together and Erica's boss is an adorable grandpa)

Chapter 17 Roman and Erica have their first sleepover at Roman’s house (or Roman advocates spilling tea and having soft slow mornings because he isn't awake yet)

Chapter 18 Erica has to face her fear, and Roman has to help her through it (or, Erica acts like she had a breakup by way of nearly shaving her head, and Butcher decides cake and singing are the way to fix it)

Chapter 19 Butcher and Hannah reflect on one of their favorite days together (or, Butcher almost cried again because he's soft and Hannah is even now plotting another favorite day)

Chapter 20 Roman and Erica trust each other on a new level (or Erica plays videogames too much and Roman is an innocent church lady)

Chapter 21 Erica has to face one of her fears and learns something about her relationship with Roman (or, An old guy won't take a hint, Butch Isn't Gonna Take It™, and Roman wishes he had a codeword)

Chapter 22 Roman asks Erica about marriage again (or Roman likes reminding Erica he'll love her forever and Erica wants to know what rotten potatoes have to do with that)

Chapter 23 Roman learns again that as much as Erica is trusting him, he's trusting her more (or Erica deals with someone breaking and entering in a nice way and Roman frets over nothing)

Chapter 24 Erica and Roman are doing more business things, and Erica decides she's had about enough (not of Roman, though he is about to faint from shock)

Chapter 25 Roman and Erica get into aggressive negotiations around their fifth year anniversary and Butcher is fanboying so hard (or, Erica decides all at once and has always known she'd marry Roman and Butch tries to get them to stand still long enough to make it official)

Chapter 26 Pt. 1 2 3

#masterlist #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #oberyn x reader #aces in spaces #original fic #some original characters #nobody look please #moodboards #obi-wan kenobi x reader #roman sionis x reader #alex law x reader #headcannons #stories #platonic pairing #codywan

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what-the--curtains · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Betrayal

TW: Violence, abuse, blood, swearing

Author's Note: Yes the baddie is Roman from Birds of Prey. SUE ME! Also sorry the formatting is Wild, I can’t get into my account via my laptop so im posting all these on mobile RIP.

Songs inspiring the Chapter

After making his way off the ice path of doom and safely removing Peter's arm from the branch confining it, the three Avengers make their way back to the Tower.

“Wanda who was that?” Peter asks, but before she can respond Tony storms into the room.

“I cannot believe you let her get away, seriously three versus one?” he quips.

“First off,” Steve begins “she wasn’t alone, secondly she has powers, and thirdly she knows Wanda.”

“We went to school together at Xaviers.” Wanda responds calmly

“So she’s like you then?” Peter asks “A mutant?”

“Ya, she has elemental control.”

“Sick!” Peter whispers

“Someone call Nat, get her look into…” Tony pauses “Wait. What was her name?”

“She went by (Y/N) back at school, but the guy in the back of the van called her Eve.” Wanda explained

“Alright let’s see what we can find on her, oh and one last thing Wanda, is she dangerous? how worried should we be?”

“I honestly don’t know” Wanda replies

You roll up to the front of your headquarters, also known as Roman Enterprises. Roman was one of the city’s most notorious business men, or mobsters, if you believe what the papers were saying. He was rich, smart and narcissistic which, all in all, is a really good combination for creating a terrible person with a god complex. He thought he owned the city and honestly he kind of did. Everyone either owed him a favour or money. He was also the one who broke you out of prison, so you signed on to work with him because you felt you owed him that much. It wasn’t honest work, but it sure was lucrative and you liked nice things, so you stuck around. Maybe it was just a bad case of Stockholm syndrome, but you liked working for him. You strolled into his office exclaiming happily,

“Hey Romy baby look what I got for ya! A nice little box and a lil something ...”

You’re cut off when the palm of his hand strikes you hard across your face. Your head swings to the side. Dropping the box you turn your head back to face Roman whose eyes are filled with rage.

“HEY! What the fuck was that for? I did exactly what you wanted!” you shout dabbing your lip which had split open. Roman had roughed you up before, but he’s never hit you, not like this at least.

“Really? You did EXACTLY what I asked?” he shouts, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

“I don’t recall asking you to steal money, or asking you to remove your headset, or to square off with the goddamn avengers in the middle of the city without a MASK!” he spat.

“Jesus Romy I thought you loved money so I took some for you. I figured you wouldn’t mind, and Calvin was being incessantly annoying. As for the Avengers, well they were asking for..” you were once again cut off by Roman. He grabbed you by the throat and slammed you into the wall. His face inches away from yours.

“From now on any deviation, any misstep will be seen as an act of defiance against me” he whispers, removing his hand from your throat. You drop to the floor gasping for air. “And it only takes one phone call for me to send you back into that prison to rot!” he exclaims cheerfully. Suddenly, his body relaxes and his tone becomes almost endearing “Remember I saved you, from that terrible place and that’s why I own you and why you must do exactly what I tell you too.

You sputter out a laugh “You don’t own me, no one does.”

“ Well according to this legally binding contract, I do in fact, own you.” He states throwing a paper folder onto the table now separating the two of you and sitting down.

“The what?” you ask feeling your inner rage boil over into your voice

“Oh don’t you remember? After I saved you, you signed over your; body, soul and mind to me and my company as an act of gratitude.”

“There’s no way I signed this” you mutter reading through the document on the table you had managed to stagger to.

“Well here’s the video” a tape played of you half out of your mind signing a contract.

“Oh fuck off Roman I was so drugged up after you got me out there’s no way I knew what I was signing, so there’s no way it’ll hold up in court.” you scoff, throwing the contract into his lap and turning to leave.

“Well considering I own most courts I’d say you’re basically fucked.” He says

“Don’t forget,” he says, walking up to your back “You were nothing more than a feral mutt rotting away in a cell when I got you. You should be more thankful.” Turning you to face him he wipes a few droplets of blood off your cheek tenderly “Now go clean up no one wants to see you like this.”

He kisses your forehead before pulling out a wad of the stolen cash and throwing it at you “Buy yourself something pretty.” he says turning to go back to his desk

You walk out slowly, millions of thoughts racing through your head, but only one thing was truly clear in that moment. You had to get the fuck out of dodge.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #avengers #x-men #bucky x oc #original female character #roman sionis

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ladyxskywalker · 3 years

Text

Misc Fic Recs 💫

princessxkenobi's 1k September Celebration 🌼🍂📖

thank you to the amazing fic writers for sharing some wonderful stories with all of us ! & to the kind readers for their constant support. 💛

please be sure to check all warnings & tags before reading

nsfw & adult content will be marked with a double asterisk **

fics marked as (series) are stories with two or more parts

pairings will be listed as (gn, f, afab, m, oc, ofc, onc, ace, masc, masc gn)

everything is organized alphabetically by fandom & character to the best of my ability

(If you would like to be removed, please send me a message to let me know 🙏)

enjoy ! xo ☕

✨ Adam Driver

Paul Sevier

The Late Shift (series) by @paper-n-ashes (f!reader) **

Clyde Logan

The Proposal (series) (mob au) by @hopeamarsu (f!reader)

Draluram (series) (mandalorian au) by @clydesducktape

Paterson

Can't Erase Your Heart (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au) (soulmate au) by @clydesducktape (f!reader) **

✨ Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Of Second Sons and First Loves (series) by @starryeyedstories (f!reader)

✨ Charlie Hunnam

King Arthur

Apprentice or King by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) **

Raymond Smith

The Little Sister (series) by @rayslittlekitten (f!reader) **

✨ A Court of Thorns and Roses

Lucien

His Habits (headcanons) by @honeymandos

Tamlin

A Vernal Love (series) by @thefoxinautumn @/moriamithirl on ao3 (f!reader) **

✨ Ewan Mcgregor

Dan Torrance

Snowed In by @serkenobi (f!reader) **

Elmont (Jack the Giant Slayer)

A Knight and Princess’s Heart Entwine (series) by @stardancerluv (f!reader) **

OMC 'Roman', but not Roman Sionis

Aces in Spaces (series) by @the-mandalorian-clone-lover (ace!ofc) (this is not rpf)

✨ James Bond

Wash Away My Sins by @lilhawkeye3 (james bond x vesper lynd)

✨ The Lord of the Rings

Éomer Éadig

Homesick by @thefoxinautumn @/moriamithril on ao3 (f!reader)

✨ Marvel

Loki

Altair + Vega (series) by @steeeeeeeviebb (f!reader) **

On a Tuesday Afternoon (library au) by @blackirisposts (ofc)

✨ Narcos

Horacio Carillo

ài wū jí wū (lunar new year) by @justrunamok (ofc)

The Colonel's Woman (series) by @autumnleaves1991-blog (f!reader) **

You Keep Walking (Down the Street) by @justrunamok **

✨ Original Poetry

Coffee Flavoured Tea by @morby

Poetry by Hawk by @lilhawkeye3

✨ Raymond Leon (Cillian Murphy)

Nothing for Free (In Time 2011) by @blinder-secrets (f!reader) (submitted by @karasong)

#pxk reaches 1000 💛🌼#multi fandom #pxk fic recs 💫

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isolaradiale · 4 years

Text

Lost in Space 18

Hello, Isolans! We have conducted an activity check for the month of March!

If your character isn’t on this list, make sure to check this page to see how many stars that character has earned this month! Stars can be used for purchases at the marketplace.

The blogs that were removed from the Isola Radiale masterlist are under the cut. Note that both blogs with broken links and deactivated accounts will be included both at the top of this list and in their proper categories.

If you were removed in error, please simply send a re-application message. Several different people work on the activity checks, so it’s possible there are mistakes! If this happens to you, you will be able to keep everything you previously had, you just may be placed in a different residence.

Our general activity rules regarding checks are as follows:

Make at least three in-character posts during a calendar month (for instance, if the activity check is for January, have three in-character posts between the 1st and 31st of January).

Only one drabble and/or meme response of 300+ words counts as activity.

One-liners or minis not tagged #isola mini also do not count.

Please Note: Anyone removed during the activity check will have a 12-hour window from the time of posting to re-claim their character. Any character not reclaimed during that period will be open to the community at large.

Please send in your reapplications from the account of the character that was removed.

Broken URLs:

Roman Sionis (Black Mask) (DC COMICS)

Berserker (Minamoto no Raikou) (FATE)

Tifa Lockhart (FINAL FANTASY)

Zero (MEGA MAN)

Saeyoung Choi (707) (MYSTIC MESSENGER)

Hera Syndulla (STAR WARS)

4 CUT HERO

Zeed Toven (APARTMENT 313)

THE ADVENTURE ZONE

Roswell (HOUSE 134)

AKATSUKI NO YONA

Shinah (APARTMENT 307)

ARKNIGHTS

Silence (HOUSE 147)

ASTRO BOY

Atom (Astro) (CONDO 415)

BANG DREAM

Sayo Hikawa (CONDO 447)

BEASTARS

Haru (APARTMENT 335)

BIOSHOCK

Jack (CONDO 430)

Subject Delta (TOWNHOUSE 226)

BLAZBLUE

Hazama (APARTMENT 336)

Jubei (TOWNHOUSE 205)

Nine the Phantom (APARTMENT 334)

Noel Vermillion (TOWNHOUSE 218)

Nu-13 (TOWNHOUSE 247)

BORDERLANDS

Gaige (APARTMENT 312)

Handsome Jack (HOUSE 113)

BUNGOU STRAY DOGS

Chuuya Nakahara (TOWNHOUSE 205)

CARDCAPTOR SAKURA

Sakura Kinomoto (HOUSE 116)

CARDFIGHT!! VANGUARD

Toshiki Kai (Aichi's House [Cotes])

CLAYMORE

Priscilla (APARTMENT 317)

COWBOY BEBOP

Vicious (CONDO 407)

CRASH BANDICOOT

Nina Cortex (HOUSE 129)

DARK SOULS

Fire Keeper (APARTMENT 315)

DC COMICS

Barbara Gordon (Oracle) (APARTMENT 336)

Bart Allen (Impulse) (HOUSE 124)

Clark Kent (Superman) (CONDO 427)

Rogue (HOUSE 144)

Roman Sionis (Black Mask) (CONDO 418) *BROKEN URL

DEATH MARK

Kazuo Yashiki (HOUSE 125)

DEATH NOTE

Light Yagami (HOUSE 172)

Misa Amane (APARTMENT 365)

DISGAEA

Laharl (APARTMENT 336)

DISNEY

Prince Edward (CONDO 419)

Prince Hans (TOWNHOUSE 217)

DRAGON QUEST

Veronica (HOUSE 104)

DURARARA!!

