#mr zsasz imagine

[moonlit-imagines]

You’ve Got the Wrong Guy!

Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz x adoptive!reader

warnings: blood/gore. u know. BOP movie icky stuff

a/n: silly little gif

prompt: @jokekinsjoke505: “Hey I need a new adoptive father's Roman and victor because I think this will be a good idea where either they kidnapped the wrong kid and it ended up with Roman and victor adopted the reader or that one day that the reader walks in while victor is peeling off a face and Roman are eating popcorn watching it happened but they just says ' I'm to tired for this shit' before walking out again and then acted like it never happened.”

“Who does this child belong to?” Asked Roman to his mercenary and dear friend, Victor. In front of him was Victor holding you, a small child, calm in demeanor despite being taken from the comfort of your own home and family.

“Maroni.” Victor replied without a single doubt. “That’s who you told me to grab and I grabbed the kid. Just like you asked. One cool kid if you ask me.” Victor continued, noticing Roman getting visibly upset. “I don’t get it, what’s the problem?”

“That!” Roman shouted, startling you enough to start struggling from Victor’s grasp. He gently set you down as Roman tore him a new one. “That’s the problem, you don’t even see your failure!” You stood behind the bleach-blonde man, trying to understand what was happening, you were just waiting for the ice cream you were promised, you were so hungry. “That’s not Maroni’s kid. I don’t even know who that is? Did you take some random child off the street?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. I could’ve sworn this is the kid.” Zsasz answered.

“I’m hungry.” You quietly mumbled, just loud enough for them to hear you.

“Yeah, I’ll get you something in just a second.” Zsasz assured you, patting your head gently as Roman kneeled down to your height. You flinched and backed up a step, remembering his blind anger from just moments before. “It’s alright, he’s a good guy.”

“Who are you, dear?” Roman asked you in such a kind manner that you completely forgot how scary he was.

“Y/N.” You simply stated.

“Where are your parents, y/n?” Roman questioned further.

“I don’t know…” You sighed. “I didn’t see them for a few days.” Roman looked up to Victor with worry in his eyes, and was surprised to see a smile on his face.

“Can we keep them?” Victor giggled a bit, even more when you grabbed his leg. “Please?”

“Y/N, would you want to stay with us instead of your parents?” Roman had asked you a very heavy question for a young child, but you had no idea what he would really be asking of you. Of course, you didn’t come from a happy life and this already seemed better. You just wanted a sense of belonging.

“Can I get ice cream?” You innocently requested of them.

“Of course, dear! What kind?”

“Uhhh…chocolate!”

“Victor, go get y/n some chocolate ice cream!” He commanded and Victor ran to fulfill your wish. “So, you’ll stay here?” He asked you once more.

“Yeah!” You exclaimed and hugged him around the neck. He felt his heart melt at your embrace and hugged you back, lifting you up to take you with him to the kitchen. “So, who are you?” You asked him.

“I’m Roman. And my partner over there is Victor.” He smiled to himself. In a matter of moments, he’d created a family. One he’d kill for.

Once you were given your bowl of ice cream, you were sold on this new life. Truth be told, you didn’t have the greatest parents. They were absent and neglectful, which was the exact reason Victor found you all alone. It was still unknown why he mistook you for the child of a notorious mobster. Roman had his suspicions that Victor had planned this, but he laid them aside knowing this was good for them. For you all.

The two of them scrambled to make you a room, promising to buy you anything you would ever want when tomorrow rolled around. You were thrilled to be taken in by these two strange men, forgiving both of them in your young, impressionable mind. Roman, for his anger, and Victor, for kidnapping and misleading you.

“Victor.” Roman lowly said after you were tucked in. “I do apologize for raising my voice at you.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Victor looked down at the table, then felt a hand wrap around his.

“No, I shouldn’t have done it. Especially when you’ve improved our lives so much.” Roman sat beside him. “I don’t even care about that Maroni kid anymore. This is what I care about now. You and y/n.”

“You mean that?” Victor smiled and relaxed his tense body, worried that his mistake would be unforgivable. But Roman always forgave Victor, that was what made them so special. Now they had a new challenge to tackle together: fatherhood.

—————

Years after you’d been adopted by the pair of criminals with high status in the underworld, you’d grown quite accustomed to their behavior. It wasn’t unusual to find Roman frantic or angry, or a bit violent at times. But never toward you, he wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you or raise his voice to you. You could do no wrong.

You could also find Victor coming home from a late night, covered in blood—be it his own from a mark or someone else’s from a job—and being very nonchalant about it. It was always, “y/n! I’m glad you’re up! Would you like some ice cream?” They never left the freezer understocked, even if ice cream wasn’t your favorite anymore.

But there was one “normal” you’d never really get used to, even if you were used to their brutality. Roman was a well-respected crime boss, and to keep that respect intact, he had to do some rather gruesome things.

Well, he didn’t have to. It was a personal choice for him, you could almost consider it a hobby at this point.

You’d been looking for your fathers for going on an hour now, needing some permission slip signed for school. You wandered all their possible routes hoping to catch them across one, asking around to any lackey you managed to catch. No one had an answer for you, so you continued on until you stumbled onto a horrible scene.

One father held a segment of his victim’s hanging skin from their face as they shrieked at the top of their lungs. The sound pierced your eardrums and you winced momentarily. Then you saw the other leaned back in his seat with a bag of popcorn in hand, yelling words of encouragement to Roman, as if he needed them.

“You guys are really something.” Your voice startled them both, so much that you nearly had a gun pulled on you.

“Y/N! You scared us, I’m sorry!” Victor jumped up and ran to give you a comforting hug. “I wouldn’t have shot you, I promise.” You patted him on the back.

“I believe you, Dad.” You mumbled into his shoulder. “Can you just sign this thing real quick? Make sure there isn’t any blood on your hands.” Victor pulled away and wiped his hands on his shirt.

“Of course, of course. Roman, are you almost done with that? We should take our dear y/n out for a nice dinner soon, they deserve it.” Victor explained as he grabbed the pen and paper from your hands.

“Sure, that sounds nice. I should be done in a few minutes. Don’t rush me.” Roman continued dragging the knife under his chained victim’s skin and you shook your head at the sight. By now, this didn’t even faze you, it was just another day in your life. Well, maybe the first few times you had nightmares, but you weren’t a little kid anymore. Now, you could care less what your fathers did for work. So long as they gave you the world and their love, life was good.

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @randomfandomimagine // @summersimmerus // @bad4amficideas // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @amirahiddleston // @sydknee624 // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 //

[arkham-blurbs]

Arkham Asylum is a terrible and unethical place that treats its patients like sub-humans. Not only do the doctors and guards in the Asylum treat them like that but the police and the Batman most of the time do as well. Despite the fact that the city sends them to get mental health care, everyone has already given up on the idea of them ever getting better. Having said that can you imagine how lonely that must be for the Rogues, to have no one advocate for you when your treated badly, to instead have the people meant to help you hate you instead? To look so different and behave oddly, how lonely it must be to have no one on your side. No one except each other of course.

They’re kept in the same cell block together, away from all the other patients. They can hear each other all the time, see each other pacing or panicking or breaking down. It’s Riddler who watches a bruised Scarecrow get dragged back from his ‘Therapy Session’ barely concussion and he’s the one who sits next to the cell glass and shows him how to put his arm back into place. He’s also the one distracting him from the pain with an endless supply of riddles and questions about Scarecrows work. It’s the fearsome Scarecrow who sits with his back to his cell wall and spends hour quietly reciting poetry back and forth with the Mad Hatter, till he calms down from his panic attacks. His therapist makes no progress in pulling out Killer Crocs humanity but he does calm down when the Mad Hatter waste away the hours telling him stories through the pipes.

Killer Croc is the only one who can touch Ivy during her freak outs. The poison in her skin burns his scales and her thorns dig into his arms but he holds her until her rage dies down and she wilts in his arms. Ivy has a specialty cell meant to keep the light out, Mr. Freeze also has a specialty cell next to hers for his body temperature meaning they are even further isolated from the others. They keep each other sane, Ivy listening for hours as Freeze reminisces about Nora and when he gets tired she fills the silence with talk of flowers and gardening tips.

Freeze speaks loudly with his stories so his voice will carry to one of the isolation cells, Arkham has a habit of echoing. Victor Zsasz listens to the stories and calms his breathing down as he tries to imagine life outside of the four foam walls he’s been trapped in for, a while. It’s easy to loose track of time in these cells as nothing ever changes. It’s Zsasz who claws up some of the foam so he can tap the wall between his cell and the one next door. He sends messages in Morse code to the other solitary confinement cell belonging to the Clown Prince of Crime himself. Joker clings to messages sent between the wall as it’s the only contact he gets outside of the guards coming into his cell. The message is the same one they all tell each other, in their worst moments.

Be strong, I’m still here.

[littlebatsimagines]

A Friend in Arkham Part 4 (Jason Todd x fem!reader)

MasterList

“I knew you were trouble Mr. Todd, I never knew you were this much trouble."

Jason let out a quiet cough of a laugh. “Ms.(L/N) you have no idea." (Y/n) smiled a bit before sighing and looking up at the ceiling. The two sat in silence the only sound being the echoing drips of water from the old pipes. “Do you think he will find you?" (Y/n) finally asked the question that had been stuck in her mindsince seeing the red and yellow suit. “He has to, he always does… I just have to hold out and keep talking"

Officer Boles never returned (Y/n) to her cell and with some fudging of paperwork and some money it was like the girl never existed. While Joker barely touched her, Harley had other plans from doing the girl’s hair to dressing her up, she learned not to mouth off to Harley after a rather severe beating with a bat.

☆ ҉ ◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤ ҉ ★

Hours turned to days and days to months the two only having eachother to keep sane in the darkness of the abandoned wing of the asylum. It was 6 months in when Joker said he invited some guests, rogue after rogue came to have their shot at the captured Robin. First it was Killer Croc, then the Penguin, then Two Face, the hardest ones to watch were Bane and Zsasz, after them came Calendar Man, and finally the worst of them all Scarecrow. Scarecrow was the first one to not only torture Jason but (y/n) too. He noticed how Jason’s blue eyes would briefly flicker to her… that was the first night he ever truly pleaded for it to stop. At the end of the it (y/n) was sobbing and clinging to Jason like her life depended on it and now Joker knew he had a new way to break the Robin farther.

Foot steps echoed through the cold air. “Batman? Is that you?” Jason asked with a small bit of hope still in his voice and (Y/n) slowly picked her head up to look only for her breath to catch in her throat as dapper purple bloody shoes came into view. Joker grabbed her by her hair roughly making her let out a yelp. “Batman’s not coming to save you, Jason…either of you I’m afraid.” he mocked as he leaned down to rip the bag from Jason's head. “He’ll come.” Jason argued making Joker chuckle.

“Screw you!”

