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autisticrosewilson · 4 months ago

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First of all, you have given me so much to work with, thank you so much. Second of all, I’m really glad you could see where I was going with Grant’s real test not actually being about killing Slade. Third of all, I absolutely love what you’ve suggested with the powers and I am currently designing met gala esque outfits for the trio and Tara’s specifically is really fun to play around with. I’ve been thinking to show they’re becoming more divine I’ll change their hair and eye colours but not their faces for the most part. I was drawing robin Jason with Natalia and decided he should have brown eyes and a crooked nose from breaking it as a kid but once he returns his eyes get weird (eg go blue and occasionally other colours), a patch of his hair went white and he lost all of his scars. Also, I think the closer they get to divinity I’m gonna draw cracks on their body that glow with their specific colours just to hammer home how they’re shedding their mortal forms.

With Tara being able to see the strings of fate, I though it’d be fun to give her a harp and then with Jason having the see no evil trait I thought it’d be fun to give him weighing scales since lady justice wears a blindfold. Idk what to give Grant though. I mean probably a weapon of some sort or maybe a Shepard’s crook that he can turn into a scythe to play into the sheep, wolf, Hunter thing.

With Jason and Tara’s splintering, I love the idea of them making fun of Grant for being the baby god. He hasn’t even had a cult yet, gosh he’s so young. Also them being besties just holds a special place in my heart.

And I just came up with this, of course they have parallels to the trinity but in universe rumours of their existence have been around much longer than Bruce, Clark and Diana. They’re the big three of the justice league but these guys are justice gods. So they start calling themselves the justice trinity but then people get confused about which trinity is which because the justice leagues’ trinity sounds awfully close to the justice gods’ trinity. The new all caste is certainly more distinctive branding but the point isn’t to be distinctive, it’s to be petty.

I'm so glad my unmedicated rambling helped!!! And I'm so excited for the outfits!!! I love when characters start becoming less and less human, when they're stuck in that uncanny valley spot of not quite human but not entirely Other, when they lose control and the cracks start to show...um I should probably give a warning for slight body horror elements. Not in the gore sense, in the "this body is not made of flesh and there is something divine clawing it's way out". Uh also there are teeth. Just. Teeth. I dipped into a little bit of cosmic horror at the end there because I wanted to cover my bases with mixed mythologies

Jason, with his defined splinters, is usually depicted with three faces in ancient texts. The Child, gaunt and dark colored, is said to appear before the downtrodden and impoverished. The few stories remaining tell of kindly people who give him an offering, and in exchange he reveals his true form, with his crown of golden ivy and beautiful strong wings to gift them bounties of food and water and riches. Other stories tell of not so kind encounters, where The Child witnesses an injustice - typically against women or children - and again reveals his true form, one with clawed hands and a mouth dripping with blood. Scholars argue what the wings looked like, but whichever All-Caste member annotated it before has compared their likeness to either a Robin or a Shrike.

There's also The Ghost, He appears young at first glance, but his hair is wirey and gray, his eyes milky and unseeing, in bloodied armor he greets the souls of the damned as they're delivered to him, and with scarred hands he wipes the tears of children taken too soon. Accounts of this face are few and far between, but all of them are entrenched in sorrow.

Finally there is The Soldier, scarred and still smoking from the ruins of battle he emerges, giving voice to the weak and resources to the needy. He champions revolutionaries and philosophers first, a strategist who delights in the liberation of the people from corrupt systems. Accounts of him usually come from times of famine and war, and he was particularly popular with poor villages, who would mark the graves of their dead with the symbol of his sword as offerings. For some reason or other, he got particularly popular with the youth, girls and boys both seemed to pray for him and leave him offerings.

The way these manifest on Jason is subtle at first. I could go the body horror route, but I won't. Yet. Instead I think his splinters show up as reflections, shadows, imprints. The faint echo of bell-like laughter when Jason does a move he learned as Robin, the image of a younger him with longer hair and unblinking eyes staring at him in the mirror. It gets worse when he gets the blades, the white streaks his hair, the swirling mark covers more of his skin every time he uses them, he trails the scent of smoke and blood behind him like a signature. His scars...they should disappear. They have for everyone else who used the pit, but instead his skin starts cracking. Any place he's ever been scarred glowing cracks break up his skin. He can't feel them, but he's always aware of them, the meaning behind them, the divinity literally leaking through his body. His eyes aren't brown anymore. They aren't even green. He looks in the mirror and they are copper, molten and burning. He tries his best to keep his mask on.

What do you think of when you imagine the word divinity? Probably something like Tara. Something with skin carved from stone, with moss and fungus crawling up her legs and snow laden shoulders. They say her hair is made of swirling clouds and the sun and moon are her eyes.

Some say she's a nymph although no one knows what kind. You're just as likely to see her name among the naiads as the dryads. Whether flowers bloom where she dances or waves crash when she sings, she's known to be more vicious towards suitors than her sisters.