Izaya Orihara (CONDO 467)

ENSEMBLE STARS

Eichi Tenshouin (CONDO 415)

Leo Tsukinaga (CONDO 408)

Rei Sakuma (HOUSE 175)

FATE

Alter Ego (Mecha Eli-Chan) (HOUSE 135)

Alter Ego (Meltryllis) (CONDO 441)

Archer (Emiya) (HOUSE 104)

Avenger (Antonio Salieri) (APARTMENT 332)

Berserker (Minamoto no Raikou) (TOWNHOUSE 227) *BROKEN URL

Berserker of El Dorado (Penthesilea) (CONDO 428)

Rider (Mandricardo) (HOUSE 113)

Rider of Red (Achilles) (APARTMENT 316)

Saber (Arturia Pendragon Alter) (HOUSE 141)

Saber (Charlemagne) (CONDO 403)

FINAL FANTASY

Aerith Gainsborough (CONDO 431)

Alisaie Leveilleur (HOUSE 137)

Cloud Strife (APARTMENT 306)

Garnet Til Alexandros XVII (HOUSE 115)

Livia sas Junius (HOUSE 139)

Nero tol Scaeva (HOUSE 118)

Tifa Lockhart (CONDO 416) *BROKEN URL

Warrior of Light (Scholar - Stolas Malqir) (APARTMENT 328)

FIRE EMBLEM

Panne (APARTMENT 306)

Zero (Niles) (CONDO 401)

GRANBLUE FANTASY

Drang (HOUSE 127)

Lowain (TOWNHOUSE 208)

You (HOUSE 130)

GRAVITY FALLS

Stanford Pines (CONDO 435)

GUILTY GEAR

Baiken (TOWNHOUSE 219)

Faust (HOUSE 107)

HEART NO KUNI NO ALICE

Vivaldi (APARTMENT 324)

HEROES OF OLYMPUS (PERCY JACKSON)

Nico di Angelo (HOUSE 116)

Percy Jackson (APARTMENT 315)

HOMESTUCK

Chixie Roixmr (APARTMENT 314)

Jade Harley (APARTMENT 317)

Remele Namaaq (CONDO 436)

HORIZON ZERO DAWN

Aloy (TOWNHOUSE 206)

Garry (APARTMENT 336)

IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA

Charlie Kelly (APARTMENT 344)

JOJO'S BIZARRE ADVENTURE

Giorno Giovanna (APARTMENT 353)

Trish Una (HOUSE 123)

KIMETSU NO YAIBA

Akaza (APARTMENT 367)

Inosuke Hashibira (CONDO 421)

Sabito (TOWNHOUSE 255)

Tanjiro Kamado (TOWNHOUSE 210)

KIRBY

Kirby (HOUSE 109)

KLAUS

Klaus (TOWNHOUSE 216)

THE LAST OF US

Ellie WIlliams (APARTMENT 337)

LASTMAN (LASTFIGHT)

Crystal (CONDO 407)

LEAGUE OF LEGENDS

Kindred (HOUSE 120)

Neeko (CONDO 432)

THE LEGEND OF ZELDA

Link and Ezlo (Minish Cap) (CONDO 467)

Red Link (APARTMENT 313)

THE LEGO MOVIE

Unikitty (TOWNHOUSE 201)

LETHAL LEAGUE

Switch (APARTMENT 321)

LIFE IS STRANGE

Sean Diaz (APARTMENT 324)

LOBOTOMY CORPORATION

Der Freischutz (CONDO 429)

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary (APARTMENT 318)

LORE OLYMPUS

Persephone (CONDO 418)

LUNAR KNIGHTS

Lucian (TOWNHOUSE 202)

MEGA MAN

Mega Man (APARTMENT 368)

Zero (HOUSE 175) *BROKEN URL

MYSTIC MESSENGER

Saeyoung Choi (707) (APARTMENT 367) *BROKEN URL

NARUTO

Naruto Uzumaki (Sasuke's House [Cotes])

Sasuke Uchiha (Sasuke's House [Cotes])

NO MORE HEROES

Henry Cooldown (TOWNHOUSE 268)

NO.6

Shion (TOWNHOUSE 231)

OBEY ME!

Belphegor (TOWNHOUSE 203)

ODIN SPHERE

Oswald (TOWNHOUSE 216)

OFF

Sugar (CONDO 423)

Zacharie (HOUSE 142)

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

Demyan Reyes (TOWNHOUSE 226)

Eris Kihara (APARTMENT 315)

Jem Silver (TOWNHOUSE 219)

Liu Canglong (CONDO 420)

Locke (War) (TOWNHOUSE 221)

Magistrate (CONDO 436)

Pomuri (APARTMENT 315)

Promosis (HOUSE 138)

Seiji Kazama (APARTMENT 314)

Siren (HOUSE 104)

Vic (CONDO 449)

Zack Ledger (Zack's House [Golden])

OVERWATCH

Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe (CONDO 423)

Jesse McCree (TOWNHOUSE 216)

Reinhardt Wilhelm (CONDO 470)

PERSONA

Morgana (CONDO 448)

Theodore (HOUSE 130)

Yusuke Kitagawa (APARTMENT 331)

POKEMON

Bede (CONDO 418)

Hop (APARTMENT 323)

Mewtwo (CONDO 419)

Raihan (HOUSE 143)

Yamper (APARTMENT 321)

PRECURE

Shut (APARTMENT 316)

RWBY

Dr. Bartholomew Oobleck (HOUSE 145)

Oscar Pine (CONDO 403)

Penny Polendina (CONDO 406)

Robyn Hill (TOWNHOUSE 219)

Salem (CONDO 415)

Summer Rose (CONDO 465)

SAINT SEIYA

Pisces Aphrodite (APARTMENT 333)

SALLY FACE

Sal Fisher (HOUSE 119)

SERVAMP

Licht Todoroki (HOUSE 114)

SHE-RA & THE PRINCESSES OF POWER

Catra (HOUSE 115)

SHOVEL KNIGHT

Propeller Knight (APARTMENT 307)

Shield Knight (APARTMENT 308)

SPLATOON

Pearl (CONDO 451)

SPY X FAMILY

Anya Folger (APARTMENT 324)

STAR SYSTEM

Hamegg (TOWNHOUSE 204)

STAR WARS

Hera Syndulla (APARTMENT 318) *BROKEN URL

STAR WARS

Kylo Ren (HOUSE 144)

Sabine Wren (TOWNHOUSE 215)

STEVEN UNIVERSE

Peridot (Marceline's House [Cotes])

SUFFICIENTLY ADVANCED MAGIC

Keras Selyrian (APARTMENT 305)

TALES OF

Mikleo (TOWNHOUSE 224)

Yuan Ka-Fai (HOUSE 112)

TEAM FORTRESS

The Sniper (CONDO 468)

TOKYO MEW MEW

Ichigo Momomiya (HOUSE 122)

TOUHOU

Remilia Scarlet (HOUSE 131)

Rinnosuke Morichika (HOUSE 102)

Youmu Konpaku (HOUSE 129)

WARCRAFT

Chromie (TOWNHOUSE 205)

YONA OF THE DAWN

Zeno (CONDO 462)

YURI ON ICE

Yuuri Katsuki (APARTMENT 336)

#modnote #activity check #lost in space 18

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thegreatwicked · 1 month

Text

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Under the Influence by Chris Brown

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

---

His index finger rapped against the glass of scotch, the rhythm not bound by any conventional beat but rather mirroring the erratic tempo of Roman’s internal world. He listened intently to the audio from Belladonna's police interview. He’d lost track of how many times he’d replayed it, too many to count. He was fixated in particular on replaying the moments where Belladonna described her understanding of their relationship on an endless loop.

“Roman only cares about himself. You’re nothing to him.”

His lip curled up each time he listened to Ramirez’s bold assertions. Just who the fuck did he think he was? Every word that he spoke only egged on Roman’s more violent intrusive thoughts, every little dig at Belladonna, every attempt to rile her up and his index finger tapped a little harder on the glass. But then Belladonna’s voice came over the recording and his tempo returned to its earlier calm but odd tempo.

“I know.”

"I'm not stupid—maybe a little starry-eyed, but not stupid. I see the score. And you’re right, men like Roman don't fall in love; but they do dip their toes in it for a bit. I get it. Sooner or later, he'll move on, find someone more exciting, someone willing to do things I won't. And when that day comes, I'll thank him for the good times and go my own way."

Then his tapping stopped altogether, and his grip on the glass relaxed so much it nearly slipped from his hand.

“And what if he doesn’t let you go that easy?”

"Life's short—last year sure hammered that home. If Jimmy's fate tells us anything, it's that nothing's guaranteed. Not today, not tomorrow. So, until my clock runs out, I'm going to enjoy every second I can, and right now, I’m enjoying them with Roman. He makes me feel alive."

He grinned at that last part, so he made her feel alive, huh? Funny, he usually had the exact opposite reaction on people.

He’d had more than a few run screaming from his presence when he lost his temper, when the mask of the confident club owner slipped and the monster beneath it peaked out, eyes burning and frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. One way or another, none of them had what it took to handle a man like him, though to be fair, he’d never been terribly interested in women as anything more than a means to let out some pent-up frustrations, and they didn’t always enjoy it either. He wasn’t a gentle lover. That wasn’t to say Roman ever forced anyone to do anything they didn’t want to, he wasn’t one of those types.

Women were a fickle thing that he never understood, like most men, and he’d seen them all. The starry-eyed naive girls hoping to bring out a softer side to him, the wanna-be she-doms who thought they could control him, what a laugh. The ones that insisted they could be everything he wanted and meet his every desire, not in his experience. There had even been a few crazies who’d insisted they could match his particular brand of insanity, but Roman had time and time proved to be too much for even them to handle and in the end, they were just words.

He’d listened to the interview a handful of times since returning to the penthouse with Belladonna, long after the doc had told him to sit down and wait, there wasn’t anything else Roman could do apart from look like a lovesick puppy at her bedside. And he sure as shit wasn’t about to do that, though it didn’t stop him from occasionally putting down the recorder and wandering into the room to look at her.

He'd managed to keep his visits under five, and he certainly didn’t sit by her bedside, or rather his bed all weepy-eyed clutching her hand, no he simply stood in the doorway like a respectable psychopath, thank you very much. At least, he’d started out that way. With each visit he found himself drawn a little closer into the room but it had been hours since their return, and every time he looked at her, his gut twisted into tighter knots. She looked like a rag doll, her olive skin unnaturally pale and sickly—a sight that grated on him. When the hell was she going to wake up? This was just plain ridiculous.

He’d nearly strode into the room with the intent of shaking her awake but the second he’d felt her breath on his outstretched hand the sudden urge died inside him replaced by something he couldn’t understand or explain and he once more retreated to his office. Stan’s assurances did little to quell his unease; he claimed she was fine, just experiencing the aftermath of a sugar crash, and that sleeping was a natural consequence but he wasn't convinced.

Everyone in this whole damned penthouse was entirely too calm. He felt like he was going crazy. Well, crazier.

He didn’t even understand why he was so fixated on her. There was no reason to be.

Damn it, there wasn’t a safer place for her than right here, in his bed nonetheless.

She was fine.

It was fine.

Everything was fine!

Except it wasn’t. And he wasn’t the only one who knew that.

Powerless wasn’t a feeling Roman Sionis liked at all and that’s exactly how he felt. Powerless. All he could do was wait for her to wake up, and then they would have a discussion about her stupid decision to leave his penthouse. They’d most definitely be going over some of her answers in that interview… Oh, he had some thoughts about that too.

But then his thoughts would circle back to the reason for her departure in the first place, and he clenched his fists in frustration, cracking his knuckles, before pouring another scotch.

He wasn’t good at this. The whole waiting thing, patience wasn’t his strong suit. God, what he wouldn’t have given for a little good old-fashioned interrogation right now, just something to take his mind off the uncharted territory he was drifting in. He wanted familiarity and routine, his normal, so his mind wandered back to the only thing he could approach cold-heartedly; the recent encounter with Cobblepot. Surely focusing on business matters would provide some respite from the chaos of his emotions. Ew, emotions, what was he, turning into some pussy little girl? But as he replayed the scene in his mind, the anger that had simmered within him boiled over once more.

At first, he was furious with Belladonna for finding herself in such a precarious situation, his lip twitching. But when he saw the gun pointed at her, his fury transformed into a blazing inferno of rage. At that moment, he felt an overwhelming need to protect her, to assert his dominance and stake his claim.

And then, without hesitation, he uttered those possessive words in front of both groups of men.

‘His woman.’

His.

It was a slip of the tongue, he told himself. Of course it was, he would never say something so stupid.

But then it wasn’t. Was it?

In his mind, he went back and forth, debating every which way he could, talking himself in circles. It was a purely tactical decision he’d made, a carefully selected choice of words. By attaching Belladonna to him like that, it sent a message loud and clear; keep away.

But at the same time, it was a double-edged sword, making her a bigger target, a vulnerability to Roman opening him up to further attacks from those who were stupid enough to use her against him. And of course, he had to protect her anyway, because if anything happened to her, his life would only get more complicated with the police breathing down his goddamn neck.

Frustrated and angry, he clenched his teeth and gripped the leather arms of his chair before everything inside him welled up and exploded like a reactor, chucking his glass of scotch at the wall in a burst of murderous glitter. Why had every moment since he’d decided to let her live only been incredibly complicated and taxing?

This wasn’t like him, and he knew that his little heroic display would cause problems within his ranks. His tunnel vision wasn’t so all-consuming that he missed the shocked and curious looks his men gave him as he left her loft, carrying Belladonna in his arms. No, this was going to be something he’d have to sort out later, probably in a very grand fashion. He needed to be more vigilant now than ever, more ruthless, which meant she had to stop being so damn careless. He had to bring her in closer, tell her more. Pull her in deeper.