“That’s the spirit. You're a real chip off the ol’ Bat block. Not that it’ll do you any good.” Joker taunted as m gestured roughly yanking (Y/n)’s hair. “Why won't you just kill us?" she whimpered making Jason's eyes snap to her. “What? No, no, no,no. I'm not going to kill you, not yet anyway. You're my sidekicks now. Just imagine it! Us out on the streets, starting fights, picking on the weak! Hell! Jason and I could be a regular dynamic duo! Just like Bat’s and that new kid of his.” Joker said excitedly but the last part made (Y/n)’s eyes meet Jason’s. “No, he wouldn't.” Jason mumbled. “So this isn’t Batman then? Weird, the pointy ears are usually a dead giveaway!” Joker teased showing Jason a picture and (Y/n) could see all the hope fade from his eyes. “I didn't want to show you that photo, really I didn't. But, well it was the only way for you to get closure. Now I know this hurts but sometimes you gotta be cruel to be kind.” Joker said before hitting Jason with a crowbar sending him back into the darkness. (Y/n) whined as she reached for Jason making Joker let out a loud laugh. “No no dear you need to stay here, we won't be long.”

Tag List

@arkhamsrevenge @calumnobellon @harleycao

[finniestoncrane]

Ok so this is lowkey niche af but mama imagine the rogues reactions if you came while giving them head. If that’s too freaky deaky just ignore fr bc this might be way to specific to me

Hands-Free

Rogues Headcanons omg omg omg omg ok i don't think that's specific or maybe it's just very specific to us lmao 💜 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, cumming, suggestive stuff

mr freeze

there's something very warming about feeling so desirable

and you can guarantee that you cumming will spur him on

finishing much quicker than expected

preferably in your mouth

poison ivy

she's used to having that effect on people

but it feels special with you, it's not performative or forced

you really just do like her that much, honestly

or maybe you just really like how she tastes on your tongue

two face

ok so harvey finds it flattering, sweet almost

he'll even offer some reassurance, telling you how hot it is

two face on the other hand would rather you save it for him >:(

you'll suck his cock and you'll cum on his dick, thanks

scarecrow

disappoinment immeasurable, he likes to draw it out of you

he likes to feel your slick on him, covering him, induced by him

maybe next time, you can practice your control

or experiment to see if giving you head can make him cum too

penguin

you've made a mess of yourself and the floor of his office

but he really doesn't mind, it's a mark of success

you can stay down there and keep you both happy all day

might as well get extra sloppy now, stains are already there

harley quinn

that level of power drives her completely wild

you should practice doing it on demand when she asks

and then let her taste the fruits of her... not so much labour

but hey, at least she knows for next time to get you to stop sooner

riddler

a complete ego boost, not that he needed one of those

it's almost like a form of worship, a religious experience for you

he really, truly is just that good, mind, body and... cock

makes sense now that you're drooling over him so much

zsasz

ok well now he knows the next thing to practice is restraint

control, or denial, or edging just to get you used to it

he can't have you experiencing pleasure before he allows it

so get back on your knees and keep sucking, but don't cum

bane

big guy's a little bit disappointed that he wasn't directly responsible

but he's just happy that you're happy, and satisfied

although... can you go again? and let him try and make you cum?

maybe you let him see what other effect his dick has on you

mad hatter

he finds it so flattering, a well-deserved ego boost here

that he can make you do that and feel that way... about him?

and he hasn't even hypnotised you yet!

but uh... if you'd be into that, then he can promise you more

[arkhamsorderly]

Another thing about Zsasz: the bandages came off today, and apparently, they nearly had to sedate him to do it. I’m not entirely surprised, since he’s not really into people touching him. And I can’t imagine the doctor did it with any tact or grace. I didn’t think too much about it- until Dr. Strange called me into his office.

When I got there, he was watching the security camera footage of when I’d put the bandages on Zsasz. He paused it as I came in, but then turned his monitor towards me so I could see the freeze frame. It was of me looking up at Zsasz, and him looking back at me, the picture perfect image of obedience.

“I would like to know what exactly occurred between you and Victor Zsasz during this interaction,” he said in that creepy voice of his.

I shook my head. “Nothing happened. He was completely calm the entire time.”

“That is precisely what I want to know about,” he said. “The footage shows you speaking to him, but the audio is too faint to hear what you said. I want to know why he was not violent with you.”

“I don’t know.”

Strange frowned. “You must have said something to make him calm like that.”

“All I said was that the mark was going to scar, just like he wanted,” I said. “But I… I did ask why he killed that nurse.”

“And his response?”

“Some people are looking for death,” I said. “He just helps them find it.”

Strange sat back in his chair, clearly mulling this over. “What did you say to that?”

“I said he had freed her.” I twisted my fingers together, uncomfortable by my own actions. “That it must have been… liberation. I don’t actually think that, Doctor. I just… I didn’t know what to say.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Strange asked, “What did he say to that?”

I looked away, down at the table. “‘Exactly’,” I quoted.

Strange studied me for another moment or two. “Next time Mr. Zsasz needs medical attention, you will be responsible for delivering it,” he said. “You may go.”

“Hold on a second,” I protested, “I’m not even a medical professional-“

“I will not lose any more staff,” Strange snapped. “As long as Zsasz continues to comply with you, you will be assigned to him, in the interest of safety.”

“Safety-?!”

“Dismissed!”

So I left. What else could I do?

I saw Red a couple hours later. He looked worried, his face drawn.

“Bill, man, I’ve been looking for you all over,” he said. He must have already known about Strange’s order for me. “Look, there’s been an incident with Zsasz.”

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 14: Agents of Chaos

Fandom: The Dark Knight Trilogy

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x OC

Summary: The masked man has a job offer for them.

Word Count: 2,254

Notes: Takes place during The Dark Knight Rises. Warnings for depictions of violence.

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

“Well, look who’s finally out of solitary,” Vanessa leaned her head against Jonathan’s shoulder, curling in closer to him for the few hours of communal time they got in the day before they would all be wrangled back into the cells. He wrapped an arm around her waist, head cocking as he watched the Joker be allowed back into the pen.

“How long do you think he’ll last this time before he gets sent back?”

“Who knows. Maybe a week?”

Jonathan just hummed, pulling her closer into his lap. “He looked better with the makeup on.”

Vanessa hummed in agreement. Without it, the Joker looked too…normal. Or at least as normal as one could look with a Glasgow smile carved into their cheeks. 

“At least he’s fun to watch,” she said. Life in Blackgate was painfully boring. At least with the Joker around, things got a lot more interesting.

“Uh huh.”

Tilting her head, she huffed out a tiny laugh at the way Jonathan pouted, stretching up to kiss the side of his throat.

“Relax, you jealous fool. You’re still my favorite criminal.”

He blushed, seeming to almost melt at the statement, eyes soft when he looked at her. 

“You’re my favorite too.”

“I better be.”

Laughing, he kissed her firmly, long fingers petting through her hair.

“Hey! Hey! Sullivan and Crane, no canoodling in the communal areas!” one of the guards barked at them. They pulled away.

“Sorry, officer,” Jonathan said, teeth bared in a smile that she knew meant he was imagining all of the different ways to eviscerate the guard. But nevertheless, they behaved. If they didn’t, the guards would separate them indefinitely.

“They’ve been jumpier than usual,” Vanessa remarked. 

“Probably has to do with the masked man running around blowing up football fields and holding the city hostage with a neutron bomb.”

“Pfft. As if any of that is our fault.”

“Heya, docs!” the Joker had finally made his way over to them, jumping into the empty seat nearby.

“Hi, Jokes,” Vanessa greeted, lazily carding her fingers through Jonathan’s hair. “How was solitary?”

“I got to have a very enlightening talk with dear old Mr. Zsasz. You remember him?”

“Tally mark guy? Oh, yes. Very interesting case. How is he?”

The Joker giggled. “Even more off his rocker than the last time you saw him, I imagine.”

“Alright, everyone back to your cells!” a guard shouted.

“Already?” Vanessa asked, frowning.

“They’re skinting on our communal time,” Jonathan growled in annoyance, hand squeezing at her waist. Tilting her head, she gave him a kiss.

“Crane and Sullivan! What did I just fucking say!?” the same guard bellowed. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Jonathan mumbled as they pulled back and began to walk towards the line forming to go back to their cells.

“You will do no such thing. I don’t want to have to be up here alone while you’re down in solitary.”

He huffed, but nodded, squeezing her hand once before going back into his cell. They had allowed them to eventually have cells across from each other. Due to good behavior. So at least they could talk. The Joker was next door to her.

Most of the cells in Blackgate were stuffed to the gills, but their wing was special. The elite. That’s what the Joker called them, at least. Everyone had their own individual cell. For safety reasons.

“Did you hear about the bombings?” Vanessa asked the Joker, leaning up casually against her bars. 

“Heard some of the guards mentioning it,” he said, licking at his scars. “Who is he? The new one?” he didn’t need to specify who he was talking about.

“They’re calling him Bane.”

“Step away from the bars, Sullivan,” a guard snapped as he walked down the cellblock. Vanessa stuck her tongue out at him when his back was turned. Jonathan snickered.

There was a vroom from outside like…

Like a tank.

Bats?

No, that wasn’t possible.

Her head snapped around at the sound, frowning. Across from her, Jonathan had the same reaction. 

“Marty? Could you turn on the news?” she called to a guard. One of the ones who wasn’t a complete asshole. He was already fumbling for the remote, clicking on the television set that was positioned so all inmates on the cellblock could see it. They had put it in for specifically the purpose of being able to televise certain prison announcements, but it was useful when there were things on the news that they all needed to see. 

The picture was fuzzy, but it was good enough for her to make out the masked man from the football field, standing on top of a massive tank that looked suspiciously similar to the one that the Bat used to drive, save for the color. And then his voice boomed out over the speakers. The same voice that they’d heard over the shitty television set in the communal areas when they’d watch the football field be blown to pieces. 

“Behind you, stands a symbol of oppression! Blackgate prison. Where a thousand men have languished under the name of this man,” he held up a photo. “Harvey Dent. Who has been held up to you as the shining example of justice! You have been supplied with a false idol,” he tore the photograph into pieces. “To stop you tearing down this corrupt city!”

From other parts of the prison, she could hear the beginnings of yells and cheers from the other inmates.

“Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent from the words of Gotham’s police commissioner, James Gordon,” he pulled a packet of papers from his pocket, and began to read. The Joker had started to giggle. “The Batman didn’t murder Harvey Dent. He saved my boy, then took the blame for Harvey’s appalling crimes so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the madman who tried to murder my own child. But, I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth and it is time for me to resign.”

The Joker was howling with glee, practically on the floor of his cell with how hard he was cackling. Vanessa shared a look with Jonathan. She could feel the beginnings of chaos and unrest build in the air, preparing to explode. The shouts from other parts of the prison had grown in volume, into a furious roar.