Others have said she's a faerie, who takes the faces of lost daughters and lovers, slipping into their places seamlessly, forcing unruly men to pay their dues. Others say she's a shifter of a different sort, with a shawl of feathers and a crown of twine and gems. Stories range from men trying to steal her coat (and paying dearly) to lost children returned safely home on the back of a swan.

Tara doesn't think about it at first, the way gravity tends to cede to her, she doesn't notice how sunflowers turn their faces towards her instead of the sun. She doesn't notice the way her face...shifts. it's imperceptible really, and it's not like she looks in the mirror all that often. But everyone around her notices it, on some level, the way her expressions are off. A little too exaggerated. The way her limbs bend just a little too oddly. The way she never looks quite the same as she did the day before, the way she picks up features from the people around her the way she picks up rocks from ground to add to her collection. Clay molded subtly into the image of those she loves, a museum of everyone she's ever met. She does notice when her hair starts going white at the ends, the strange way her hair starts to curl unnaturally, almost floating. She's not so upset about her eyes, the deep blue of her father that has glared down at her day after day, she has changed her hair, her face, her language but she could not change her eyes. It seems she didn't have to, when she wakes up with one a little too silver to be gray and one a little too gold to be brown. And then her skin starts splitting, a cavern made from a broken rib and ravines made by the slashing of knives. She doesn't even bleed anymore, they never scab over. They crystallize, amber like ambrosia, like ichor. Her body a geode waiting to be cracked open to let the thing within finally break free.

They know the least about Grant, whatever he used to be. Half written scrolls, torn or burnt or simply stopped abruptly, illegible journal entries with symbols never recorded in any known language, half finished sketches where the details are never quite clear. A few things are usually consistent though, signs that he's been there, usually from hunters down on their luck or the particularly old and sickly. First, the howling. Like a wolf or a storm, although later accounts would add that it occasionally sounds like a mechanical whirring. Then the rabbits, dead and gutted, but not a trace of blood. Piles of them left in heaps on doorsteps or windowsills. Some have reported knocking at strange hours or finding teeth in their homes, a mix of human and animal. There is one photo on record, the most recent thing in the archive most likely, of claw marks on the side of a barn, too big and oddly serrated, certainly not from anything native to the area. Elderly that report these phenomena typically pass from heart problems within the week, according to some of the old medical files.

Grant came back wrong. Physically, at least. He knows that he's still himself for the most part, dying didn't make him a selfish asshole he did that all on his own, but...but something is wrong with him. It's the way lightbulbs flicker when he's mad and how cameras, no matter the quality, never quite get a clear shot of him. The way Joey can't ever grasp his features, not fully, the details slipping from his mind like water. The way eyes on his face slide right past, unable to look directly at him. It's in the gray spreading from his roots and his eyes too wide and dark to belong to something human. It's the way death clings to him like a second skin, sickly and pallid turning the tips of his fingers gray. His teeth are starting to feel too sharp for his mouth, and he hears things no one else does, whispers of voices that Are Not and Can't Be. The worst part is the orange, liquid candlelight under his skin, lighting up all of his veins and scars, webbing together like the world's worst game of connect the dots. No, there is no mistaking him for something human, so there is no reason to try. If this is his fate then he will take it, because he is not a sheep and he will not be a wolf, he is a hunter, and he is hungry.

#Jason as a Christ like figure is funny to me #Imagine growing up with a Catholic mother going to church praying for her health #and then you find out your soul predates the mf AND he plagiarized you 😒#that's more sad than funny but you get the picture #I also wanted them all to be represented by prey animals that are actually known for being really aggressive #like birds are typically seen as Docile but Shrikes are vicious assholes #and Swans which are coveted for their grace and beauty but are actually FERAL #it also marks Grant yet again as the odd one out by not giving him a bird #I gave him a rabbit because while I did consider a sheep it didn't work as well #Rabbits aren't dangerous to humans but they are aggressive to each other and won't hesitate if you push them #but they're also very sought after for hunting and as pets #I think Tara should have a very Changeling type vibe #y'know a little bit of fae energy #Grant is very much like a cryptid to me #cryptozoology is pretty new and people are still spreading stories about them #so it feels appropriate for a younger god to be associated with #there's also every chance he DID exist before the recorded records of him #but for some reason or other there's just less of him mentioned #Jason Tara and Grant have always been three after all #So what's obscuring Grant's mythology? fun little mystery 😉#dc #jason todd #tara markov #grant wilson #New All Caste au #also I have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to Tara and fancy clothes for her #because she has SO MANY INTERESTING AESTHETICS #I also really like your skin cracking idea so I tried to individualize it a little 😊#Grant's did get kind of body horror though

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thegreatwicked · 8 months ago

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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,”

Fifteen

---

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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