Most of his men were simply hired help and very few of them possessed what one might think of as genuine loyalty; Zsasz aside, he couldn’t think of anyone specifically that he didn’t have to make a direct deposit to for reliability. Until the enigma that was Belladonna Black.

"If you want me to spin a story to help you dodge your duties and let the real killer go, find someone else," she asserted. "Roman didn’t kill Jimmy. He was with me, delivering a memorable experience against a cinderblock wall, then I gave him my number and got a lift home."

He smirked again as the audio came to its conclusion. She said she could do it and she’d done it. She’d lied for him and in exquisite fashion as well, it was a good performance, one she deserved a standing ovation for. She’d been in control of every second of that interview from the moment she’d sat down. It sounded so convincing and he would have given anything to see the look on Ramirez’s face, but Derrick assured him it was everything he imagined it was.

A quick flash of frustration, his stupid, fat, fucking face filling with disappointment and anger. But mostly it was a realization that Belladonna Black wasn’t going to be one turned so easily, and that brought a smile to his face.

Which was, precisely when the twin Detective Douchebags turned their focus on him. They wound him up easily and he couldn’t explain why. Well, that wasn’t true, he knew why he’d gotten so wound up. It was because, at the time, he hadn’t entirely trusted Belladonna; he didn’t know if he could. He knew it now though, and so did those fucking cops.

Fear didn’t keep someone loyal, it kept them afraid, and in that interview room, Craven had used that fear of Belladonna’s trustworthiness against him. All his pep talks, all his charm on Belladonna, and the few threats he’d made against her had all been unnecessary, she trusted him enough to put her neck on the line for him and he hadn’t exactly been a gentleman. At best he’d been a reliable source of thinly veiled threats, promises he’d yet to deliver on, and the occasional orgasm.

No, he couldn’t explain what was happening to him these last two months, any more than he could explain his decision to let Belladonna live. It was a whim. But the facts were the facts now, she was in far too deep for her to just disappear. And he was quickly coming to the understanding that he wanted it that way. That he wanted her to continue to drive him insane with her smart mouth and constant retorts, wanted to keep showing up at her work and making a spectacle out of their displays of affection but he also wanted to keep driving her insane too. He didn’t know why but he loved it.

Two firm raps at the door pulled Roman from his thoughts, and Zsasz leaned against the doorframe, his sharp gaze taking in his brooding boss. He looked to Zsasz and gave a simple head nod to enter, then he rose to grab another glass and poured himself a new drink.

"It's not too late. We can still find a solution for her,"

Roman paused, and the gentle clinking of the decanter against his glass ceased.

Zsasz’s suggestion lacked his usual sharp certainty, but rather it held an edge of hesitancy that wasn’t typical for him. To some degree he was right, people disappeared in Gotham every day, never to be seen again, but the notion of Belladonna being one of them wasn’t one he was willing to entertain anymore.

Roman took a long sip of his drink before responding in a flat, emotionless voice, "No, Zsasz. I think we're past that now."

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, knowing that what Belladonna said about their relationship was true, but hating it all the same. He wanted her to want him, he couldn't pinpoint why, she had become important to him. It both irked and exhilarated him. It was the way she’d looked at him like he was the hero, as opposed to what he really was, the monster in the closet. Somehow she was changing from a pawn he liked to play with, to a queen whom he was pulling out all the stops for.

Zsasz sat down "If she's here to stay, we'll need to increase her security. We’re looking at major changes to protect her and address the problems this’ll cause."

Roman nodded, understanding that both he and Zsasz had similar concerns about maintaining his reputation as a formidable criminal without appearing weak. The notion that a woman could soften a man’s heart like him was a fantasy, the fact was; Roman was about to get meaner. There would be fewer severed ears and more severed limbs and plucked eyes.

“Where do we start?” Roman pushed a glass over to Zsasz. “Could we just burn down the whole damn city?”

“That’d be a lot of bodies,” Zsasz replied after a moment pouring himself a drink with no ice.

“Oh, what’s a few hundred thousand bodies?”

Zsasz smirked and looked as though he was running the numbers in his head but ultimately he came to the same conclusion he knew Roman had come to. They needed to be smart about this, the game was changing, and losers clung to outdated rules, while the victors won by creating their own.

“Her place is a weak point, had the men going through it top to bottom, found a few listening devices aside from yours, but we’ll need a team to do a more in-depth sweep for anything else. Cobblepot has access to top-tier gear, I doubt we’ve found everything.”

“Oswald… He’s not even the real problem is he?” The ice in Roman’s glass clinked with another sip. “What’s the word in the ranks?”

“There's some mutterings but nothing that can’t be fixed by an appropriate show of force.” An appropriate show of force usually meant bodies or blood. Or both. “She’ll have to step up too, they need to be just as afraid of her as they are of you.”

Roman scoffed, that was an amusing idea, his men being afraid of Belladonna, sure she had a resting bitch face that could make most people shrivel, but he couldn’t see Belladonna so much as squishing a bug. “Where are we with Jimmy?”

"Everything seems to line up with your plans," Zsasz reported, "except for one thing: Jimmy doesn't appear to have any association with Cobblepot."

“How the fuck is that possible? He had at least ten grand worth of product all with Cobblepots branding, and the boys at the lab even had it tested, it was all legit and 100% pure.”

"Well, Cobblepot did say you two needed to talk," Zsasz replied, a sly grin on his face. "We could get the information we need if you handle him carefully."

Roman agreed, scowling at the mention of Cobblepot's name. "How the fuck is he involved in this?" he muttered under his breath, adding, "Keep your enemies closer..."

Just then, a knock at the door alerted both men to the presence of Roman's personal doctor.

"Roman, she’s awake."

—

Belladonna's eyes fluttered open, the world around her resembled more of a kaleidoscope; unfocused and hazy. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings, the only source of light came from a bedside table and a light outside the room she was in. The walls were a dark, rich color and adorned with expensive artwork. The furniture was modern and sleek, befitting of someone with lots of money. The sheets were luxurious and cool to the touch when she stretched out on them only to realize she was lying in a bed that wasn't her own. She knew this was likely Roman’s penthose but it wasn’t until she turned into his pillow and breathed it in.

A mixture of expensive cologne with an underlying hint of something dark and alluring. The clean, fresh scent of soap hung in the air, mingling with the cologne to create a distinctly masculine smell. And beneath it all was a raw, primal scent that could only be described as pure testosterone. All of it screaming Roman Sionis.

As she struggled to sit up, the room spun around her, and a sharp pain shot through her arm and she drew in a ragged breath; somewhere between a shriek and a gasp. When she finally managed to prop herself up, she noticed something that made her stomach drop: there was a needle lodged in her arm, connected to an IV bag hanging next to the bed. Panic quickly set in as she struggled to focus on the contents of the bag; her vision was still hazy. She had no clue what was being pumped into her and began to hyperventilate.

She couldn’t just unhook it, she didn’t know how, and she had nothing to stop the bleeding. She wanted to get out of there. She tried to stand but that was a mistake and dizziness washed over her like a tidal wave, causing her to lose her balance and fall back, grasping at the nightstand.

"Shit!" She muttered, knocking over a glass of water in the process, its contents spilling onto the cold floor, glass shattering everywhere. The needle in her arm shifted causing more pain and blood began to trickle down her arm. Fuck!

Footsteps quickly approached, and a man she had never seen before entered the room. Panic surged through her veins, and she scrambled away from him while trying to avoid the glass.

"Stay away from me!" Her voice was scratchy and weak.

"Miss Black, it's alright, I’m Dr. Stan," he said calmly, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. "I'm Roman's personal physician, and you're currently in his penthouse." She studied him for a minute, he could be a doctor, sure, he looked the right age, and his glasses gave him a scholarly kind of vibe. And not that it meant anything but she was fairly sure, he was wearing a hairpiece, but that wasn’t really a judgment on her part, just an observation.

"Roman?"

"You had a sugar crash, do you remember?" She squinted like she was trying to remember but groaned and clutched her head, ultimately shaking it. "Ok, I understand, don't worry, you're perfectly safe, I’m going to help you."

“What is that?”

He approached carefully like one might cozy up to a wounded animal with the intention of helping it. “It’s a dextrose solution, you were dehydrated and your sugar levels were too low, I had to administer an IV to get you to a safer place.”

Belladonna's gaze darted to the needle in her arm again, and she winced as she felt a sharp pain. "Can you take it out?" she pleaded, her voice tinged with urgency.

The doctor nodded, understanding her distress. "Of course," he said, moving closer to inspect the IV.

As her panic subsided, and she allowed him to come closer, he carefully helped her back onto the bed, kicking the glass aside.

What kind of name was Stan? Was that his first name or his last? Did doctors go by their first names when it came to personal doctors? She didn’t even know they made house calls. He reached for his medical bag that had been on the floor and pulled out a few things,

"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's been a few hours,"

She winced as he pressed a quarter-folded piece of gauze against the needle site, but she mostly stayed completely still. Once the bleeding subsided, he took an alcohol wipe and started cleaning up the blood that had trickled down her arm, before turning to the IV. His movements were precise and controlled, the adhesive tape pulled on her skin and it was the kind of sensation that made her want to rub the spot profusely.

"Hold pressure here," he instructed, placing another piece of gauze over the needle site before he finally removed it. Then he reached for a roll of blue self-adhesive tape and wrapped it around her arm, securing everything in place with a bit of pressure. “Better?”

“Much.”

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like the floor of a taxi," she admitted, rubbing her temples, he chuckled. At least her sense of humor was intact.

"Understandable. You were in pretty rough shape when Roman found you. Let’s check your vitals,”

He reached back into his bag and began pulling out several items, setting them on the bedside table; a blood pressure cuff, one of those things they stick on your finger at the doctor’s office, a stethoscope, and a thermometer. “You know, you’re very lucky, Roman knew how to stabilize your sugars."

Roman did what? She didn’t remember any of that, the last thing she remembered was seeing Roman looking as angry as she’d ever seen him telling her to come to him.

Belladonna furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to recall the events that had led her here but everything was hazy at best and it really did feel like a dream.

"What happened?"

He placed the cuff on her left arm and inflated it, inducing the familiar annoying pressure, then placed the stethoscope on her brachial artery listening as the pressure released slowly.

"You called Roman, and he arrived before you lost consciousness."

She vaguely remembered Roman telling her to eat something but it was so unclear she thought it was part of a dream. Doctor Stan must have noticed the constant licking of her lips and he supplied the answer before she even asked the question, “He said he got you to eat some M&Ms, but you were pretty out of it, good thing you had them handy, complex carbohydrates are your friend at a time like this.”

He loosened the cuff and the tingling in her fingers began to ebb. “120/80, that's good.”

He placed the pressure cuff back into the bag and placed the little monitoring thing, whatever it was, on her finger and then brought the thermometer to her forehead.

“He was pretty frantic when called me and had me come over, said it was a top-tier emergency, and to be honest I expected worse,” the thermometer beeped and he seemed pleased with the result, “98 degrees.” He said passively, then he took his stethoscope from his neck and put it on. "Alright, Belladonna, I'm going to listen to your breathing now. I need you to take slow, deep breaths through your nose. Inhale deeply, then exhale slowly."

"Roman was worried about me?" she asked skeptically before complying with the first breath, he moved the stethoscope and indicated another deep breath.

"Very much so," the doctor said, nodding. "I've never seen him like this. When he called me, I was surprised it wasn't about him being in trouble – but well, Roman has a way of defying conventional expectations." He moved the stethoscope one more time, “Few more deep breaths,”

She nearly laughed, then breathed in deeply and slowly several times. Feeling a spark of warmth at the thought as she settled back onto the bed.

"He’ll be glad to know you’re awake," He put the stethoscope away and took her pulse, centering his index and middle finger on her radial artery and applied pressure while looking at his watch.

“Your pulse looks good. Alright, sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Roman was worried? No, he didn’t say worried, he said; frantic. It was hard to picture Roman any other way than amused or angry, there was no in-between. At least not that she had ever seen. It was impossible to picture Roman as anything other than composed, what exactly did that mean? What was frantic Roman like? Probably very similar to angry Roman, she reasoned.

Roman wasn’t a man who liked it when he wasn’t in control. That much was well understood. She could almost imagine him yelling into a phone, lots of swearing, probably reiterating that money was no objective and it was a sweet thought. One that caught her off guard so much so that she almost didn’t notice the multiple sets of approaching footsteps.

Moments later, Roman appeared with Zsasz in tow. His expression was stern, but maybe there was just a hint of concern in his eyes. She wondered if she was imagining it.

“Welcome back, Angel.” Roman’s heavy and dark voice drifted back into the room. "Doctor, what's the verdict?"

Doctor Stan looked up at Roman and he seemed very pleased, "I think she’ll be fine, just going to do a few more things and I’ll be out of your hair, let's check your glucose levels."

He took out an alcohol wipe and produced a glucometer, a lancet, and a bandaid. As if second nature she held out her index finger, he wiped down her finger and the lancet snapped out pricking her fingertip, she made a face at the lancet and stuck her finger but otherwise didn’t react.

“Any lingering pains?” He pressed the test strip to her finger and the blood soaked into the strip.

“Just a headache.”