“And do you accept this man’s resignation? And do you accept the resignation of all of these liars? Of all the corrupt? We take Gotham from the corrupt!” with a sweeping gesture of his hand, Bane made a signal, and one of the tanks took aim at the entrance to the prison. The camera went all shaky as the news people screamed, running to get out of the way. But the mics were still on so they could hear him speak. “The rich! The oppressors of generations who have kept you down with myths of opportunity. And we give it back to you. The people. Gotham is yours! None shall interfere. Do as you please,” the entire prison shook with an explosion, as the entrance was fired upon. “But start by storming Blackgate and freeing the oppressed!”

Inside, there was the sound of running feet, and shouts from the guards.

And then the doors all flew open.

The guards on their block were already being descended upon by the mercenaries who had stormed inside the prison, carrying duffle bags full of weapons that they dumped onto the ground for the inmates to grab. Outside, Bane was still speaking. 

“Step forward, those who would serve…for an army will be raised. The powerful will be ripped from their decadent nests! And cast out into the cold world that we know and endure. Courts will be convened! Spoils will be enjoyed! Blood will be shed! The police will survive as they learn to serve true justice! This great city…it will endure. Gotham will survive.”

Poking her head out of her cell to make sure that there weren’t anymore guards around who would shoot her the moment she stepped out, Vanessa took a careful step from her cell. Jonathan met her in the center of the block, taking her hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded. “Bye, Jokes,” she called over her shoulder to the Joker who was stretching his arms. “Have fun!”

“See ya, docs!” he called, and sauntered off the opposite way. Entertaining as the Joker was to watch, she still didn’t trust him. Better to keep their distance and just let him do his thing.

“Doctors,” a mercenary called, walking towards them with a duffle bag in hand. “I believe that these are yours,” he set the bag down in front of them. Eyeing him suspiciously, Vanessa bent down to unzip and riffle through it, humming at the sight of her coat and Jonathan’s mask, the rest of their gear carefully folded within.

“How did you get this?”

“Had a couple of our men break into the GCPD’s evidence room.”

“What do you want?” Jonathan asked, eyes narrowed, even as he clutched his precious mask to his chest.

“Bane has a job opportunity he would like to discuss with you two. If you’re interested.” 

“Do we have a choice?”

“Of course,” his smile said otherwise. Damn. Maybe they should have braved going with the Joker. Heaving up the duffle bag in one hand, Vanessa took Jonathan’s with the other.

“Fine.”

“This way,”  the mercenary angled his head. “My name is Barsad.”

“Pleasure,” Jonathan said in a dry tone. Vanessa bit her lip to hide a snort. They followed Barsad outside, to where chaos had truly descended upon the streets. Barsad led them to the courthouse. Inside, it was quiet, armed mercenaries at each entrance to keep the rioters out. Standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, was Bane. He was watching as his men began to tear up the pews and desks, shoving them all up against one wall in a huge pile. Almost like a throne.

“Welcome, doctors,” he said, in his deep, echoey voice.

“What is this?” Jonathan asked, still holding tight to Vanessa’s hand. Bane was huge, tall and hulking with arms the size of her head. He began to pace back and forth in front of them, each step seeming to radiate enough force to tremble the ground.

She didn’t think that she’d been in the presence of someone who was so physically intimidating since Batman. 

“An opportunity,” he said finally. “I need someone to run the court. To pass judgments onto those deemed guilty.”

“Guilty of what?” Vanessa asked. Bane shrugged and spread his hands out.

“Of contributing to the decline of this great city.”

“And what do we get in return?” Jonathan asked.

“If you agree, you will have full authority over this room. Not even I will be able to overturn your decisions.”

With the mask, and the voice modulator on top of it, he was incredibly hard to read. She felt a rush of frustration and anxiety over not being able to tell if he was lying or not. 

“Why us?” Vanessa asked.

“You have some history with the organization I am a part of. You did good work for us, in the past.”

Her eyes widened, only a tiny fraction. “You’re a member of the League of Shadows?”

“I am the League of Shadows.”

Jonathan’s hand squeezed hers. His eyes were cold and calculating as he surveyed the courtroom before glancing to hers.

What do you think?

I don’t know. It could be fun.

We can’t trust him.

Of course not.

It would get us access to more potential test subjects. It’s been so long…

I like the way you think.

The thoughts passed between them in a matter of a few blinks, and Jonathan looked back at Bane.

“Alright.” 

Bane gestured out a sweeping hand to the court. “These men are at your disposal, doctors. Whatever you require, simply ask. We will begin to bring you your first convicts for sentencing tomorrow. Agreed?”

“Yes.”

Bane nodded. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he gestured to Barsad to follow him, and stalked out the doors. Beginning to walk about the courthouse, they started to assess.

“We will need some sort of barrier here,” he gestured towards where the judge usually sat. “To keep out any overzealous crowd members.”

The mercenaries Bane had left for them began to scramble to follow their instructions. 

“Preferably higher up,” Vanessa added quickly. “That way we can see if anyone tries anything.”

“A deterrent would be nice too…”

“Toxin bombs wouldn’t take very long to make. Maybe we could establish a lab in one of the back rooms.”

He caught her by the waist as she began to walk around, and she laughed as he tugged her closer. “And there should be an area, preferably quiet, in the back, where we can go after court adjourns for the day.”

“Is that really what’s on your mind?” she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“It’s been ages since we had a real moment alone,” he kissed her neck.

“Mm. Well, finish giving instructions to the boys, and then, maybe, you can come in the back and help me get out of this itchy uniform,” she picked at the bright orange fabric, the cheap material scratching her skin. Jonathan’s eyes flared with excitement.

“I would like nothing more.”

Previous Part • Series • Next Part

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[raphinaloveschaos]

Gotham Villains Reacting to male!Reader and future s/o that they're about to hurt getting turned on.

Requested by Anonymous

Genre: Smut but not really (?)

Warnings: mature content, hypnosis(?), threats, kidnapping, cut and blood, hot villains.

Jervis Tetch/Mad Hatter

He never expected his Alice to be a male actually, but as soon as he laid his eyes on the boy,he would be thrilled. Will do a little magic trick to start a conversation and soon hypnotize him, taking him to his special place.

"...So, I'll be Mad Hatter, and you'll be my Alice." Jervis would give instructions to the boy, who was tied to a chair and no longer under the hypnosis. From behind, Jervis lands his hands on the boy’s shoulders and up to the sides of his neck, stopping immediately when he heard a muffled moan come out of the boy mouth and through the tape.

Then, realization hit him. The boy who was trying to get free minutes earlier was now whimpering with every touch. Jervis wondered what could have happened, if it was something he said, maybe how he said it... Suddenly, a sense of pride washed through him and he decided to use it. "Is that a shiver, my dear? I can feel your skin getting warmer." He said in the boy's ear, placing a hand on his cheek before getting down to the boy's throat giving it a light squeeze, then going down to his chest and caressing it, hearing the boy breathe heavily, which made Jervis chuckle. 

"I guess we'll both enjoy it so much, my dear."

Oswald Cobblepot

“So, what do you think I should do to you? You’re bold enough to try and rob the king of Gotham’s underworld, I’m sure you can give me some ideas.” 

Oswald was still trying to understand what kind of person is so naive to try to make a fool of him.

 “Please…I didn’t know it was your money, Mr. Penguin…” The boy, wrists tied and on his knees, looks up with pleading eyes.

“Oh but you should have known, my friend. Now, sadly, I'll have to hurt you really badly, so people can get the message of what NOT TO DO!” Oswald screamed the last three words while putting the knife on the boy's throat and looking into his eyes for a few seconds, noticing the boy’s cheeks going red and his tongue traveling through his lips. Oswald backed off and started chuckling and pointed the knife to the boy.

“Oh my! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He shook his head, laughing now at the embarrassed boy in front of him. “How many times did you imagine this moment, uh?” Oswald asked before leaning down and face almost leveled with the boy’s. “I’ll make sure we have a lot of fun.” And laughed.

Victor Zsasz

Victor was amused, to say the least, with the gentleman in front of him in that alley. Sadly, the occasion wasn’t the best to start a casual conversation.

"It 's simple. If you don’t have a license, you don’t have authorization to commit crimes.” He said, slowly getting closer to the boy, who was with his hands in the air by now. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Victor looked at him up and down and smirked. The boy gulped and looked down.

Victor soon understood what was going on and decided to tease a little bit, by putting two fingers under the boy’s chin and lifting it up. The boy’s eyes were filled with anticipation and…excitement? Victor felt the urge to mark that gentleman in some way.

Still looking at the boy, he got his pocket knife and flicked it open, grabbing the boy's left hand and flipping it over, putting the blade right above the palm and placing it strategically so as not to cut a tendon.

“Huh-uh! Look at me.” Victor said when the boy looked at his hand anticipating the pain. Once the boy was looking into Victor’s eyes again, he felt a sting on his palm and gasped, soon feeling the blood dripping down to the floor. Victor used a tissue to clean the knife and gave it to the boy, turned around and started walking.

“You’ll see me soon!” He shouted before turning left and getting out of the alley.

Fish Mooney

The boy was dragged to the center of the Mooney’s Nightclub, the only two people already there being Fish Mooney, sitting on a chair, a singing woman at the stage and Fish’s right hand, Butch Gilzean at the bar. As soon as the boy was put in front of her, she motioned to the woman at the stage to get out and got up.

“And who is this handsome boy?“ She said, checking him up and down, tilting her head a little, and caressing his neck with her nails, and the boy felt butterflies through him.

“He said he wants to work for you.” One of her men said and she laughed mockingly, seconds later getting back to her serious self.

“Look at me, little boy. I don’t know what kinds of things people told you about working for me, but you won’t get in that easily. So you better get through that door and never come back, or I'll make a really good job out of you.” She said and sat on the chair again. 

“Please, Ms. Mooney, I really need this job. I will do anything for you, I can even be the barman. The last one is gone, right? I can replace him.” The boy said, kneeling in front of her, and she smirked seeing how helpless he looked and noticed a growing bulge in his pants, which made her grip his face and almost touch lips with him, just to tease.

“Then you’re going to be a good boy, and make me a drink, then we’ll talk again. Alone.” she said, caressing his lips with her thumb, then sitting straight.“What do we say when people are nice to us?”

“Thank you, ma’am.” he said and then felt her heeled feet on his chest and suddenly he was pushed.

“Now, go get me that drink.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Edward Nygma

“You’re doing surprisingly good so far. Third riddle!” Nygma said, clapping his hands together and turning to face the boy tied up on a chair, in front of him, who seemed distressed about something beyond the situation. “When you have me, you want to share me, but when you share me, you no longer have me. What am I?” He walked closer to the chair and rested his hands on it's arms, taking in the boy’s thoughtful expression and smirking.

“A secret…?” The one tied up asks, eyes full of hope and a victorious smile. Nygma lets his head fall and is surprised by the boy’s pants situation.

“Amazing… even in this situation you got all my riddles right.” He said and looked back up to the boy, just to see his face bright red, which made Nygma laugh. “I’ll make another riddle, if you answer it right, you’ll get a reward.” Ed said in his ear, feeling the boy’s heavy breaths on his neck. “What do you think?”

The boy nods with a whimper-like confirmation, which turned out needy as Edward got up straight.

“Riddle me this…”

THAT'S IT FOLKS!

[plainbageltoastedwithbutter]

oswald cobblepot (the penguin) hcs

DONT TELL ME IM WRONG IM RIGHT /lh

I'm leaning towards asexual penguin but I feel like aceflux would also work. if you don't know what aceflux is, it just means your sexual attraction fluctuates on the asexual spectrum

ik most iterations of penguin involve him actually liking birds, even being RAISED by penguins but i feel for gotham penguin, he probably wouldn't like to get birds. sure, he uses the name penguin but only because he found power and intimidation in using it but it's still connected to his trauma of being made fun of.

he's unlabeled cause 1. robin has stated that there's no confirmation that oswald is specifically gay. he's just not straight. 2. is because it makes sense for his character not to rlly give thought to his sexuality or to put a name on it, however i do think he only likes men just isn't labeled. if someone were to ask him his sexuality, he'd whip around and go "that's not of your concern!" and storm off or something pfft

he gets sick often, especially during his umbrella boy days. like imagine standing in the rain but you have to give your umbrella to fish mooney of all people because its what you get paid for. he'd get sick often cause of the cold murky weather of gotham. he's also unhygienic, at least in the start of gotham and constantly shouts so he'd probably get sick rlly often and has sore throat. cuts back to his mom always helping him with her tea and how he has a raspy voice!!

when ed switches over to riddler all oswald does is "ed ed ed ed come back baby im sorry"

him being domestic can range from childish innocent things like singing songs to each other and having picnics to tracking down people to kill <3

probably only got a dog cause he wanted loyalty and a dog is known for being loyal. hes seems more like a cat person to me

learns asl for martin, (and teaches him it if he doesn't already know how). oswald will literally ONLY shut up for martin, he won't speak when he's signing or when martin is (ed is kinda different but THIS ISNT ABOUT HIM *proceeds to write mostly riddlebird hcs*)

oswald buys martin antique toys and lame stuff, like jack in the boxes. ed buys him extremely hard puzzles and 'educational toys'. uncle zsasz buys him music-related things, headphones, radios, etc. barbara buys him more of what a kid would want, like an xbox. (ik this isnt just oswald but idc)

actually back on the cat person oswald, im going to state how cats are attracted to HIM. he probably tried to pet a cat when he was a kid and got scratched and sobbed to gertrude. he'll immediately become upset when a cat doesnt like him but he'll eventually learn how to gain a cat's trust and suddenly theres six following him around, he teaches them to bring dead animals to his enemies.

he treats his maids and house employees extremely well. like olga was the one to like oswald and not ed. why?? because he pays her good!

sadly probably mistakes olga as his mom, he catches himself right when "mother" slips out of his mouth, he feels embarrassed and ashamed, he doesn't get mad at olga but he excuses himself and runs to his room. olga doesnt get angry, she just feels bad :(

oswald walks into gcpd. everyone stops what they're doing and are like "oh no", he just skips over to lucius and props his umbrella on his desk and is like. "make this into a gun or else." with two of his henchmen behind him. hes not even scared that hes surrounded by police PFFT

in MY gotham, oswald is still very close with ivy and other people like mr freeze and firefly.

he realizes how bad he was to them, apologizes and promises to be a better friend. everyone is skeptical besides ivy cuz she's naive but turns out he's not lying. he gets upset when ivy messes up or whatever but quickly apologizes and calms himself down, he learns to value his friends and their quirks as they have for him

oswald is autistic and has bpd, along with apd, maybe ptsd?

he usually gets driven around by others but he owns his own car which is a hearse. yes, coffin car.

doesn't know about ed's hallucinations but finds his pills and was like ???

he dropped out of school probably when he was a teen and when he did have school, i'd like to think that he had straight A's.

not only did he get bullied a lot but oswald is smart. it's only a matter of time before he snaps, so i imagine he'd put his smarts to use and would start a business where he'd write people's essays and tutor them for tests (explains why he wasn't surprised when ed asked for oz to mentor him)

gertrude would have boyfriends when oswald was younger, but oswald being the clingy mama's boy he is, didn't like them. he'd put bugs in their pillows and coffee, and other fucked up shit to scare them off. eventually, they'd break up with gertrude and yell at her about how fucked up her kid is. gertrude would get rlly upset and explains how her little oswald could do no wrong. after a while, getrude would stop dating entirely, much to oswald's approval.

his favorite holiday is christmas and thanksgiving

does not speak of either mothers day or fathers day

will disappear off the face of the earth on those days

hates the cold strangely, it reminds him of when he almost drowned, multiple times. he always has multiple layers on so when you see without all that or a suit in general its very 'woah'

he hates when people touch him, especially those who he does not trust. like did you see when sofia touched him that one time, EW. or when he first met ed, "you're standing too close", could be that he could strike at any moment but he also just doesnt like strangers

speaking of his touch aversion, oswald wouldn't trust ed to touch him after he, yknow tried to kill him. in s5, when oswald jumped to save ed was probably when he got over it and as we know they later hug (non-homosexually 😊)

ed is like the only one who can mention his mom (ofc in a good way) without oswald bursting out in tears or attacking them. partially because of their shared history, when ed nursed oswald back to health he used his mother's memory to gain his trust more.

when people insult him, depending on who you are he'll either dissociate or attack you. he's probably learnt to do that from when he was bullied as a kid

speaks rlly fondly of fish after her death, ppl would be like "but didnt she try to kill you?" "idk what you're talking about"

doesnt kiss ed unless ed goes in for the kiss first, hes afraid of somehow being rejected again, and also cause he's aceflux he doesn't crave a kiss like some ppl do but he does forehead kiss martin all the time. hes the parent who will drive martin in his limousine and be like 'wheres my hug 🥺🥺' before he gets out of the car to go to school

ok me needs to sleep hope this was enough to satisfy the penguin stans

[moonlit-imagines]

Dear Theodosia

Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz x child!reader

warnings: blood mention!!!

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Heyy can I get dear theodosia from Hamilton with papa Roman and Vic? Thank you!”// Dear Theodosia - Lin-Manuel Miranda, Leslie Odom Jr.

God, the day that Roman and Victor got you was one of the best days of their lives. They’d wiped out some pesky competition and were able to start their own family without fail. Sure, you were the competition’s child, but you wouldn’t remember that, not at all.

So in the coming years, Roman and Vic raised you as their own. Wild, ruthless, and influential. You were their dream child. Everything they could have asked for. In your younger years, they could barely keep away from you.

“Hush, they’re sleeping!” Roman whisper-yelled above your tiny bed as you slept safe and sound under your two-thousand dollar comforter and sheets. Only the best for their baby.

“I’m hushing, okay!” Zsasz whisper-yelled back as you began to stir. They clutched onto each other in fear, hoping that they didn’t just wake you, but you settled down once more and the two of them gushed over how adorable you were.

“We picked a good one, didn’t we?” Roman leaned his head onto his husband’s shoulder and smiled proudly, wrapping his bathrobe a little tighter.

“Oh, yeah. For sure.” Vic kissed his husband on the forehead, scared to look away from you for even a second. He was worried he’d miss something.

“We’re going to make Gotham amazing for them, you know?” Roman mumbled. “Years from now, y/n’s going to be ready to take over the family business. I can already tell that their going to be great in this business.”

“You think so, honey?” Victor smirked at the idea of you doing heading the business and itnwas so clear in his mind, you would blow everyone away with your unsurfaced skillset. There was still time to teach you everything, after all. You were only four.

“I know so. We’re going to raise y/n so good, we’ll make all the other kids and their parents jealous, just you wait, my dear. I’m going to be so much better than my piece of shit father!” Roman explained, walking over to the head of your bed to give you a goodnight kiss. Victor did the same on the other side of the bed and called it a night, only lingering around for another minute or so. “Goodnight, y/n, sweet dreams...”

—————

You were finally of age to dip your toes in the water of your family business, and it wasn’t at all what you expected. There were still things that your dads were hiding, but you knew you’d unlock the full truth soon enough.

“Ugh, look at you! So professional, you make you Papas proud!” Roman gushed while leading you around the club. “Look at my child, everyone! All grown up, can you believe it?” The clubgoers ended up clapping for you as your Papa Roman paraded you around.

“When is Papa Vic going to get here?” You leaned over and asked your dad. Roman stretched his arm out to reveal his watch from under his fancy suit jacket.

“Should be any minute now, sweetheart. Let’s sit.” You seated yourself across from your dad and, speak of the devil, here comes Papa Vic. “My darling! Come sit!” Roman scooted over for his husband and Vic sat down pronto.

“My child, how is your first day of work?” Papa Vic smiled as Roman traced his gaze up and down his husband’s side. He slowly leaned in, giving the impression of a kiss, but...

“You’ve got blood on your shirt, love. Change. Now.” Roman instructed as you stared at the two of them.

“Ah, sorry, y/n/n, be right back!” Vic dashed out of the room to hide the blood from you, he couldn’t let you in on those kind of secrets this early in your career.

“How unusual. Wonder if we’ll ever see him again.” You chuckled and looked up to Papa Roman.

“Y/N, may I just say...” Your dad started, leaning just a bit forward with a teeny smirk. “You’re a natural at this.”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

from a depressive fugue state trigger by beetleriddler I bring you

Gotham 4x15

that wasn't a fucking riddle

omg Zsasz bringing his boyfriend to work with him

if men were allowed to have sex with each other on this show. if this were a just world. Zsasz and Wendell would be having the NASTIEST sex.

Bruce and Selina have their flirt on so hard right now I am EMO

oh no oh no oh no oh no NEW DYSFUNTIONAL THROUPLE JUST DROPPED

they didn't even bother putting the Grundy makeup around Drew Powell's eyes jesus god in heaven

literally EVERYONE is acting like Ed and the Riddler are two completely different people this is UNHINGED

what if everyone teams up just for like. ONE episode. to fight Sofia.

"Makenzie why are these liveblogs so sexual" what the fuck is this show offering me except lots and lots of terrible people to imagine having sex with each other

Butch bringing Tabby the Riddler so she can kill him... maybe romance isn't dead

ABSOLUTELY VICIOUS V ON MR FREEZE ???

this is so funny there's absolutely no reason Oswald needs to get frozen for this plan to work just put him in a burlap sack or something

more people should stab him for riddling honestly

reblog to smooch his bald head (✿◠‿◠)

GOTHAM CITY ADULT BABY PLAY CLUB???

they really froze that man in a block of ice with nothing but a gun and a prayer

is this bitch about to pass up his chance at revenge for the sake of unrequited gay love???