“Well, that’s normal, I’d recommend some electrolytes, sports drinks, or maybe some coconut water.”

Zsasz pulled a face at the lancet and the small bead of blood on her fingertip, he seemed uncomfortable.

“Oh, come on now Zsasz, with all the work you do for Roman, a little finger prick test has you squirming?”

“You have any idea how many nerve endings are in your fingertips?”

It seemed an off thing for Zsasz to be uncomfortable with but she supposed it made sense, she instinctively brought her fingertip to her lips but Roman quickly grabbed it and wrapped the bandage around her index finger.

“As a matter of fact I do, learned all about it in med school, over 3000 per square inch.”

He fed the test strip into the glucometer and waited for the device to finish its reading.

“The headache we can manage with over-the-counter headache medicine, but if you like I can give you something a little stronger, drink plenty of fluids, no strenuous activity.”

The glucometer beeped and he checked the results, his brow furrowed.

"Belladonna, your blood sugar level is a bit lower than we'd like to see right now. It's currently measuring between 60 to 70 milligrams per deciliter, which is slightly below the normal range for someone without diabetes. While it's not dangerously low, it's important to bring it up a bit to ensure you're feeling your best. A good balanced meal with carbohydrates, proteins, healthy fats, fruits, and vegetables should fix that. How do you feel about having a snack or a drink with some sugar in it?"

She offered a weak smile and nodded, “Sounds good actually,” Roman whispered something to Zsasz and he quickly left the room.

"A nice quiet evening will have you back on your feet and let's try to avoid any more sugar crashes, no skipping meals.” He actually wagged his finger at her, she hadn’t been chided by a doctor in a hot minute, but she liked Stan. Seemed like a nice guy and she added his name to the list of people whom she was shocked to associate with Roman Sionis.

“A nice evening of what the kids call 'Netflix and chill.'"

"It’s already handled" Roman agreed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What sort of snack in the meantime?”

“Candy can work in a pinch but let’s try to stay away from it, something like fruit would be better, it's absorbed more easily into the bloodstream. Don’t forget to replace that emergency stash of M&Ms in your bag.”

“With or without the chocolate fountain?” The doctor just chuckled, shaking his head at Roman, and packed up his bag.

“Get some rest, Miss Black, call me if you need anything.” He spoke the last part more to Roman than Belladonna.

"Thank you, Stan,"

Roman walked Dr. Stan to the door and in the shadows that fell over them, but they were still in Belladonna’s view, as was the small stack of cash Roman tried to discreetly hand him. Stan held out his hand to Roman and tried to wave it away but Roman didn’t budge.

“Oh, no, no, Roman, this is far too much. It's not like I removed a bullet."

"Not this time," Roman countered, his tone darkly humorous.

Dr. Stan chuckled and nodded, “Well, this was one of the easier house calls,” As they reached the door Dr. Stan mentioned something Belladonna heard but couldn’t understand it was too muffled from their distance, and Roman didn't respond.

There was the sound of Roman footsteps coming back into the room, but when he returned to her side, he held a pomegranate in his hand and wore the look of a parent about to lecture her. She pulled her knees a bit closer to her chest as he sat on the bed, still not saying a word.

She watched as Roman meticulously peeled the crimson pomegranate, its juice staining his fingers.

“Where’d Zsasz go?”

"I had him go get Thai for you." Her eyes widened in surprise; she didn't recall ever telling him she liked Thai, but then again, who didn’t?

"How'd you know I like Thai food?" she asked, curiosity evident in her voice.

Roman smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I have my ways, Angel." He held out the pomegranate to her. She hesitated, never having eaten one before, then pushed it away, seeking answers instead.

"Roman, what happened? Tell me about Oswald Cobblepot. Why was he at my place?"

"He was dropping off my dry cleaning," he replied humorlessly, but his expression turned serious, holding out the crimson gem-like pomegranate seed again, “I’m waiting, Angel.”

“So am I.” Stubborn as ever.

"I’ll make you a deal; questions answered, but only if you eat."

He gently pressed a pomegranate seed between her lips, holding his fingers there for her to bite down on. After a few seconds, her lips gave way and she accepted the piece of fruit, her lips brushing his fingers. He seemed relieved.

"Ask away, Angel," Roman said, biting into the pomegranate like an apple. He placed a chunk of the seeded fruit into her hand, which she studied for a minute before plucking several little ruby-like seeds and popping them into her mouth. The tart sweetness burst on her tongue in a way that put strawberries to shame, and she asked;

"Who is Oswald Cobblepot?"

"Oswald is a criminal who deals with stolen goods, bribery, witness intimidation, theft, controlled substances, and occasionally murder," Roman replied deadpan. "As for our personal relationship, we've known each other for years. We went to prep school together, and our families have a long history together."

So Cobblepot wasn’t lying about that, the conversation she had with him began to drift back into her mind. “Tell me about your family,"

His face darkened. "That's not up for discussion."

She looked away, the frustration was impossible to miss and after the day she’d had, and in a rare act of submission he offered up the following.

"We haven't spoken in years, I last saw them when I was twenty-one." he said tersely. "Now, let's talk about what happened at your apartment. What's the last thing you remember?”

She chewed on the seeds before spitting one into her hand, uncertain of what to do with it,

“Eat the seeds angel, they're good for you. You can swallow them whole.” Roman took another bite of the pomegranate juice staining his lips, something she tried to ignore.

“He had a magazine with our picture in it,”

Roman smirked, “I saw it. Explains what got into you that night after the party,” He grinned, biting into the fruit again and licking his lips.

“He was there when I got back, I didn’t even get the door shut all the way before I saw them, I went for the panel but it was disabled.” Roman nodded, “He said, he needed to talk to you about the docks and he thought I could get ahold of you. I called, a bunch,” she looked at him squarely in the eyes, “You didn’t pick up.”

“I’m sorry.”

It couldn’t go more silent than it already was, and it soon became overbearing with how he looked nowhere other than her eyes, black on black. No hiding, no deflecting, no excuses. He apologized to her. She was stunned.

“It’s-it’s ok-”

“No, it's not.” He chewed a few more seeds, “It won’t happen again, if you call I come running, guns blazing. No questions asked.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, she was speechless. She just nodded in agreement, unsure of how to handle such sincerity.

“Did he touch you?”

She thought back to her loft, aside from the hand patting a few times, the answer was a resounding no and she shuddered at the thought.

“Not really,” she rubbed her hands, “Patted my hands like a teacher or something.”

“He didn’t hurt you?” She shook her head and continued to rub at her hands trying to erase the memory.

“I feel like I need a scalding hot shower,”

Roman took her hand and pressed a surprisingly gentlemanly kiss to it, then her palm like he did whenever he visited her at work. It was a sweet gesture but it did little to counter the taste of apprehension that came with her next question.

“What happened at the docks?”

Roman paused and seemed like he was weighing his options before replying. “Business.”

“I saw the guy's ear, Roman. You did that?” He gave her a hard look, not a cold or cruel one but it was like he was trying to decide something. “And you, bit a kid's ear back in high school?” He smirked.

“Only a little.” At the mere mentioning of the memory, Roman grinned a dark grin.

He seemed to have made up his mind about what to tell her because he handed her more fruit and began speaking again.

“His men were trespassing on my territory, so I interrogated them.”

Interrogated.

“You mean tortured.”

Now he wore no smile, just a strangely detached expression that communicated just, nothing. “I had to send a message. Cobblepot was responding in his own way, I don’t usually send men back alive once they've crossed me. It was a bit out of character.”

“Is he going to come back?”

“Not if he’s smart, he won’t.” He sighed and laid on his side, “But it doesn't mean we’re out of the woods yet, in fact, now that he knows how important you are to me things are only going to get harder.” She stayed quiet on that last note, “You’re not going home.”

She wanted to argue and he knew it, her lips went to form a reply but ultimately her brain caught up with her mouth, and she nodded. Understanding that his concerns had more to do with the practicality of the situation and less about his possessive tendencies.

“That's the third time I know of that a man has broken in, not sure how I’ll ever sleep there again.”

“I had Zsasz make some calls to some shops for some things for you, I’m not going to have you wearing anything Cobblepot or his men might have touched.”

There was such a venomous tone to his voice just then and it should have scared her, but after today, Roman seemed like the lesser of the two evils. And in a way, she understood where he had been coming from, she wasn’t sure she wanted to wear any of it either. She stopped eating and stared off into space, maybe thinking of all the things that had gone on in her apartment in her absence and she shuddered.

“Keep eating, angel.”

“Am I in danger?”

He didn’t answer right away, “Yes.” She already knew the answer, but somehow she just needed to hear it from him, maybe because if Roman took something seriously then somehow it was comforting because he didn’t fuck around.

“Which is why things are going to change.” He suddenly became very serious and he sat up and reached forward to grasp her chin “You are never to leave my side, not even to that little bodega Ernies, no more mysterious motorcycle rides either. And don’t you ever pull a stunt like this again.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.” The expression ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you’ should have kept her silent but it didn’t, was she scared? Shitless. Did that make her spineless? Hell no.

“Angel, I don’t think you realize the gravity of our current situation. I came to your place in force with a dozen of my best-armed men and Cobblepot knows I’ll did it to protect you. My own men know that and let's just say they've never seen me hold a door open for a woman much less call up an armed assault. And I’ve certainly never carried an unconscious woman in my arms before.”

She started to smile but Roman's hard expression stopped her.

“There's going to be doubts I’ll have to quiet, people questioning me and my effectiveness. I’m going to have to make some examples. Painful, messy ones. So you’re going ot have to put a bandaid on that bleeding heart of yours.”

“The rules of our agreement have to change.” Now she looked like she might fight him but he stopped her.

“Never question me in front of any of my men. Ever. Don’t even talk back, nothing that might be construed as you having any sort of control over me, because if you do; I’m going to have to kill a lot of people to prove that you don’t.”

That stopped her, she didn’t know Romans men or what kind of men they were but she didn’t want any more blood on her hands.

“Things are going to get even more unsafe and more violent, which is why you can’t leave me, ever. Understand?”

When he said ‘you can’t leave me, ever,’ his voice did a funny thing, so subtle she almost missed it, there was the tiniest hint of pleading in his voice, like something desperate and quivering, then in an instant, it was gone. She nodded and looked to the ground briefly, only to be brought right back to Romans gaze by his grip on her chin, his thumb brushing her lip almost lovingly.

“You have to listen to me.”

“I promise.”

“You're going to have to learn to look the other way or ask me far fewer questions. Understand?” She nodded, not liking the picture he was painting but also realizing there was little other choice.

"Roman, about today—" she started hesitantly, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Enough about that. I have a lead on your mother," he said, effectively changing the subject. “It’s going to take some finessing but I’ve got Zsasz on it and I’ll know more within the week,”

The mention of her mother made her heart skip a beat. Had he found her already? How? She didn’t care and his confession prompted her to all but crawl into his lap leaning in for a kiss. There was every chance he was just saying it to keep her nice and calm and pliant, he could very well have been lying, but it didn't make sense. Roman was very protective about his reputation as a fairly honest criminal so when he said he had a lead on her mother, she believed him.

He accepted her kiss with little resistance but he clearly wasn’t expecting it, allowing her to lead the way with slow and smoldering movements. Surprisingly, his lips were soft and gentle against hers contrasting with the dangerous aura he had previously exuded.

But what surprised her even more was his docile behavior; he didn't try to take control or rush the pace. He seemed content to savor the pomegranate juice that lingered on her lips as they moved over his and her tongue dipped into his mouth.

Finally and with some effort, he pulled back from Belladonna’s almost feral advance, his voice a bit breathless and sounding like he was teetering on the edge of some invisible boundary, "Angel, doctor's orders," Roman reminded her as gently as he could manage.

She remembered his warning from the week prior, when he said ‘no’ he meant it and it had been an uncomfortable lesson and experience, her fingers curled in his hair as she pressed herself against him for one last deep kiss.

"I know I'm irresistible, but really, the doctor did say to rest," he teased. He held up more of the crimson fruit, “Keep eating.”

She took the seeds and sat back down. "Any more questions?" he asked.

“What now?”

“Now? We’re moving in together.” She blanched and shot him a panicked look, “Relax kitten, just until I sort out your apartment situation.”

“What's to sort out?

“Well security, obviously. And your place has been broken into four times, not three.” She looked like she was about to say something but he kept talking, “Need to sweep it for any listening devices or cameras that I didn’t put there before I let you go back.

“I knew it,” Roman winked at her.

“Until that's all settled, I’ll see to it you have anything you need, but for now, you stay here; where I know you’re safe.”

His choice of words in saying ‘I know you’re safe’ as opposed to 'where I can keep an eye on you’ settled over her with an odd sense of finality and comfort.

“Might just have you stay here till I wrap things up with Jimmy though, got a few things in the works for that too.”

What did he mean? Jimmy was dead, what sort of plans could he possibly have for a dead man? She started to speak but he placed his hand over her lips, “No, angel, not this. Can’t tell you this. It gives you plausible deniability.”

How oddly considerate of him? She smirked, lightly pressing her lips to his fingertips. He promptly withdrew them, maybe doubting his ability to adhere to his own suggestion of following the doctor's orders of avoiding strenuous activity.