Lee I take back literally every bad thing I have ever said about you. you're the finest #girlboss this show has ever produced.

it's actually sincerely legitimately INSANE that they never just let Pengriddler kiss. like not even for an episode. I'm not saying that's in any way something that could be a stable long-term relationship but it's CRAZY that they didn't even explore that option. like why was that the line. Oswald is making a heartfelt speech BITCH

Edward Nygma that man gave up his revenge scheme for you have some manners and suck his dick

it's so cool how often this contrives to find a way to make us cheer for Our Heroes brutalizing Black men

the thing is like. Ra's al Ghul isn't hot except yes he is. it's not his face it's the swagger.

it's been over a month, but tonight I make my triumphant return

it's gotham time 😎

if, like me, you have absolutely forgotten what the fuck is going on, catch up on the most recent liveblogs here. and then fuckle the buck up for Gotham 4x13

oh okay Ivy 3 rules actually. Uma Thurman Ivy's personality run through a goth filter. iconic.

oh my god is this a Lucius episode 👀

oooooh my god I spent so long worrying about them aging Ivy's body up to let grown men skeeve on her and I never once considered the horrors of an adult actress sexually menacing sweet baby David Mazouz. I need to go I hate it here

remember how literally like TWO episodes ago I said it was a shame they aged her up because having Ivy play teenage femme fatale on Bruce during his partyboy phase would be dumb and fun why is it THIS

WHO is supplying Oswald and Jerome with all this eye shadow in Arkham

okay so they do still have Ra's' actor on tap... that bitch is coming is back for sure...

Barbara and Sofia should fuck. just to make Jim sad.

"Makenzie you think every woman Jim hooks up with should fuck Barbara" yes I want Jim's life to be awful what about it. plus Barbara definitely has enough strap for all of them.

it must be said that the way Jerome is bullying Oswald doesn't NOT feel homophobic

wow it's a shame that nothing good ever happens to Lucius and he's never been happy because Chris Chalk's smile is BEAUTIFUL

this is so funny Ivy I LOVE you. literally hypnotized an entire building full of cops into trying to kill Him for her ICONIC

genuinely intoxicating how the writers cannot figure out how to write Oswald and Ed NOT completely obsessed with and revolving around each other... who is doing toxic homoeroticism like them... I had crushes on my best friends who bullied me in middle school that were healthier than this

I don't say this lightly but whoever was writing the Arkham segments of this episode was genuinely going through something

Batman being the nightmare of a dying and hallucinating teenage Bruce really works for me honestly

g o d baby Bruce staring into his own soul, seeing who he really is, and declaring that he's "not lucky" for knowing is. hang on I'm getting so emo about Bruce and the fucking. inevitability of tragedy in his life the way Batman is something he can never avoid the way the pain haunts him no matter what he does.

... Sofia and Lee should also have sex because that would make Jim AND the Riddler sad

[howl-fantasies]

Good day Author-san~ I just noticed in your stories, y/n never introduced herself as Mrs. Zsasz... Why is that?? 🤔

Since I'm back, I'm going to answer as many requests as I can, be it imagines, HC, or questions about Victor and all Gotham cast!

Ah, I like this question.

Well basically for three main reasons I think.

>> First, because the whole married thing started with Victor's obsession. When he started his fixation on Y/N he wanted to bang her. Then, to date her. But it wasn't enough, even knowing they were exclusive, she's extremely independent, and Victor having a huge fear of being abandoned after his parents' sudden death, he wanted more.

That more being a way to always tied Y/N to him in a way: marriage. At first, she was like: LOL. No way buddy just get lost. But Victor isn't just muscles and guns, he worked for Falcone and knows one thing or two about the advantages of being married when you work in the underworld. So he preparared his arguments like a top of the class college student, ready to take his finals.

She wasn't happy to be honest, but agreed, first, to be his emergency contact under the 'Mrs Zsasz' name, only for GCPD if needed. Next, to wear false wedding bands with trackers inside of it. And after that, to officially signs the papers which will make her officially Mrs Zsasz.

>> Which brings us to our second point. Being Mrs Zsasz is good (maybe not? Probably not) if you're a civil and need to creep thugs going to rob or abduct you. But Y/N started her rogue carrer with her name and made a very good job making it sounds threatening enough to bring her contracts and being known all around the city. She worked hard to get out of the Narrows' mud by herself and was not going to change her name or correct people when they still call her by her last name.

Zsasz's name is a bonus, added to her own, it's enough to make most of the gangs and rogues pee in their pants. Like, she's the no2 assassin in town, she worked for Carmine Falcone for years, was respected by even Fish and Maroni before Oswald's debuts and was responsible of a few slaughters in the Narrows in her youth. With this, she gained the "Don't mess with me" title.

After her marriage, she also unlocked the - as Harvey likes to call it - "Zsasz trump card" title, making Victor immediately chase you if you dare messing with his wife. And we all know he's not the kind to stop or fail when he goes after someone. So yeah, good bonus.

>> Finally, because she knows how it annoys Victor. Is it petty? Of course it is, but she can be as petty as a 5yo when it comes to him and ways to push his buttons. It also helps her to sometimes manipulate Victor in two ways.

1) As she refuses to use it on a day to day basis, it plays on Victor's insecurities and keeps him on the edge, one of the things he loves about her, and maintains his obsession. Even married she doesn't see herself as his and it drives him crazy.

2) The very few times she calls herself her wife or calls him husband, Victor is 100% sure to melt like ice under the July's sun or, if he's mad, to soften him enough to guarantee her survival.

Don't get her wrong, she's deeply attached to him, even loves him in an absolute non-healthy way, but she also knows she has to keep a few tricks in store just in case he goes berserk. For Carmine's sake, Victor is a maniac, perfectly able to pull a bullet between her eyes the very second his obsession stops. So she feels as she has to feed it.

--

I hope my nonsense actually made sense and you liked it 😅 have a beautiful day and read you soon my dear, take care ♥️💐

[masquenoire]

Would you fuck any of your fellow rogues?

“You’ve got to be shitting me. I can trust that bunch as far as I can... well, I’m sure I could throw most of ‘em some distance, but I wouldn’t trust any of them to run me a bath, let alone get in my bed.” Roman said with a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “You don’t see many of us ‘rogues’ hooking up and for good reason - we’re liable to stab each other in the back for any goddamn reason. Money, power, simply because we just plain don’t like each other or because they’re in our way. The only reason why most of us are still around is because even though we hate each other, we hate the Bat even more.”

He laughed again, this time taking on a contemplative look as he ticks off his fingers one by one, as if crossing off names on an imaginary list. “I’d rather kill the clown than fuck ‘im. Dunno what that clown bimbo ever saw in him. Wouldn’t fuck her either, I don’t fuck crazy. Who else? Oh yeah, the Penguin. The day I fuck that little wart is the day I turn in my villain card and become Catholic. Poison Ivy? Beautiful but I’m pretty sure she’s only interested in plants. Catwoman is too enmeshed with the Bat. She’s too... two-faced for me, and as for the actual Two Face, imagine waking up to that ugly mug the morning after. Put me right off my coffee why don’t ya... hmm, who else? Oh yeah, Edward. I’d rather strangle the Riddler than fuck him. Might shut him up for once in his life, heh. Scarecrow? I’d probably snap him like the little bundle of twigs he is. Zsasz? They’re cute but I’d rather not end up as another notch on their tally and no, it’s not the one you’re thinking about. Killer Croc? No thanks, I’d like my body parts where they are and Mr. Freeze? Can he even get it up anymore?” Roman snorted. His eye might have wandered once or two but ultimately he wouldn’t fuck a single one of them.

[jerichogender]

7, 12, and 22 please!

7- Favorite one shot character:

I’ll go with go with Colin Wilkes (although technically he did show up again briefly after the Mr. Zsasz arc in Batman: Streets of Gotham). The way he crossed paths with Damian made me go, “Yep, that’s about how I’d imagine Damian making a friend his age.” I liked his powers and from the little we saw of him, it seemed like he had an interesting morality that was influenced by his faith (kind of like Huntress). I’m honestly bummed there wasn’t more done with him. I think he had a lot of potential to be a supporting character for future Damian stories. He’s been erased from continuity by the reboots, but I’m wary of any attempts to reintroduce him since I thought Paul Dini and Dustin Nguyen’s original introduction for the character was so strong. He’s one of those characters that got away 💔

12- Favorite sidekick:

Is anyone surprised that I’m saying Robin? Specifically though, I have to go with Damian Wayne. The dynamic he has with Dick, especially during Dickbats era, says so much about what Robin means to both of them and really puts Dick as the first kid sidekick into perspective, both for Dick and the readers. Like Dick says in Batman (2016) #34, “You and me, kiddo. From the beginning…And all the way to the end.” 💚💛❤️

22- Ideal titans lineup not including the fab 5:

This is so hard. I’ll preface this by saying that I am a New Teen Titans purist but I also have a strong fondness for the first 20 issues of Titans 1999. That being said, I’d have the core team be: Cyborg, Starfire, Jericho, Damage, Ravager, and Green Lantern (Kyle Rayner) with Omen, Bumblebee, Herald, Red Star, Pantha, and Baby Wildebeest as guest appearances. Vic would be the main leader for the team and Kory would take over if Vic’s incapacitated or he needs to step back for a while because he’s dealing with personal stuff (You know, classic Titans scenarios). I promise I didn’t (just) put Grant on this list for my blorbo agenda. His arc in Titans 1999 where Roy takes him to the desert and he works through his trauma was the companion to Kory’s arc where Tamaran waged war against the Gordanians. That made it so the two of them mirrored each other, at least in my eyes. I think if they were in a book together where Kory was actually well written, there’d be plenty of opportunity to explore the different perspectives they have on the cycle of violence and that would also lend itself to some really interesting conflict within the team. I added Kyle in here even though I don’t know him that well (yet!) because I liked him a lot in The New Titans and he had an interesting friendship with Damage that sadly was never explored again after that book. For the guest appearances, I had to include Lilith so she could show up and cause drama (I say this with love). I’m also a big fan of Red Star and his strange little found family, so I’d love to see them work with the Titans again for an arc or two. I’m so glad you gave me 22, it was a lot of fun 😊

[honeysidesarchived]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part ii.

word count: 9.2k

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. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.

notes: hello! it has been a hot minute since i updated, but i promise i am not dead. i just went on a real vacation and juggling two longfic projects at once is (surprise) very time consuming! but i am here with chapter two. it's a lot of roman pretending not to be jealous when he's actually seething inside (we love to see it), as well as a few little drops of intrigue. yes, i know, i TOO wanted an entire longfic about roman and varya just making out between dramatic proclamations of their violent devotion for each other, but alas, alack.

special thank you to my beta @starcrier who of course helped me proof a good portion of this, and is eternally my cheerleader and the loml, as well as @shallow-gravy who put her eyes on the very very rough draft of this when i wanted to bash my head into the top of the desk a-la-roman's theatrics. without you this chapter would not have happened!

and thank you to everyone who has read this so far! carry your throne was truly my baby and so getting to write a sequel for it is the most incredible feeling. your support means the world to me. <3

Roman did not like sharing his things.