"Earlier, you told me I was replaceable," Belladonna reminded him, her tone challenging. Roman gave her a hard look, unwilling to discuss it further. "But you seem to be pulling all the stops out for me," she pushed.

"Angel, you haven't seen anything yet," he answered cryptically, his dark eyes promising protection, possession, and a future rife with uncertainty.

The room seemed to swallow them as Roman and Belladonna fell into a heavy silence, she didn’t feel the need to ask any further questions, or maybe because she just couldn’t think of any.

"So who has pomegranates lying around instead of apples?"

"Someone with refined taste. You should expand your palate, Belladonna. Pomegranates are considered the fruit of the gods.” She eyed him skeptically. “The pomegranate holds great significance. Some even believe it was a pomegranate, not an apple, that Eve ate in the Garden of Eden. And it was the pomegranate that Persephone ate to become the queen of the underworld in the love story of Hades and Persephone."

"Wait," Belladonna interjected, her brow furrowing. "You mean the pomegranate Hades forced her to eat after he kidnapped her?"

Roman tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Belladonna, you're half-Greek; you should know your mythology better. There are theories that suggest Hades and Persephone had a passionate romance and she willingly went with him, just as much evidence as there is for his supposed kidnapping." There was an odd cheekiness to his expression, as though he was trying to make some coded reference.

He offered her another piece of the fruit, but she eyed it suspiciously. Roman smirked.

"It's too late. You're already trapped in my underworld until the investigation is done. You may as well enjoy the food."

It was fascinating how easily Roman could slip between personas - one moment the charming owner of Masquerade Noir, able to entertain and entice, and the next a cold-blooded criminal who had shown mercy by only cutting off a man's ear. The portrait of Roman lounging on his side on a luxurious bed, in a black shirt with a few buttons undone, black slacks, casually eating a pomegranate was quickly burning itself into her brain. He looked so normal.

"How did you know I'm hypoglycemic?"

Roman gave her a mysterious look, his eyes dark and unreadable raising his browns suggestively. "I have eyes everywhere."

"Like my bedroom?"

"Especially in your bedroom," he replied smoothly. "How else would I know about that little purple toy of yours?"

His teasing was less annoying and now more charming in its own odd way, and whereas before she might have ignored it or gotten irritated, she opted to give it right back to him.

“Guess, you didn’t find the big black one…”

Romans expression quickly fell and he didn’t look as amused as she was, but after he noted the upturn of her lips, he shook his head and finally answered her question.

"I did extensive research on you after we met. I know all about that fight with you and Olivia Danvers when you were sixteen and you’ve got one hell of a right hook.” Belladonna smirked a little bit at the memory. “It’s clear that you could have been valedictorian if not for that D on your senior chemistry final and your Spanish class, Eso no es bueno, ángel.”

Roman knowing Spanish wasn’t surprising but then it kind of was, he wasn’t stupid, no, Roman had proved time and time again that he was highly intelligent. But it just seemed such a… frivolous thing, to speak another language, like, it was such a normal thing, for normal people. But she quickly reminded herself that was stupid. Belladonna herself was trilingual, adding Greek, Italian, and Latin to her repertoire.

“I know how you switched majors halfway through college from business management to photography and graphic design even though you can’t really stand either one and I know all about the attack last year,” His tone dropped at the mention of her attack and he offered no particular insights on it. “But no one’s perfect, because despite how deep I dug, I somehow missed that little tidbit." Roman admitted with a hint of annoyance. "But Daisy clued me in after I sweet-talked it out of her."

Yeah, Daisy, that sounded about right. It wasn’t exactly privileged information, and she had no doubt there wasn’t much Roman couldn't sweet talk Daisy out of.

"I was diagnosed after the attack last year. It was hard to want to eat anything, didn’t sleep much." Belladonna said, "Guess I should thank you,"

His cocky demeanor returned in full force as sat up and he scooted closer, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “But how will you thank me?”

“Don’t get cocky, you’re still in la casita del perro in my book, you’ll be lucky if you get another kiss.”

Roman chuckled, undeterred, seeing her challenge as an invitation. He closed the distance between them, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered seductively, “Oh, really?”

"I can be very persuasive. And it seems to be working." Their lips barely brushed, a tantalizing tease of what could be. "Admit it, you've wanted to kiss me since the moment I rode in on my dark horse, saving the day that night in the back of my club with Jimmy."

That was certainly one way to put their meeting, if not a little skewed, it almost sounded romantic, and she couldn't resist teasing him. With a playful smirk, she grabbed his chin and planted a simple kiss, it wasn’t what he wanted, she knew that but he’d already shut her down when she was practically climbing on top of him.

"Is that all I get?" he asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"You'll get what I give you, and you'll like it.”

The door to the bedroom swung open and the scent of spicy Thai food quickly filled the air, mingling with the lingering tension between Roman and Belladonna. Zsasz strode into the room carrying takeout bags in both hands. He seemed to have returned faster than expected, much to Roman’s dismay, but then again, Zsasz was more often than not, more punctual than a Swiss watch. It also helped that he cut quite the intimidating figure and Belladonna wouldn’t have been surprised if people had jumped out of line upon seeing him.

“Cockblocked by the doctor's orders… and Thai food.”

Roman grumbled, finally tearing his gaze away from Belladonna and taking the food from Zsasz. A flicker of warmth flashed across Zsasz's usually cold eyes as he handed over the bags to Roman. It was a brief, unexpected moment that caught Belladonna off guard. Then with a curt nod that carried an unusual ease to it, Zsasz took a bag and disappeared. Was she beginning to grow on him?

Roman settled back onto the bed and produced several takeout boxes with enticing aromas that could only come from a yāy’s soulful cooking. Bold spices, succulent roasted meats, and hints of coconut. He handed her one box filled with Thai green chicken curry and rice, and another containing papaya salad. To her surprise, there was even a small container of mango sticky rice for dessert. She didn't bother asking how he knew her favorite dishes; his answer would probably involve some vague explanation about being "all-knowing."

As they ate, she watched Roman open his own container of Thai basil chicken, captivated by the movement of his jaw as he chewed, before drifting to Roman's strong hands, deftly maneuvering the chopsticks to pick up a piece of chicken. She had seen those same hands clenched in anger, and wrapped around a gun with deadly precision. Yet, here they were, sharing a simple meal together. Life was certainly dealing her some strange cards lately.

Here she was in Romans bed, after having briefly been held hostage in her own apartment, and being saved by her own knight on a dark horse, as he had dubbed himself. Eating Thai food, like any normal couple might, Roman lounging in a casual manner that Belladonna had never seen before using chopsticks like a pro. He seemed more like just a man eating Thai food with her than the dangerous figure she knew him to be.

"So, no Netflix?"

"The beds for sleeping, not Netflix," Roman replied playfully, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You should be glad I'm letting you eat in my bed at all."

“You don’t ever eat in bed?

"No," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I eat at a table like a civilized criminal." His tone was light, teasing even, and Belladonna couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh. Was he making an honest joke? No dark undertones? Guess there was a first for everything.

“The only thing that gets eaten in this bed is pussy.” There it was. He couldn’t let it go, but a sex joke was better than a dark one, she supposed.

Belladonna glanced down at her box, a vibrant array of colorful vegetables and steaming rice accompanying the spicy chicken that filled her senses with a mixture of comfort and warmth. She hesitated for a moment before looking up to meet Roman's unwavering gaze. The dim lighting of his bedroom cast shadows across his chiseled features, accentuating the intensity behind his dark eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever really know you," she admitted, her voice laced with vulnerability. It was a thought that had been gnawing at her ever since they'd gotten involved with each other – an unsettling feeling that there was always more beneath the surface. “You’re like a puzzle with no picture.”

A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I'm a puzzle, am I?" he asked, the playful tone in his voice belying the weight of her words. "How many pieces? I'm at least 10,000 pieces."

Belladonna couldn't help but smile at his lighthearted response, even as the unease continued to churn within her. As much as she wanted to believe that she could understand him, she knew deep down that there were aspects of his life that she never would.

"More like a Rubik's star cube," Belladonna countered, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she looked at Roman.

Roman raised an eyebrow, clearly appreciating the challenge. "Ah, one of those, huh? Well, I suppose that makes me even more intriguing."

"Alright, then," Roman said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "Why don't you ask me something? Anything you want. Consider it your first move in solving this puzzle."

"It’s all just games to you, isn’t it?"

"Trust me, angel. I never play games with what's mine," he replied, his gaze never wavering from hers.

"Yours?" she echoed, feeling both a sense of belonging and unease at his words.

"Undeniably,"

——

The concept of moonlight illuminating a sleeping lovers form while they slept was bullshit, stupid and cliche. So was the idea of longingly looking at them, as if moonlight was a magic highlighter that drew attention to all the details that you never noticed before.

He always thought the moonlight at night thing only worked because the person you were looking at had finally shut up. He didn’t need the magic of a planet fragment reflecting light to draw his eye to Belladonna's hourglass form, he didn’t need it to draw his attention to the swell of her hips, the full lips he wanted to taste, that long black hair he wanted to use to direct her, or the curve of her breasts he wanted to touch. No, he could appreciate those things in broad daylight, the low light of his club or the artificial light of her studio while she worked.

But that’s exactly what Roman was doing

Fuck it, the moonlight was doing its job, casting that magical soft glow on Belladonna's peaceful face as she slept. And Roman lay next to her, wide awake, his dark eyes studying her delicate features. It was the first time he'd ever allowed a woman to share his bed without sex being involved, and strangely enough, he found himself not minding much. People were interesting to watch when they slept, Belladonna, for instance, was lying on her side with one arm embracing her pillow and her knees slightly drawn up towards her chest. It wasn't quite the fetal position, but she wasn't sprawling out either, and Roman couldn't blame her. She didn’t sprawl out and take up more of the bed than she should, didn’t hog the blankets leaving him to freeze his ass off, and she wasn’t one of those types who tried to suffocate him by clinging to him like a lovesick teenager.

That wasn’t Belladonna though.

Roman's interests were about as varied as the weather, but he always found the way people slept to be fascinating. It was like a secret language they couldn’t help but speak. Belladonna's sleeping habits, in particular, caught his attention. They suggested she was guarded and lacked a sense of security or comfort.

As for Roman himself, he usually slept on his back with his arms at his sides. He didn’t move around much unless he was really stressed. Occasionally, he might flop onto his stomach and bury his head in the pillow, but that was rare. He didn’t like how exposed he felt sleeping on his stomach, even if it was comfy as hell.

As for Zsasz, well, he had never seen Zsasz sleep but he was fairly certain if Zsasz slept at all, he slept like a vampire and he hadn’t ruled out the possibility of a coffin.

The whole situation was an odd one for him. Sure he’d let women sleep in his bed but more often than not it was only because he was too tired to kick them out right away. He’d let them sleep and then send them on their way to that glorious walk of shame home, in the clothes they’d worn the night before, covered in the marks he’d left on them, both seen and unseen. And really, even if he was tired, he would have much rather they leave as soon as he was done with them. His only real motivating factor behind letting them stay was the possibility of a morning blowjob. What man didn’t love waking up and having his dick sucked before breakfast?

His late-night musings were interrupted by a quiet presence at the door, Zsasz lingered just outside the room, he gave Roman a nod and Roman slipped from the bed's warmth.

"Got something."

Roman followed Zsasz to his study, where they reviewed the security footage from Belladonna's loft. The screen flickered to life, revealing Cobblepot's arrival and the entire conversation between him and Belladonna. Roman clenched his jaw, anger simmering beneath the surface.

It was the first time he’d watched the footage and it was just as she’d said earlier and although it infuriated him, he had to admit; he’d never been more impressed by a woman. Her voice hardly shook but he could hear it, there were no tears and she wasn’t frantic when she put the phone down after a finally failed attempt at reaching Roman. His lip twitched in a sneer when he thought of how many times she’d tried calling him and how calm she’d been throughout the whole thing and in a rare moment, he felt like shit.

He’d told her he’d take care of her so long as she was with him and he didn’t. In fact, he’d acted like some shithead teenager. It angered him but not as much as the moment Cobblepot offered a bullshit apology to Belladonna before directing one of his men to shoot her in the chest as opposed to the back of her head. Even still, she didn’t move, she didn’t cower, didn’t plead, didn’t cry. Nothing.

Solid as a statue, only closing her eyes. He knew grown men who wouldn’t have handled having a gun pointed at them half as well as she had.

"Reach out to Cobblepot's associates," he instructed Zsasz, his voice cold and controlled. As much as he didn’t like Cobblepot he wasn’t so stupid as to go on the warpath. "Set up a formal sit-down. No more surprise visits from him, I need to know how he's connected to all this and how Jimmy came to have his stuff if he didn’t work for him."

He didn’t much like Cobblepot but it would be idiotic to make him an enemy rather than a strained acquaintance.

"Arrange for new security measures at her loft, after it’s been cleared," Roman ordered, dismissing Zsasz's unspoken concerns. "She'll stay with me until everything is in place. Did you call the shoppers?” Zsasz nodded, “Good, make sure she has whatever she needs."

As Roman contemplated their situation, he found himself recalling the myth of Hades and Persephone—a tale that seemed to mirror his own relationship with Belladonna.

"Who is our Demeter?" he muttered, leaving Zsasz slightly confused, but not surprised. Roman often spoke in cryptic references that made sense only to him.

"Been keeping tabs on her father like you asked. Doesn't seem like he's actively involved in any major schemes anymore. Looks like he's content living off the family fortune," Zsasz reported, his tone matter-of-fact. "But I found something interesting while I was looking into him. Belladonna is the only heir to the family estate, assuming her father doesn’t blow it all. And he doesn’t seem too keen on her having much of it to herself based on the stipulations required for her to get access to her inheritance." Roman's interest piqued at the mention of Belladonna's wealth.

"She's entitled to half the estate according to her grandfather's will. However, her share is currently tied up due to certain conditions she hasn't fulfilled yet."

"What conditions?" Roman inquired, intrigued by the complexity of the situation.

"There are two options. Either her father passes away under circumstances deemed non-suspicious, and the inheritance is released once the investigation is concluded," Zsasz explained.

Roman smirked, that could certainly be arranged.

"Or she ties the knot." Zsasz's voice held a hint of amusement. "In that case, the money essentially falls under her husband's control, to be distributed at his discretion."

Roman's eyes narrowed with disdain. "So her fortune hinges on marriage. How... quaint."

“Tale as old as time.”

“Pathetic.” Roman shook his head at the man's manipulations. "I'll pay him a visit soon enough. What about her mother, what did you find?"

"Maria Lopez," Zsasz announced, handing Roman a medical file.

Roman pulled a confused face, that wasn’t her mothers’ name. It was Caruso, not Lopez.

“She's tucked away in a top-tier facility in Metropolis, specifically tailored for clients grappling with significant trauma." Zsasz made air quotes around the term 'significant trauma,' his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Why Metropolis?” Zsasz shrugged.

“Probably because it's not in Gotham. Makes her harder to find, especially if Belladonna was trying to keep a low profile.”

Roman nodded for Zsasz to continue as he looked through Maria’s file. He didn’t ask Zsasz how he got ahold of privileged medical records; some things were better left unsaid. But based on what Roman was looking at, it was all doctored up and as authentic as a spring breakers driver's license.

"The alias is completely disconnected from anyone in Belladonna's family,”

“Who pays for it?” Roman asked, his voice low and tense as he looked at Maria's photograph, fixated on the sorrowful expression in her gaze.

She looked nothing like the woman he had imagined; she appeared exhausted, fragile, and hollow inside, though the resemblance was striking. Belladonna got her looks from her mother, no doubt. He suddenly understood how bad of a situation Maria must have found herself in as a young immigrant worker to a man like Benjamin Syrus Black. The predatory nature of it disgusted him, her mother was sixteen when she’d become pregnant with Belladonna, barely a woman. Not even a woman by his standards.

“A numbered bank account. Easy enough to set up, probably had a lawyer do it."

"So, no paper trail leading back to her old man. Jesus. No wonder Belladonna couldn't track her down,"

Roman remarked with a hint of disdain. The records spoke of years of physical trauma as well as several psychiatric conditions ranging from bipolar disorder to schizophrenia. He threw the file onto the table, sending papers scattering across the surface.

“This reads like a dossier of Arkham's most dangerous inmates; bi-polar disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, dementia, dissociative identity disorder, psychotic depression, PTSD,”

Roman looked back and forth from several documents but he seemed to be studying their headers, logos and signatures as much as he was reading the diagnosis and treatment history. It was a chaotic mess.

“These diagnoses contradict each other. Bet money no one was paying attention when she was admitted."

"Even if she somehow found her mother now, there's no way she could get her released, probably wouldn’t even be allowed to visit her."

Zsasz nodded grimly in agreement. "But on the bright side, this gives us leverage over whoever is treating her. If they want to keep this quiet, they won’t involve the police." A sly smile spread across Roman's face.

Roman smirked at Zsasz, “Maybe they just need a good scare.”

“Pain is scary,” Zsasz said with a smile.

"We'll need to take a trip to Metropolis soon. But before we do, make sure you dig up every detail possible on the doctors in charge of her care and anyone involved in her admission. I want it all. I won't tolerate any more surprises."

Zsasz nodded, “Got it.”

“I’m going to bed.” His voice dripped with deadly intent as he tossed the file back onto the desk and turned, stalking off toward his bedroom.

Roman crawled back into his bed and looked over to the side he usually slept on, Belladonna had her back to him, she had rolled over in her sleep and he found himself staring at a scar on her back. Long and jagged, one that had taken over thirty sutures to close, his lip curled up when he thought about how it got there. The tip of his finger had barely brushed against her skin when she turned over and curled closer to him, not close enough to nestle in his arms but close enough he could leisurely touch her, his hand slipped from her shoulder down the curve of her side before settling on her hip. She made a little noise of contentment and scooted a bit closer. Stans words to him played over in his head as sleepiness began to gently tug at him.

“She could be good for, Roman,”

Roman just smirked, shook his head then pulled his hand away and folded his pillow over, eventually drifting off to sleep.

—-

Belladonna slowly blinked awake, the cool space beside her a stark contrast to the warmth she craved. This time, when she woke up in Roman’s bed she felt no panic, in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so well. Sure, she wouldn’t have minded staying in bed, rolling over, and going back to sleep but the sunlight streaming in from the window made that hard. She sat up and stretched, disentangling the sheets that had twisted around her legs, searching the room for any trace of Roman.

The faint sound of running water drew her towards the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. With careful steps, she approached, peeking inside to find Roman at the sink. He stood tall, only a black towel wrapped around his waist, traces of shaving cream on his jawline as he focused on his steam-framed reflection.

She held her breath, captivated by the oddly domestic sight of Roman. Despite their closeness, she had never seen him so undressed, always shrouded in mystery and tailored suits. His broad muscular back bore was a blank canvas, surprisingly devoid of tattoos, she hadn’t exactly expected any as they didn't seem like they fit his personality. She only saw maybe two faded scars, one looked like a knife wound and another maybe a bullet, he certainly wasn’t covered in them like Zsasz was. She couldn't help but let her gaze linger on the edge of the towel, if only he wasn’t so paranoid...

"Roman had me get some things for you for work," Zsasz's voice broke the moment as he entered with a garment bag. Startled, Belladonna jumped with a startled gasp and stepped back, feeling a flush of embarrassment. But it was too late, when she changed a glance over her shoulder Roman met her gaze with a smirk and a freshly shaven face.

A knowing grin playing on his lips. Her heart quickened, realizing she had been caught off guard, a rarity she tried to avoid.

“Time for work angel,”

---

Little R&R Roman style? I know, I'm a tease... Sorry guys, stay tuned the spice is coming soon...!

@keffirinne @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

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Hello! Can I request you a Zsaszmask story (yes, again, but it's my guilty pleasure) where Roman gets jealous when another gangster (FC: Jon Hamm) tries to seduce Zsasz? I'm sure it will be hilarious and perfect! See you later and thank you!

Worth the Price | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hi! Thanks for the request! I'm always happy to write about these two. I really hope I've done your fantasy justice. <3

summary; See above.

notes; Established Relationship; Original Male Character; Jealousy; Possessive Behaviour; Roman Sionis has BPD; Pre-Canon (like- wayyy before BoP); Mild Violence; Background Murder; Implied Murder; Implied Sex; Smoking; Scars.

Reblogs > Likes. Thank you!

Balling his hands into tightly clenched fists that made his leather gloves squeak, Roman had to look on as this new, but very important business partner of his, was openly flirting with his Victor. Emphasis was on his. Victor Zsasz was his property and no one but him – Roman Beauvais Sionis – was fucking allowed to lay a hand on him and treat him like the prized possession that he was. Not one fucking person!

Yet here he was, trying so hard to hold himself back as he just sat across from them and had to see Victor looking so uncomfortable when the other man – Mr. Wright – smiled and looked at him with the most bedroom eyes Roman has ever seen on anyone else. It was disgusting and it made his blood boil. He was fairly sure that his business partner knew it, too.

Oh, how he would love to peel that handsome face off of him – or rather, let Zsasz take pleasure in doing it. Fuck, it would be so magnificent, but they couldn’t do it. Not yet, at least.

Mr. Wright owned quite a big part of the East End and Roman desperately wanted to get his hands on that. Unfortunately, as of now, Sionis had fewer men and less power than the other man. Therefore, it would be very unwise of him to make such impulsive and damaging decisions.

Thus, Roman was forced to let it all happen and so was Victor, no matter how uncomfortable he may have been. He knew not to hurt or murder this man that was most definitely feeling him up under the table just then. It was the price they had to pay for trying to expand the Black Mask’s territory surely, but gradually.

“If you let me borrow Mr. Zsasz here, we’ll have a deal. Just for this one operation, of course,” Mr. Wright finished his demands, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. He definitely knew what he was doing, then.

Roman’s eye twitched and he clenched his fists even tighter than before. It hurt, but he needed it to make sure he wouldn’t jump into this fucking bastard’s face and scratch it right off.

A strained, forced smile crept on Roman’s features, “Of course, Mr. Wright. That sounds fair to me. It is very generous of you, after all.”

“I think so, too,” the fucker said and squeezed Victor’s shoulder, looking him deep in the eyes. Then, he turned back to face Roman as he got up and Sionis followed suit, righting his suit jacket and closing it. “It was good doing business with you, Mr. Sionis. I expect Mr. Zsasz on my company’s doorstep by 10am tomorrow, alright?”

“My pleasure,” Roman sneered and shook his business partner’s hand, looking after him for another moment as he left.

Shuddering, Sionis turned to Victor, who now stood right next to him, blank faced like always; but Roman could see right through him – he was feeling a burning rage. Roman could definitely sympathise with that.

“Come on, Victor. I think you’ve earned yourself a treat,” he said, putting his arm around Zsasz’s shoulders and steering him outside of the club.

Once outside, Victor immediately pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Roman kept his arm around him, despite that – he hated the stench of cigarettes at the best of times, but he really couldn’t have cared less at that moment.

“We can kill him eventually, right, boss?” Zsasz asked after a few drags from his cigarette.

“I’m sure, yes. Once I’ve got more power than him. Once I’m above him, I’ll let you peel off that stupid mask of his, ‘kay?” Roman responded, looking at his partner as they just walked down the street, looking for a random person Victor felt pulled towards.

“Sounds good,” Victor nodded; then he pointed to a woman across the street, flicking his cigarette to the ground and toeing it out afterwards, “She’s gotta be freed.”

Thus, they followed her until they could push her into an empty valley, so that Victor could slice her throat open and free her without having to worry about anything.

Now, the next day, she was nothing but a scar that sat on Victor’s collarbone.

At 10am sharp, Roman reluctantly dropped Zsasz off in front of Mr. Wright’s company. He couldn’t stand it. He had such a hard time letting Victor even get out of the car, but he’s reassured him that while he wouldn’t do anything to compromise their position, he would certainly intervene if this fuck dared to touch him in any way. Surprisingly, that had been enough for Roman and so he eventually released Zsasz from his iron grip after kissing him on the lips a few times, just to make sure.

When he picked Victor back up, he looked a little dazed, but fortunately Roman knew that look like the back of his hand – he had certainly had a good time massacring these people, then.

At home, Zsasz pulled off his shirt as soon as they got through the door and showed off his new scars to Sionis, who admired each of them for the work of art they were. He only wished they had been on his account, not another man’s.

That was why, after he’s thoroughly admired each new cut, Roman pulled Victor into their bedroom, threw him on the bed and devoured him. He had to make sure Zsasz knew who he belonged to after all. His pet didn’t object whatsoever, only taking it all with a wide grin and sweet reassurances on his lips.

Then, of course, Roman should have known that Mr. Wright was going to use the little power he held over him and demand Victor for another operation. And another one; and another one after that; and so forth.

Sionis couldn’t keep his rage in, no matter how hard he tried. He trashed his room several times, let it out on patrons of his club and worst of all – he even let it out on Victor.

“Fucking take a shower before you even think about fucking touching me,” he snarled, looking at his partner in anger, disguised as disdain and disgust.

All this was because he couldn’t stand the fact that Victor smelled like this bastard. It clearly meant this fucker touched him and got physically close to him. He wanted to not only peel his face off, no, he also wanted to rip this fuck’s head off and serve it on a platter – no, even better – mount it on his fucking wall for all to see just what exactly happened when someone dared to touch what was his!

Later, when they lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms and their legs tangled, Roman deeply inhaled Victor’s own scent, his nose buried in his scarred neck.

“You’re mine,” he nearly growled, feeling Zsasz shiver in his arms.

“All yours, boss. I promise,” Victor assured dutifully like he did every time.

After a few moments of silence, Roman breaks it by asking what’s been burning on his tongue, “Is he touching you?”

“He’s got his arm around me, sometimes.”

“I don’t believe you. You reek of him when you come home every time.”

Zsasz shrugged, “Yeah, okay. Maybe more than sometimes, but that’s all he does.”

Roman nodded and kissed Victor’s neck, licking over it and feeling the scars against his tongue. It was a feeling he hoped no one else ever got to experience.