It was perpetually difficult enough to have let Varya waltz around the club so that she might have happily enjoyed being lavished attention on (attention that was, to be kept in mind, not his)—but watching a stranger, an interloper from her past, indulge himself in her, that was excruciating. Because that’s what it was, in the end; less about his girl enjoying herself and more about people enjoying her, realizing they would never have her, that she would always be his.

So as Irina took the twins back upstairs and Roman ushered her back into the throng of partygoers, he did so with intent; Roman watched Varya wind her way from person to person, lingering at their friend Dorian—dutiful member of the press always content to show her in a good light—before she and Maxim connected.

Roman watched them. He watched the way Maxim beamed at her, the way he ducked his head to hear her say something. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, and when Varya brought the glass to her lips, Roman saw it—saw Maxim’s eyes dart down to her mouth, their ascent short-lived as he busied his hand with sweeping a stray curl from her face. Maxim seemed very comfortable touching Varya, he thought. Men were never comfortable touching Varya. They were either—he had found, at least—aware of her proclivity for having hands cut off or (what he could only argue was the most correct deterrent) understanding of the simple politeness that came with not putting your hands on another man’s woman.

More than anyone, Roman appreciated having the things which others could not, so that he could be envied: but this?

This was treasonous. Poisonous. Heretical. Not in my fucking house.

Puzzling yet was Varya’s willingness to let her childhood friend conduct himself in such a way. She was a greedy thing, his girl; he knew that she so loved the attention, preening and glowing under the adoration. Greedy and hungry for love. Had she always been so active a participant in the act of touching, of being touched? Even by a stranger?

Not a stranger, he reminded himself tartly. Childhood friend, the man whose father she killed. That’s two fathers now, in her ledger—her own and someone else’s. And petulantly, he thought it a bit unsettling that it was a bond he could never have with her—dear old dad was already dead as a fucking doornail, wasn’t he? No chance Varya would want to ice him for Roman a second time.

He had determined to swallow his pride (impressive, gracious, generous) and make his way over when Dorian swept in; Dorian, preening and wrapping his arms around Varya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and making the noisy announcement, “Stealing her away, thank you!” just before he steered her past Maxim. There, the crowd shifted and scooted out of the way to reveal the birthday cake getting wheeled out on its little tray, decorated in gem tones and sparklers.

The determination to close the distance between himself and their newfound associate did not abate, even with Dorian’s well-timed interjection. As he wove through the crowd of milling partygoers, accepting compliments on his good work, he waited until he got within a foot or two of Maxim to stop. Everyone was applauding the cake. Everyone was having a great time looking at the expensive cake glimmering under the oh-so-obnoxious chandelier, but mostly he thought they were applauding his wife.

So, Roman clapped. He clapped, because the cake was out and the sparklers were fizzing and popping prettily, dancing golden light across his wife’s delighted face. He clapped, because everyone else was clapping, too. He clapped, and he flashed an all-teeth smile at Varya from over the top off the elaborately decorated cake (tasteful, not gaudy, of course).

Over the fizzing and popping, and without taking his eyes off of Varya, he said to Maxim, “Did you fuck my wife?”

Maxim clapped. He clapped, too, and he stood there for a moment and blinked a few times and replied, “What?” His accent was thicker than Varya’s, and thicker than Ilarion’s had been.

“You speak English, don’t you?” Roman snipped, his words and perhaps some of his annoyance masked by the party chatter. Varya shrieked delightedly when Dorian dabbed frosting on her nose. “I asked if you’ve fucked my wife?”

The blonde cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently grateful that the attention had gone from clapping now to cutting the cake. In the corner of his eye, Roman could see Zsasz lurking—watching, keeping an eye, making sure he didn’t need to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Always a good man.

“No, Mr. Sionis,” Maxim replied, talking over the din of music and laughter.

Good, Roman thought. And then: “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”

Maxim barked out a laugh. He looked caught off-guard by the question—like maybe he wasn’t sure if Roman was asking to threaten or offering to join their marital bed—and then he said, “You have put me in an uncomfortable position. If I say no, I am insulting my childhood friend. If I say yes, I am insulting my new boss.”

There was something about this that flared a little spike of victory in Roman’s chest. Yes, that was right—he was Maxim’s new boss. And Maxim should be nervous about pissing him off, shouldn’t he?

“But,” the blonde plunged on, “I imagine having something that other people want feels good, does it not?”

His eyes narrowed. He smiled thinly. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Yeah,” he agreed, “it sure fucking does.”

There was a moment where it looked as though the other man was going to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out, brows knitting together at the center of his forehead; but then silk and warm stretches of skin were filling up Roman’s vision, Varya having swept around to come to him, eyes bright. They’d only been at the party for a little while, but already his fingers were itching—he wanted, having stood by idly while greedy hands brushed against his Varya, and it was time to erase them all, he reasoned. Wipe her clean of them as best he knew how.

Still, she had not looked so happy in a while, he thought. Varya always beamed around the twins, practically glowing radioactive from the inside out, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her so delighted without them in her arms. And surely, this was a testament to his doing—his meticulous, flawless planning, regardless of whatever wrench Maxim Kuznetsov was trying to throw. Yes, Roman thought, he had done exceptionally, in this as in all things.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, “are you playing nice?”

“I’m always nice, kitten,” he demurred, sliding his arms around her waist and nosing the hair at her temple automatically. Every time she came around, the gravitational pull was inevitable—hands on, hands on, hands on, making sure everybody knew exactly who she belonged to. “But you can ask your little friend, if you’re worried I’ve hurt his feelings.”

He said, you can ask, but he kissed her after he said it, purring against her mouth and keeping her otherwise preoccupied; when she did pull away, still encircled in his arms, she smoothed her hand along the exposed skin of his sternum and looked inquisitively at Maxim.

Roman mimicked the tilt of her head. The blonde regarded him for a moment, and then Varya, and then smiled.

“Your husband is very accommodating, Varushka,” he told her, shrugging as if to say, and what else would he be? “I have never met a man like him.”

He felt his mouth downturn—Varushka, the same pet name Ilarion had used with her. It was one thing to accept that his wife’s twin brother would always be held in high regard in her memory, that he’d had to endure the Varushkas and the closeness that they had shared that purposefully, intimately excluded him.

“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Roman idled, despite the venom thrumming in his veins. He was cool. He was cool and fine and totally cool. Varya hummed and planted a kiss against the slope of his jaw; her nose brushed the hollow of his throat, more than content to remain there.

But even though their exchange remained pleasant, for a second, the blonde Russian regarded him with the same deadpan, venomous gaze that Ilarion had so often. It was so close to the way his wife’s twin had looked at him, in fact, that the disdain which had been almost exclusively reserved for Ilarion himself now prickled up the back of his throat like a bile—instinctual, muscle memory.

He had seen the same look crossing the faces of the men from St. Petersburg, flown all the way to Gotham to meet their new pakhan, as Varya had put it: disdain. We’re not for you, those fleeting glances said, despite the acknowledgment in all other things that they were. What do we want with some American gangster?

He was vaguely aware of Varya and Maxim saying something, exchanging words, but their voices had dulled to the cartoonish wah wah wah of an old-time cartoon, with Varya’s occasional laugh vibrating against his sternum. Maxim waved a hand dramatically. There was ink, there; he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been too busy inspecting the man’s stupid fucking face, trying to find the lip of his mask somewhere in there. False fucking face, that’s all it was.

And yet: Roman could not help but feel a little burn of intrigue at the sight of the inked Cyrillic letters on the back of the man’s hand.

“—stairs, my darling?”

Varya’s voice bled through the dull static that had overtaken his mind. He glanced at her, reaching up and tracing the slope of her jaw with his thumb, his other fingers splaying along the spine of her neck. Obediently, her chin tilted. She was complacent like this—docile, even; he could have snapped her neck if he wanted, dug his nails into that warm, dusky skin and watched the blood well, and she would have let him—so much so that he wondered at it for a moment. All of his hard work, all of his tempering, cupped right there in his hand; she was his.

Rather than admit to having checked out of their conversation, Roman pressed the pad of a gloved thumb against her lower lip and deferred, “Whatever you want, kitten.”

Briefly, the thought that he had agreed to let Maxim into his loft occurred. Oh, what a dreadful thought.

“Then it’s settled,” she replied. “You can stay while the party goes on, of course, Maxi.”

Maxim lifted his head, regarding them with a gaze that was no longer venomous, but playful. “Of course.”

“And you’ll leave the address of where you’re staying with Armazd?”

“If you want it, I will.” He cocked his head, smiling politely. “Goodnight, the both of you. I am happy to finally put a face to the name Roman Sionis.”

What the fuck is it with these people, he thought wearily, and with no absence of annoyance. This is just how it had been before—everyone saying things beneath the things they were saying, layers and layers and layers, piling up over each other. Didn’t any of these stupid fucking gun dogs say anything exactly the way it was?

“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”

With great purpose—and having determined that Varya was quite done with the evening—he planted his hands on her hips and turned her, steering her towards the doors which exited out of the club and into the hallway housing the elevator. It was her birthday, after all; there was nothing he could do except whatever it was she wanted.

“Goodnight, Maxim,” he said over his shoulder, steering the brunette in his grasp toward the door. A distressed ugh! sounded to his left, and he turned to see Dorian glaring at him accusingly.

“You get her all the time, Roman,” the journalist announced. “Surely you can spare her for a little longer?”

“Afraid I can’t,” he replied over his shoulder, squeezing Varya’s hip when she stifled her laughter. “You see Dorian, close to a year ago, Varya and I decided that we had plenty of other uses for cake to be explored on our birthdays—”

Another disgusted sound came, but it was too late; Roman was already nudging Varya through the doors to the hallway, and down to the elevator. Once the door clicked shut behind them, it was quiet; it was the one area of the building where it seemed like the air conditioning didn’t quite reach, having so many accesses to the outside, and so the air already felt a little humid and muggy.

“Oh, we forgot the cake,” Varya pouted, trailing ahead of him. She’d collected the hem of her silk dress loosely in one hand, keeping it from the floor as she wandered to the elevator to push the button. The neon red of the Exit sign cut across one side of her, illuminating her in half crimson and half shadow. It reminded him of the night he’d come back to the loft to find her covered in another man’s blood, kitchen knife in hand.

And mine, he thought. Varya Astakhova, the gem of St. Petersburg, only living heir to the Astakhov gun-running fortune, his wife.

“Darling,” she purred, breaking him out of his thoughts, “are you going to just stand there all night?”