A while later, Victor’s been borrowed more times than Roman would ever like to admit; but it was alright, then. He’s acquired far more territory and power than Mr. Wright had as that point; only for that poor bastard not to realise it.

With self-confidence oozing from every pore of his body, the fucker put his arm around Victor’s shoulder, looking right at Roman, who only sneered back at him. The club was empty; Roman made sure of that, once the meeting had been set up. And while it still made his blood boil beyond comprehension to see Zsasz enveloped by someone else’s body, he knew that this would be the last time he had to endure it.

So, when Mr. Wright thought to be a slimy bastard and let his hand travel further down Victor’s body, he couldn’t have possibly noticed it fast enough; that was how quick Zsasz was to stab him in the stomach and leg, incapacitating him effectively.

Grinning, Roman stepped forward to tower over the fuck’s slumped over, groaning figure.

“While you were busy trying to rile me up and snatching my property from me, I made sure to gain on territory that once used to be yours,” Roman said gleefully, “And now you’ll get exactly what you deserve for daring to even touch my things. That way you’ll be able to really admire Victor’s talented hands, I’m sure.”

Twirling his finger to indicate his surrounding men to go and tie Mr. Wright to a chair, so Victor could get to work on him, Roman and Zsasz made eye-contact. Both of them wore face-splitting smiles, looking so utterly delighted; Roman couldn’t help himself but to capture Victor’s lips in a searing kiss.

After all, Zsasz was his and he could do whatever he wanted, since he owned everyone in this fucking room, now.

It was all well worth its price.

#roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis imagine #victor zsasz #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask fanfic #mlm ship #mlm fiction #mlm fanfic

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year

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A Lifetime and Beyond

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/0uChA71

by CriFree_FTW

She used to think she had the answers to everything. Her life changed when she lost the boy she loved - until one night when a shocking intruder entered her life, throwing her back into a world of memories. (Jason Todd x OC)

Words: 4142, Chapters: 1/17, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Batman: The Animated Series, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Jason Todd, Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jonathan Crane, Roman Sionis, Rebecca Langstrom, Original Male Character(s), Talia al Ghul, Original Child(ren) of Jonathan Crane, Barbara Gordon, Jim Gordon

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), past Jonathan Crane/Harleen Quinzel, eventual Jonathan Crane/Pamela Isley, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Roman Sionis & Jason Todd

Additional Tags: Resurrected Jason Todd, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Grief/Mourning, First Love, Second Chances, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Good Older Sibling Dick Grayson, scheherazade references, Public Nudity, Do NOT copy to another website, Human Trafficking, Unethical Experimentation, Pubic Hair, Blackmail, Inspired by Fanfiction and Music, Swan Princess (1994) References, Jonathan Crane is a Good Parent, Protective Jonathan Crane, Teen Crush, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Romance, Complicated Relationships, Shaving, Past Rape/Non-con, no reposting, Protective Jason Todd, BAMF OFC, Non-Consensual Drug Use

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/0uChA71

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the cape crusader #gotham #dc universe #ao3 #ao3feed

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qcpmedia · 4 years

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“Birds of Prey”: A Crisis of Infinite Harleys

by Chris Clay

Ok-- let's get this part out of the way first: I love Harley Quinn.

Have done since her debut on Batman The Animated Series. My mother let my dad take me to see Tim Burton’s brilliant 1989 Batman film (I was 5 at the time) because she was under the assumption that Batman was always the high camp she remembered enjoying in the television show from her childhood. Thanks, Adam West! My journey into comics began shortly after learning to read with classical mythology, so I was totally prepared for all manner of tales about monsters, demons, serial killers, human traffickers, etc. Quickly becoming an avid comic reader, 10 year-old me was a DC & Marvel veteran who spent a lot of mental energy filling in the blanks on the softened-for-cartoons versions of Bats, Spidey & the X-Men.

After years of seeing "versions" of my favorite supers onscreen, I thought this new character, originally the Joker's jester henchwoman, was a breath of fresh air. She seemed like the perfect fit for both the show and the Joker, the first real Manic Pixie Dreamgirl. She was funny but also scary, vulnerable and just overall awesome. Best of all? She didn’t seem nerfed for kids tv. She just seemed oddly... real. And she was contagious. That complex reality bled onto anyone she shared enough screen time with. She helped me to see Poison Ivy as the troubled yet brilliant and sensitive person the show had always hinted she was. Besides Catwoman, no other character tested Batman's rigid sense of right and wrong more beautifully. Even Joker seemed multifaceted when Harley was around. I cheered as loudly as anyone when she ditched that clown, and those Harley/Ivy episodes were some of the best the series had to offer.

OG Harley & subsequent versions over the years tended to show a woman that was preyed upon by a master manipulator who pushed her to the edge of sanity. To the edge, not over it. She was definitely traumatized, but the original portrayals never presented any extreme mental problems. Sure, she was codependent & had a temper. And shitty taste in men. Those traits in moderation are not craaaazy. That's just being human.

Harley continued to evolve over the years, shaped by many creators and performers across multiple mediums. Her look has changed, her status as villain or antihero has vacillated and her relationships have been presented more and more as on her terms rather than something foisted upon her by chance.

The characterization problems started in comics, but David Ayers' disappointing 2016 Suicide Squad film brought this lesser Harl to the masses, along with a version of her *ahem* more revealing New52 costume, seemingly metahuman durability & chalk white skin. I always loved the idea that Harleen had the ability to take her jester clothing & clown makeup off, sit around with an equally dressed-down Ivy and talk about who they really were, what made them tick. This new Harley (like her modern comics counterpart) was always "on", displaying very little of the soulful, mature character many of us comics & animation fans know and love. Despite that, she was definitely the highlight of the film, and there were flashes of brilliance that made me believe Margot Robbie could get to the fundamental truths of the character if given another chance.

And that brings us rather neatly to Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn).

Harley Quinn, last seen in the aforementioned Suicide Squad, has just been dumped by the Joker & is forced to make her own way in Gotham City’s underworld. In short order, she meets Dinah Lance, Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli & Cassandra Cain. All of these ladies have, for various reasons, fallen onto the radar of neat-freak gangster Roman Sionis, played with scenery-scarfing delight by Ewan MacGregor. Forced to band together to survive, they eventually learn that despite their considerable individual talents, they're more formidable as a team.

For some reason I still can’t quite articulate, I remember being slightly underwhelmed when the cast was announced. I liked all of the actors... hell, each of them has had at least one role I absolutely loved them in-- but I still felt they were odd choices for their respective roles in this movie (more on that later). The trailer was where I got genuinely worried that Warner might be climbing back into the hole so many creators toiled to pull the DC film properties out of.

However, as I said in the beginning, I love Harley Quinn. I was definitely going to see this movie. In Margot Robbie, I felt Harley had a champion on par with Ryan Reynolds as Deadpool or Hugh Jackman as Wolverine; an actor who would work tirelessly to get their character right, on the page & onscreen, however many tries it took. Plus she was saying some interesting things about what she thought the the film & the character should represent during the rollout (and I know the movie isn't the trailer), so I was at "cautious optimism" by the time I sat down to watch the film.

I was totally wrong about one thing: the cast is the best thing about the movie, and that’s not some backhanded compliment. K.K. Barrett's production design is great, colorful while not feeling cheap or phony, and Cathy Yan has a great eye for fun directing choices that keep things zipping along... but the cast is the real MVP. They’re actually great.

Jurnee Smollet-Bell is understated & surprisingly physical as tough-as-nails chanteuse Dinah Lance, a classic “woman trying to keep her head down in a bum situation”. She gave modern comic book moll vibes & I Stan. Rosie Perez's Renee Montoya brought a dose of realism to the candy-coated insanity swirling all around her while also giving Harley an entertaining foil for the first 2 acts. She has probably my favorite fight scene in the entire movie.

Mary Elizabeth Winstead, the person I went into the movie thinking was the most grossly miscast, is hands down my favorite character in the film. She's equal parts ruthless & socially awkward, a take on Huntress that is somehow both anachronistic & perfectly in step with her comic counterpart. Even newcomer Ella Jay Basco brings a unique charm to what could have easily been an irksome reimagining of fan favorite Cass Cain as a sassy teenage pickpocket. MacGregor’s turn as Sionis is less a character than he is a symbol, acting as a stand-in for various brands of broken maleness, but the guy’s clearly having a blast and he has decent enough chemistry with the leads. Chris Messina as Victor Vsasz is an absolute snoozefest, a waste of both character and actor that I’ll give no more space or attention.

Now for the elephant in the room: Margot Robbie's Harley is my least favorite thing about the whole movie.

"But Chris..", I hear you yelling at your computational device, "...you said she was the lone bright spot of SS!"

True, but in a film with clever, unmuddied direction & other actors that actually display some semblance of emotion or charisma for more than one scene a piece, the bar has been raised this go round & Robbie's frantic mugging limbos under said bar by a mile. What’s worse is that she actively takes screen time that could be better spent fleshing out one of the other four characters. Only Huntress (who has probably the least screen time of any of the leads) actually has a backstory, but her origin is a large part of the plot. One could be forgiven for thinking the she wouldn’t have had one at all otherwise. We don’t really know anything about Cassandra Cain, Montoya is literally just Stock Cop, and you could make a whole movie out of how the hell Dinah ended up singing at Sionis’ club. And where the hell is the Joker?! Why is he letting Harley destabilize Gotham’s balance of power or letting Sionis threaten his ex-puddin’ while also claiming to be the the underworld’s top dog? Instead of answering these questions, we get a bunch of throwaway characters attacking the newly-emancipated Quinn and Suicide Squad flashbacks that look even uglier than before when placed side by side with the production design of this film. The fact that most of these characters are so thinly characterized yet still connect is a testament to the performances and chemistry of the central cast.

You get the feeling that a lot of this movie was Robbie as producer, exerting her ideas & energy onto a massive production that needed a lot of moving parts to line up in order to work. It's not easy to have everything riding on you, whether it’s the future of the DCEU, progressive representation of women in film or just your own movie stardom. I understand that and I sympathize. This frantic, flailing movie is the product of some 3 years of rewrites and pitching, shooting on and off for 9 months, plus all the promo stuff. Every interview that I've seen the cast do has basically been Robbie explaining things ad nauseam while Jurnee Smollet-Bell or Mary Elizabeth Winstead kind of quietly nod in agreement, with the exception of the recent season premiere of Hot Ones, where capsaicin finally allowed someone else get a word in edgewise. The real problem with that comes when you see the movie and realize she’s contextualizing so much of the film on other media outlets because the film itself doesn’t really seem to have the time or interest, leaving it’s star to try and explain what we actually see onscreen on the press tour. This leads to a situation akin to Final Fantasy XV, where the player needed heaps of supplemental content to understand what could and should have been included in the story proper. She just seems overworked, similar to when Ben Affleck wanted to perform the Herculean task of writing, directing & starring in the next solo Batman film. Maybe Margot & Harley both need a little break?

The internet is scrambling to diagnose why a well-reviewed movie starring a beloved character played by a popular actress is underperforming at the box office, citing everything from the trailer to the rating to the movie’s title, with many (including BoP creator Gerry Conway) blaming the lackluster box office on sexism, but I think there might be a simpler answer: this version is trying to pull from the entire history of Harley to create a singular characterization from sometimes disparate portrayals. It doesn’t help that Robbie’s Quinn exists in a universe that’s constantly shifting under her feet after every film.

Most comic characters are criticized for being inaccurate to the source material but Harley has arguably the opposite problem; almost a Crisis of Infinite Harleys, where Robbie and Warner Bros. want to stuff the best elements from every version of Harley into every movie she’s in. It’s supposed to be fan service but instead, often feels scattered and tiring. Not to mention the stuff these films just pluck straight out of thin air that don’t work...

The DC Universe version of the character chose to leave the Joker on her own terms and I thought that was a brilliant and socially relevant writing choice, so it was strange to then see the more mainstream (and arguably more popular) version of Harley be dragged out of Joker’s hideout, kicking and screaming. In a film who’s title was purposely made ridiculously long to accentuate the character’s supposed newfound self-sufficiency, For all of the things that do work well, Birds of Prey just doesn’t feel like what’s explicitly promised on the tin.

I still love Harley Quinn, and I still think Margot Robbie’s the right person for the job. No need to Pattinson her or anything... just put less on her plate and give the character and the movies she’s in a clear, singular direction. Pretty please, puddin’?

#birds of prey #harley quinn #dceu #margot robbie #ewan macgregor #jurnee smollett bell #rosie perez #dc comics #black mask #renee montoya #batman #ben affleck #robert pattinson #movies #essay

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

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iii. danse macabre ✤ roman sionis/varya astakhova

romya + “hey, it’s okay—once i get rid of the body we can go out to dinner like we planned!” requested by @blissfulalchemist! set somewhere between carry your throne / the land of gods & devils as the twins are not yet born. special thanks to @shallow-gravy for letting me borrow her eyeballs on this one!

words: 2.5k

rating: m for roman being himself, canon-typical gore/violence descriptions, and for these two being disgustingly in love while also goading each other into an argument.

warnings: the aforementioned canon-typical gore, the implication that describing events of violence is a kind of dirty-talk for them. also roman being a fuckhead

“Well, look, Zsasz, you’ve got his fucking intestines all over my stage.”

Roman sighs, brows pulling together. They’re really all over the place, Grimwald’s intestines, the arterial spray painting the stage and the sounds of sopping tissue and carnage echoing around the empty club. Waiting, of course, to be cleaned and subsequently filled by the patrons of Gotham. The club opens in two hours and he’s got hardly the time in the world to worry about it. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time that folks had come in to a bloody sight at the beginning of the evening, but Roman finds that sort of thing to be tedious.

On the stage, Zsasz stands over the body that is currently slumped in the chair, drenched in red up to his elbows. A frown etches into his expression; his hands plant on his hips, bright crimson swept across the denim-blue of his shirt, bloodied thumbs hooking onto his belt loops.

“It’s not my fault,” he says defensively. “Armazd is the one who’s firing a fuckin’ shotgun at point-blank range.”

Roman looks at the Russian accusingly. Armazd shrugs. There is blood painting his face like a Pollock.

Serenely, he says, “What is the point of the tarp if we are not using it to the fullest extent?”

“The t—” Roman makes an incredulous noise, hopping up onto the stage. He points at the viscera draped across the stage, outside of the perimeter of the tarp. “Look at this. Does this look like using the tarp, to you?”

The Russian looks at the indicated carnage. “To the fullest extent, yes.”

“It’s sloppy.”

“Uh,” says Zsasz.

“What does he need the spine for, anyway?” Armazd waves the shotgun. “You cut his face off. Like he is going to be walking around? Pakhan, come on.”

Roman scoffs. “You're a fucking moron.”

“Uh?” says Zsasz again.

“What?” Roman snaps, wiping blood (?) off of the edge of his shoe with a napkin. “Uh, what, Zsasz?”

Zsasz is crouching now, as though to look as inconspicuous as possible. He clears his throat, reaching for an already-bloodied towel to try and sop up the gore on his arms, to no avail, muttering something.

A spike of irritation courses through his veins, molten hot. “Spit it out, Victor.”

“Incoming,” Zsasz says.

Armazd adds, “Red alert.”

“Inc—what the fuck does red alert mean?”

It’s too late, of course; Roman has been occupied trying to get these idiots to tell him what it is that’s suddenly got them trying to look like they aren’t splattered with a man’s intestines or that his face isn’t sitting two feet away, dropped unceremoniously on the floor. By the time Roman is thinking, got to do everything in this fucking place myself, the moment to pursue escape has already passed.

“Roman, what is going on?”

He turns to see his wife standing just below the stage, dark brows furrowed at the center of her forehead and lips downturned into a frown. Irina is lingering somewhere behind her with the bags, further into the dark of the club; the fluorescents angled at the stage make it difficult to determine the true ferocity of Varya’s disdain, and Roman finds himself squinting. He can barely make out the shape of her in that strappy little sundress, the promising slope of her tummy just hardly peeking against the fabric.

The pregnancy has been much easier than he’d thought it would be, all things considered. Varya took to it well; she glowed, preened under the attention, never complained about morning sickness or aches and pains. It’s convinced Roman that either most women are just taking advantage and kicking up the dramatics, or he’s got the perfect woman. Or both. The implication that he is the single possessor of the ideal creature is an enticing one, at least.

Still, he does seem to find her temper a bit sharper, as of late. It’s just generally not directed at him.

“What do you mean what’s going on?” he replies, stepping off of the tarp. He stops to check his shoes for guts before he shoots Armazd and Zsasz a look over his shoulder, popping down from the stage.

“I mean,” Varya continues tartly as he nears, “why is that man’s face halfway across the stage?”

“It’s just business.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “I can see his spine.”

“Well, that was Armazd,” he explains dismissively. Pleased at her closeness now, with the scent of her jasmine perfume sticking deliciously to his palate instead of blood, he reaches up to brush the hair from her face. “We’re going to have a talk about maintaining the integrity of bone structure later. Not to mention mitigating lengthy clean-up times—”

“We have reservations!” the brunette snaps. She's leaned back just in time to avoid his touch, hot-whiskey eyes narrowing. Suddenly, Roman feels more inclined to be back on the bloodied stage than within easy throttling range.

Oh, shit, he thinks, because he’d forgotten. Our dinner reservations. Varya’s one request had been that he take her to dinner at the Greek place she loves, and they always have a waiting list, and she’d made reservations long in advance. For no particular reason, really, no occasion; she’s just been craving them.

“I know,” Roman says, which is a lie. “I know we have reservations.”

“Do you?” she presses. “I feel like maybe you are just saying that.”

“No!” he protests. “I’m just—” Roman gestures to the stage. Armazd and Zsasz are standing so stiffly, as though trying to avoid the attention of a prehistoric raptor, that it's almost comical. “I’m a working man, baby, that’s all. It’s down the wire with me, always, you know that.”

Varya stares at him. She stares, like she’s thinking about how long it would take her to bash his face in, and then that pouty lower lip trembles, and she lets out a watery sigh that makes panic—stronger, more searing than even when she's got a sharp object in those cruel hands of hers—race straight through his body.

“Varya,” he begins, feeling rapidly like he’s losing his footing. What’s he going to do if she starts crying? The woman is carrying his children, he can’t very well just set her aside until she’s calmed down.

Can he?

Roman lifts his hands as though to soothe a startled animal. “Hey, it’s okay—once I get rid of the body we can go out to dinner like we planned!”

“You will not get rid of this stupid body fast enough,” the brunette insists, her voice thick with unshed tears. Roman has never heard her like this, nor seen her, teetering so precariously between mourning and fury. It’s almost endearing; she’s so terribly vicious all the time that he never gets her softness like this. He’s certain the last time he ever saw her hurt or needing was when Ilarion had died.

Roman’s head whirls, nearly owl-like, to stare at Zsasz and Armazd. Though, perhaps stare not quite the descriptor; it would be more accurate to say that he is begging, looking frantically for some kind of moral support when faced with the emotionally-volatile, walking-serrated-blade that’s also carrying his progeny.

Like tried-and-true right-hand-men, they are entirely useless.

Varya brushes past him, storming up onto the stage before he can rate the dangers of trying to stop her (high). “Look at this,” she demands, indicating the carnage. “Look at this mess, Roman. How are you going to clean this up? Our reservation is for—” She looks at her phone. “It’s in thirty minutes.”

“It was important!”

“Yes?” She sucks in a sharp breath. “Who even is this, Roman?”

“That’s—!” He stops, frantically racking his brain. There’s nothing. He’s coming up empty. He’d just been thinking the man’s name, and now he can’t, because he’s too busy looking at how close Varya is to wrenching the shotgun out of Armazd’s hands and if he’s got a clear path to cover. “He’s...Well, you know. He’s that...one guy. That guy. Boys?”

Now, he gestures with his hand for Zsasz and Armazd to supply the answer. They watch, more content than ever with Varya’s close proximity to be as utterly unhelpful as possible. Fuckers.

“You cannot even remember his name,” Varya bites out.

Roman makes an incredulous noise. “It’s—work is important—”

“Well, are you going to fuck work?” she demands venomously. Zsasz clears his throat. He clearly wants to go, leave and be somewhere else—anywhere else—but it’s too late; everyone in the room is now the unfortunate witness to this argument.

Roman says, “Of course not, V, you can’t fuck a concept of labor!”

“That was rhetorical.” His wife rakes her fingers through her hair, tousling dark curls as she surveys the mess. She makes a miserable sound. “Oh, just look at this—mess, Roman, it is everywhere. All of him. You could not even be bothered to set down more than one tarp? You know how hard it is to get this stage cleaned. And you don’t even know his name.”

“Grimwald,” Zsasz supplies, about three exchanges too late, earning him a look that has gone from distraught to murderous in half a second from Varya. Roman presses the palm of one gloved hand to his face.

“Oh, good,” she seethes, “I’m glad you discarded the one thing I have asked you for in five months for the man who imports exotic animals.”

She makes a disgusted sound and steps off the stage. Roman says, “V, baby, come here,” and reaches for her, but drops his hands the second she plants one perfectly manicured nail into the center of his chest, eyes narrowed viciously.

“Clean. This. Up,” she bites out. “I do not want to see some nobody’s insides painted across the stage when I come back.”

“Come back from where?” he demands.

“Dinner.” Varya drops her hand. “Irina loves Greek food.”

Roman turns his gaze, accusatory, to the offending Irina. She looks a little helpless. The woman is polite and well-mannered enough, but he knows women, and he doesn’t miss the way that she drops into Russian whenever he’s around. And whenever they’re alone, probably. What is she, anyway? Fucking Russian?

“Varya.” He’s trailing after her, Roman Sionis, and he would be furious about it if he didn’t think it very gracious and generous and speak positively of what an incredible husband he is. That he will be, now that he knows how to sufficiently defuse his bride. “You’re upset. But, I’ve forgiven your hysteria—already—and I think taking Irina to dinner is a great idea.”

She stops. Yes, that’s right, he thinks, quite pleased with himself, all’s fair in love and war, and all that, isn’t that right, my little viper?

“My—” Varya stops herself. She still has not turned to look at him, but there’s the cock of her head, reptilian little thing, like she’s watching him out of her peripheral. “What?”

“Hysteria,” Roman repeats pleasantly. Duck, duck, jab. That’s how it always is, with Varya. “But it’s alright, as I said. I’ve forgiven you.”

There is a second of a pause where he watches her settle her shoulders back, a collection of herself; the brunette swings around to look at him, and there on her face is planted the most tranquil smile, curving the delicate edges of those cupid’s bow lips upward. Just as he prefers to see her. It’s this little game they play; digging and pulling and tugging that thread loose until one of them gives, until the venom is there for them to drink in together.

“You’re right, my darling,” she demurs, her voice suddenly too saccharine to be all that genuine. “I have lost my head.”

“Well.” Roman is trying not to sound too triumphant, bearing in mind that he cannot trust a venus fly trap such as his wife. She’s all lovely colors and velvet lining until you get too close, after all. “I’ve forgiven you.” He pauses as she sidles forward. “As I said.”

“I know,” Varya replies, “but still, I am sorry. Here, I think I will be the most reasonable with you.”

She tilts her head, lifting her chin a little as she fixes him with her gaze. They’re close to kissing, like this, an action which Roman hasn’t indulged in since her arrival (honestly, a criminal offense—he should be able to put hands and mouth on her at any time) when she says, “Romy?”

He feels a threat, lurking. Still, he indulges in the softness; in the feeling of her nestled against him, not pulling out of reach when he reaches up to cradle the slope of her throat with one hand. “Yes, kitten?”

“I want that man scraped off of the stage by the time I am back,” she murmurs. “Every last ounce of his pathetic intestines gone. Not a whiff of blood. Not even a scrap of carnage left over.” She cocks her head, eyes flickering up to his. And then, honeyed: “Please.”

If it were anyone else, Roman thinks he wouldn’t have let it slide. He thinks the please wouldn’t suffice. But she says it in that silky way she does, glancing at him through dark lashes so that he thinks he likes it, the little bite lurking in her words, that he thinks he’s become a man dosed on her venom so that he craves it now.

Roman drags a gloved thumb over the fading color of a bite-mark he’d left there, nights ago.

“Say it again,” is what he replies.

“Which part?” Varya’s eyes flicker dreamily. “The scraping of intestines? Perhaps the blood?”

“The please, you little minx,” he snips in a playful growl. “Unless you want to forego dinner entirely and have me take you upstairs.”

Seeming pleased with him, she lifts her chin a little and says, “Please, Romy?” and lilts it at the end the way she knows he likes, like she’s really asking, like she’s not just told him what to do.

Roman sighs, resisting the urge to grab a fistful of her little sundress and instead contents himself with her half-done apology. Well, half-done in a sense; she’s apologized in the way that counts, anyway. If only there were an audience, to watch her tame herself for him and him alone—larger than Armazd and Zsasz, anyway.

“Consider it done,” he replies. “And I’ll meet you at dinner.”

“No later than six-thirty, Roman,” she says, pulling back just as he goes in to kiss her; drawing him in to a chase. “I mean it.”

Roman tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, regarding her with what he knows inside is only hunger. “Or what?”

“Show up late,” Varya calls over her shoulder, taking her bag from Irina, “and you will find out, my love.”

It’s not until the club doors close behind her that Roman turns back around, considering the coming scenes (in which she will, inevitably, be at his mercy, saying the sweetest things, saying I’m sorry and meaning it with her fingers knotted in his hair—yes, she’s always the sweetest like that) and finds Armazd and Zsasz staring at him.

“Well?” Roman prompts irritably, starting off across the club to the side hallway. “Get this shit cleaned up. I have to get ready for dinner.”

A moment of silence reigns between the two men on the stage. Zsasz lets out a sigh, shaking his head.

“I’m never getting fuckin’ married.”

#birds of prey #roman sionis/original female character #birds of prey oc #spilled ink #x: this smile is a loaded gun #c: varya astakhova #c: roman sionis #i'm so glad i FINALLY #WROTE SOMETHING #GOD #it only took me a thousand years #hopefully next WH chap and graphics comms to follow shortly after #anyway these two are disgustingly in love and that's that #even when roman is an idiot #(affectionate)#thank u lici for the prompt!

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