“Maybe,” he replied idly. “Maybe I will just stand here all night and stare at my wife, hm? Who would stop me?”

“Well, certainly not me,” she demurred, turning to look at him fully now. “But you can hardly kiss me from there. And what am I suppose to do, go without cake and without your hands on me?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Roman thought about the way Maxim had looked at him—just for that tiny split second—all of the disdain and venom welling in his gaze before it was wiped away. Your husband is very accommodating, I’ve never met a man like him. And that fucking tattoo on his hand. It nagged at him, dragged his attention away from the very, very delicious task at hand.

“Roman?”

“You go,” he announced. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”

A plush, ruby lower lip pouted out. Roman sidled over to the elevator, planting a gloved hand on the doorway so that the doors wouldn’t close, and she prompted, “What could you have possibly forgotten when all you need is right here?”

“You are most spectacular,” Roman agreed, reaching up and twisting a curl around his finger. “But it’s just a quick thing. Don’t worry that pretty head, kitten. I’ll be up in no time, and you had better—”

When he leaned in, their noses brushed; Varya hooked her fingers in the space between the buttons of his collared shirt and tugged a little, playfully, humming sweetly.

“—have this dress off,” he finished, voice pitching low and warm, “by the time I get up there.”

“And what if I don’t?” The cloying, saccharine tone of her voice belied the little spark of rebellion in her words. Roman made a pleasant sound against her mouth, a humid warmth plunging down his spine when she closed the tiny space between them to kiss him; it was entirely unhurried, and on instinct his free hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more flush against him as her lips parted prettily beneath his to sigh.

He said into the kiss, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“Is it a test?” Roman felt her smile. “I love tests.”

“Get upstairs,” he growled, unable to resist a final kiss. “Wicked thing.”

Varya did pull back, reluctantly and with a dramatic, long sigh. She’d always had a thing for the dramatics. “Fine, I will go upstairs all alone,” she drawled. “Don’t keep me waiting, Romy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stepped back, dropping his hand from the elevator door and turning around to head back to the club. The party was still in full swing; people wouldn’t even begin to start leaving for another few hours, patiently and dutifully babysat by Armazd and Zsasz (well, mostly Armazd—Zsasz was not good at being ‘patient’ or ‘dutiful’ if it didn’t include face-carving). It was like having three nannies on payroll, instead of just the one.

The door swung shut behind him. People chattered brightly over the music, lingering around tables in clustered groups. He could see at least half a dozen mobsters and their families, associates of Varya’s from overseas, socialites she had charmed and wealthy businessmen determined to get into their good graces before the weapons chokehold came into full effect.

But there was only one man he wanted to see.

Dorian Young had been smitten with Varya since the moment they’d met, through Roman—and since then, they’d been nearly inseparable. Dorian had even done her the kindness of writing Ilarion a flattering obituary. It would have been annoying, if Roman considered Dorian a threat in the least. He did not.

“Dorian,” he barked out, catching the brunette’s attention. He smiled, full-teeth and as charmingly as he could. “Buddy-mine. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Dorian arched a brow loftily. “A favor outside of the eternal wisdom of Gotham’s madonna, Roman? How scandalous. You know I can’t resist a special in.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Roman adjusted one of his gloves absently, glancing around the room before inclining his head and taking a few steps outside of the cluster of milling partygoers. He didn’t have many concerns about being overheard, given the noise level, but it was better safe than sorry. “You have access to certain records, don’t you?”

Now two perfectly-manicured brows arched upward before Dorian cleared his throat, dark eyes fluttering in a bat at innocence.

“I’m a journalist, Roman,” he intoned somberly. “If someone were to give me access to records that were anything but public, it would be a grave and disgusting infringement on the American Privacy—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Roman interjected, waving his hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. How about this: you don’t use the records you aren’t able to access, and you don’t dig up literally everything you can on Maxim Kuznetsov.”

“The ex-boyfriend?” Dorian tsked his tongue. “Roman, green is not your color.”

“Hey? Dorian? Don’t be a fucking moron.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well just say you’ll do it.”

“You mean,” Dorian amended, “that I won’t.”

Roman let out an exasperated noise, clapping a hand onto the man’s shoulder and giving him a little jostle that was meant to convey he wished that he could instead be strangling him in that moment. Varya would have been upset if he did. Dorian flashed him a pearly grin.

“Consider it done. Or not-done, as the case may be.” He took a swig of his drink, sucking his teeth. “Anything I should be on the look-out for?”

“Any red flags. Suspicious shopping behavior. Outgoing calls to private numbers. He’ll likely have two separate phones—one burner, one not.” Roman dropped his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. “Armazd will have his address, if you want to get that from him before you leave tonight. And—one more thing.”

The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.

“Not a word,” he continued. “To anyone. But especially not to Varya.”

“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.

“The surest.”

It was when he turned to depart the party—for real, this time; he was tired of waiting to unwrap his wife—that Dorian said, “Roman?”

A deep, calming breath. I need Dorian, he reminded himself, and V’s fond of him. Roman pulled another one-eighty. “Yes, Dorian, beloved of my wife?”

“How is Varya?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, really?”

The question was not one that Roman had anticipated. Why would she be anything other than great, glowing, in love with her life? Sure, the last year had been full of turmoil—but they had come out of it fine. Better than fine. Roman had gotten everything he had wanted, and Varya—well, much the same, hadn’t she?

Dorian’s prying reminded him of the way Varya’s body had stilled, the way her expression had hardened, that dark, wild look slipping into her eyes when the lights in the club had blinked on to reveal the surprise party. She’d looked frigid, the softness wiped clean from her in that split moment.

“She’s fine,” Roman replied after a minute. “I mean—she’s great. What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a good read on her. You know,” Dorian pointed out. “And she did watch her supposed-to-be-dead daddy unload a round into her twin brother while she was drugged to the gills on ketamine.”

Well, when you put it like that, Roman thought dryly.

“Some of us, Dorian,” he said primly, “are able to rise above our trials and tribulations and come out better, hm?”

The journalist smiled. He didn’t looked swayed by Roman’s words, but eventually he said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I find out anything.”

“Good man.”

It was only a few minutes from the club’s main floor up to the loft, but those few minutes felt like an eternity; stretching out, impossibly long and endless in front of him. Varya’s birthday was supposed to have been a problem-less occasion, and now he had several problems lining themselves up in front of them. Chiefly, Kuznetsov. And the rest of them, too, but mostly Maxim.

Roman tugged the gloves from his hands and shrugged the suit jacket from his shoulders as the doors to the loft slid open, the gentle ding announcing his arrival. Faintly, he could hear the classical music that Varya favored to play in the twins’ room as they slept; there would be a little speaker on the table closest to her side of the bed, so that she could rouse the second either of them needed her, but they were good babies, like she’d said; it was rare when they didn’t sleep through the night.

He tossed the articles he’d disrobed from onto the long dining table as he passed, nudging the door to the bedroom open.

“Ah,” he sighed, eyes roaming expanses of warm, dusky skin exposed to him as Varya lay stretched out on the bed, “I see we went with behaving tonight?”

“I told you,” she replied demurely, “I love a good test. I can hardly resist the challenge.” Her eyes glittered playfully, and she propped herself up on her elbows, the silk of her underclothes rustling in a way that beckoned him—his hands, his mouth. “You didn’t bring any cake up?”

A quick laugh billowed out of Roman as he sidled over, stepping out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed. “It’s vanilla, you know. Not chocolate. It would have been sacrilege, in memory of our first big fight.”

“Was it chocolate?”

“Oh, yes,” he told her gravely. “I’d never forget. Don’t you remember? You were a terrible brat to me, and then you didn’t speak to me for a week, and then you showed up with a cake—”

“Terrible brat?” She laughed, feigning insult. “On my birthday, no less.”

He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to the top of her sternum, hooking one hand in the crook of her knee to yank her down the bed so that she was more firmly under him, eliciting a playful little shriek out of her before he tugged the tie of her robe loose.

“Your birthday, yet here I am, unwrapping a present,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the slope of her jaw. He rumbled, pleased, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know.”

Varya made a sweet little sound. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Roman kissed down the pillar of her throat, dragging his tongue over a faded love-bite bruise. He’d need to renew that. “Especially when you put on that dress. Admittedly, I am a bit disappointed—I was looking forward to cutting it off of you if you misbehaved.”

“For someone who spent all day thinking about me,” she murmured coyly, “you certainly spent long enough coming up here.”

Roman paused in what he was doing—his fingers hooked in the top hem of her underwear, scandalous things that they were—and glanced up at her. He was trying to gauge where she was actually at, emotionally, but true to what Dorian had said, it was almost impossible to get a read on her.

“It’s just business, baby,” he replied.

“Oh. Of course.”

“You see? I told you not to worry about it.”

“Yes,” Varya agreed, “what would I know of business?”

Roman groaned, pressing his forehead to the smooth plane of her sternum. The scent of her jasmine perfume washed over him, and even though he was this close to indulging himself (which he, above all others, deserved the most), he knew Varya wouldn’t let go of the conversation so easily.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. He let the fabric of her underwear snap back into place against her hip bone, sliding down her body to kiss down her abdomen. “Focus on enjoying your birthday,” he added, “and let your man worry about everything else, hm?”

Varya’s lashes fluttered lightly, eyes watching him hungrily as he worked his way lower and lower still.

“Ambitious,” she murmured, “to think that I will let go of it so easily.”

“Well,” Roman replied against her skin, “I suppose it’s lucky that I love tests, too. And I always—”

The thin, silky fabric of her underwear made the most delicious sound as it ripped, tearing satisfyingly. Varya made a soft, sweet sound, and he glanced back up at her.

“—pass with flying colors.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his experience, Roman found that the best time to approach Varya about things was first thing in the morning. If he was exerting any amount of true self-awareness, of course, he would have acknowledged that “approaching” Varya about anything was not about the time of day, but rather how it was done—a skill Roman thought he had only honed in their short time together.

It was nearly ten; they’d roused late, thanks to the previous evening’s festivities—including an after-hours indulgence that Roman was more than pleased to drag out— and now Varya was chatting conversationally with Zsasz, who provided minimal noises between mouthfuls of food. It was as though her annoyance from the previous night had faded with the glow of morning, which left only the bones that Roman had left to pick.

Therefore, in a show of good faith, he let the chatter carry on for a little while before he decided to Broach(TM).

“So,” he said, sitting in his usual spot at the head breakfast table, “Maxim is funny.”

To his right, the brunette hummed and idly stirred her coffee. The gentle clink-clink of her spoon against the side of the mug was almost soothing; little creature comforts Roman hadn’t realized very often that he truly liked.

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him,” Roman continued casually.

“I do not like to talk about boring things.” Varya’s brow was furrowed, lips pressing into a little line as she read the newspaper. “Pass me the cream, my love?”

She was feigning disinterest, but he thought she might have been listening more closely than she let on; one wolfish little ear swiveled in his direction, always.

He did as she asked. “He has an interesting tattoo on his hand.”

“I did not notice.”

“No?”

Varya finally tilted her head to look at him, dark eyes inquisitive. She didn’t ask what it was she was thinking, not right away; instead, she waited, did that thing where she let him sit in silence, maybe in the hopes that he’d fill it with his own chatter. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, setting the paper down and resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at him, “won’t you just ask me what you want to ask me?”

There was no room to stop the irritated noise that came out of him at her words. He scoffed and settled more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin a little and watching her.

“Or we can play the little game,” she acquiesced, as though she were speaking to a particularly tedious child. “You don’t really care about Maxim’s tattoo. You just care what I think of him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Hm?”

“No,” he replied tartly. “I’m curious about the tattoo.” He paused. “And also what you think of him.”

“I think he is boring.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A smile curved her mouth, delicate and fine a gesture as gossamer spread across those soft, Renaissance-features. That painting of her that had been done in the ballroom of the Astakhov mansion was still around somewhere, wasn’t it? Not that he needed a painting when he had the real thing, but maybe he’d hang it in the foyer, as a reminder to anyone who just happened to pass by.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Roman continued idly, “this man of yours—”

“My man, is he?”

“—is just one more obstacle to getting what I wanted. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out that you put his daddy in the ground?”

“If,” Varya replied. “And what do you mean, obstacle?”

Another scoff came out of him. “Varya,” he chided, voice welling with a patronizing tone, warm and buttery, “come now.”

“Roman,” she replied. Her tone mimicked his. “Explain it to me like I am five.”

“I know the oh-so-omniscient lords of St. Petersburg and Moscow are dragging their fucking feet because they don’t like me.”

“You are trying too hard.” She settled back, dipping a bit of cream into her coffee and stirring again. Clink-clink. It offered him no comfort now; it had become a way for Varya to dismiss him. Don’t you see, Roman, how busy I am? “They are like cats. If you try too hard to gain their affections, they will balk and bolt. They hate being coddled, except by a woman. It’s terribly outdated, but what can you do?”

“I’m—” A sharp, incredulous noise came out of him. “I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to the lot of them!”

“You see? That is already too much.”

“Well, I don’t want them to like me,” he managed out, feeling the bubbling frustration rising up in him. “I couldn’t give a shit if they like me or not. I want them to accept that leadership is changing hands and they have a new boss to answer to, now.” He leaned forward, forearms rested on the table. “And I know Daddy Astakhov liked to brand his things, hm? So what’s Maxim’s tattoo mean?”

Varya leaned forward, too. “I do not know,” she replied evenly, “and I wish you would stop bringing that man up in my presence.”

“I can’t very well erase him from the conversation completely when I’m inheriting his business.”

“My,” she snapped out viciously, suddenly, “you are inheriting my business, Roman.”

It was just a split second. It was only a split second of venom welling up in her expression, suddenly so wicked that not even Roman was shielded from it; it was worse, now, than it had been before. Those times he’d seen the switch inside of her flip had been under great duress. Was this duress to her, now?

Women, Roman thought, watching her smooth dark hair from her face and collect herself. Perhaps motherhood had not made her soft, but rather emotionally volatile. He couldn’t afford to look more hysterical than his wife, so he waited—with great patience and grace, he thought—for her. She cinched the silk robe at her waist more snugly.

“You know that I am happy to do so,” she continued, as though she’d not just bitten his head off in front of Zsasz, “and that I have no problem with it. I just want...” Now, her voice trailed off, and she skimmed the pad of her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup before she picked up the newspaper again, as well as the red-ink ballpoint to her right. “I want it done right, that is all. And if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

A buzzing sound vibrated from the marble hallway leader to the elevator. Roman was waiting for Varya to issue her apology (which she was certainly going to do), and Varya wasn’t looking up from the newspaper.

“Who could be coming so early?” his wife idled, spurring on that molten-hot frustration inside of him as she continued to avoid the topic at hand. “Not someone you called on, Romy?”

The buzzer was the last thing that Roman wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He had much more on his mind; Varya’s elegant dodge of his questions, and—most importantly—her blatant dismissal of his concerns about their current timeline. She was all well and peachy over there, wasn’t she, drinking her coffee and reading her paper and not doing him the courtesy of looking at him?

She had always been a needler, Roman reasoned; she had always had a wild, stubborn streak in her. He’d watched her sit and push Ilarion’s buttons for an entire dinner, once, just to see him get to the edge of snapping at her. She was good at it. He liked it about her, liked watching her do it; might have even made a past-time out of the whole sport of it. How quickly can my little viper unravel a man? Place your bets, gentlemen, time ends when the idiot’s screaming his fucking head off in a public place.

And he would have been foolish to think that she never did it to him.

“Zsasz,” she said, without looking up from the paper, “be a darling and get that, won’t you?”

Zsasz, who had been sitting at the far end of the table watching all of this unfold the way a man might watch a trainwreck happen, moved to come to a stand. Roman barked out, “Stay,” and the movements stilled considerably, immediately. It was satisfying, at least, in an exchange which had been everything but up until then. He turned his gaze to the brunette on his right.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said tersely. He gestured to Zsasz. “Sit.”

The blonde did. Roman could feel Victor’s eyes darting between them.

“Oh, darling, you are spoiling my morning.” Varya set the newspaper down on the table and smoothed it out primly, the thin paper edges fluttering between her fingers. “Why would you ever say such a silly thing?”

“Varya.”

“Surely you do not mean to.”

“V,” he snapped.

“Well, I do not know what you want me to say,” she replied after a minute, leaning back in her chair to finally look at him. “My father never deigned to share his operations with me. It was always ‘what a tedious child you are, Varvara’ this, and ‘since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved’ that. I mean, the man spent most of my life quoting Machiavelli at me. Do you think he told me what all of his little art projects meant?” She shrugged, picking her newspaper up again, ignoring the second sound of the buzzer. “You could just ask.”

The irritation spiked high and hot in his throat. Of course, he could just ask. Of course, he could, but he was the fucking boss, which meant doing things like asking an employee what a stupid fucking tattoo meant were below him. He replied tersely, “Why don’t you figure it out for me? Clerical work and employee management is your forte, after all.”

Varya hummed. It was a prim, musing hm, the sound she made when he’d said something she found to be particularly annoying. “If you wanted me to personally manage Maxim,” she demurred, glancing at him through dark, sooty lashes, “you only had to say.”

Somehow sensing this particular phrasing was not going to go over well with Roman (it wasn’t), Zsasz said, “Can I buzz ‘em up?”

“Yes,” Varya replied.

“No,” Roman insisted.

“Romy, there’s a guest.”

“I’m not through with you,” he snapped.

“I’m gonna buzz ‘em up,” Zsasz announced.

Roman felt the frustrated note rising in his throat, strangling it before it could quite make its way out of him. His jaw set; his eyes followed Zsasz on his way out of the main room and toward the elevator to—presumably—let up their guest (intruder). He drummed his fingers against the top of the dining table and said, “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”

“Darling.” Varya leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and cradling her chin atop them. She looked awfully pleased with herself, the little snake, that gigantic stone sitting on her finger. “If I knew what the tattoo meant, I would just tell you. Why not? I could tell you what the word is, but that is hardly ever what the tattoo actually means.”

Darling, she said, as though she hadn’t just snapped her teeth at him moments before. Roman sucked his teeth. Yes, it was very reasonable, he thought; Nikita had always cherished his son over his daughter, had always anticipated Ilarion taking over the business, as Varya had framed it—and even once, Ilarion had confirmed himself. He wanted you and only you, Ilya, and that’s why you couldn’t look at him when he died. That’s what she’d said, and the memory of that night—of Varya, needling the person she was closest to in the world, weaned from venom and taking so much pleasure from inflicting it on someone else—reminded him that there was still much about his wife left to be unearthed.

And it would be an unearthing. Roman had no doubt that it would be a graveyard he would be turning over, full of skeletons—not just a closet.

From the other room, the sound of an infant’s cry drifted down the hall. Varya’s gaze flickered to the space over Roman’s shoulder, behind him, and she came to a stand.

“I will ask, if you would like me to,” she told him, coming around the table and smoothing her hand along his shoulder in what was supposed to be a peace-making gesture. “But I don’t think there is a reason to bother yourself with the detail.”

He felt his mouth press into a thin line. Fine, he thought, fine, the tattoo isn’t a big deal. But what about everything else? “This is all taking a long time, V.”

“I know.” She paused, and then softened a little, all of her button-pushing and needling having dissipated for the moment; Varya leaned down and kissed his temple, and then the top of his cheekbone. “These things take patience, you know. It is not just a—used car business we are inheriting. There are processes, formalities, the like. The men have to know they can trust you.” She paused, tilting her head and regarding him with dark, inquisitive eyes. “You just have to trust me, Romy.”

Roman sighed. I do, he thought, turning his head to look at her. Don’t I?

Of course, he did. She was his wife, the mother of his children—and Roman hadn’t even wanted kids, not really. Not until he realized how much they, by proxy, made Varya belong to him. There was nothing quite so devoted as carrying someone’s child, was there? So yes; he did trust her, in the same capacity at which he supposed a man trusted a relatively-domesticated panther on a chain. Maybe just a smidge more than that. But enough to expect she’d bite off someone else’s hand, and not his.

“Fine,” is what he said, and the word still came out a little petulant. “I will. I do.” Reaching up, he snagged her wrist when she started to pull away, keeping her in place. She watched him expectantly.

When he didn’t say anything—just watched her, gauging her—she prompted playfully, “Are you going to scold me?”

Roman pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist. His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, vicious girl. You just can’t resist pushing a button when you see it, can you?”

Her pulse jumped pleasantly under warm skin, whether by the term vicious girl or his touch, he didn’t know. It seemed that storminess had passed as soon as it had arrived; and though she hadn’t yet uttered the words I’m sorry, he almost preferred her like this. Coy.

“You would be bored, otherwise.” Her eyes glittered, mischievous. “Don’t you think?”

His fingers stayed curled around her wrist, but she didn’t try and pull away. Watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile, he felt nearly won over. How tedious, Roman thought, that even when he was irritated with her, he found her endearing. That’s amore.

“Don’t goad me,” he warned, and Varya smiled dreamily at him.

“I love you,” is what she replied, and then leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”

He dropped his grip from her wrist and she stepped around his chair, the silk of her robe fluttering behind her as she started to the sound of babbling infants. The one or two cries that had roused her initially had melted down into baby-chat. Roman was reminded, once again, that they had a nanny on the payroll for seemingly no reason.

“Varya,” he called, taking the newspaper from where she’d left it on the table, “I mean it.”

Her voice drifted from down the hall: “Of course, Romy.”

The sound of the nursery door opening echoed, and then Varya’s voice; saccharine-sweet, honeyed and muffled by distance. He glanced over the front of the newspaper, but it was impossible to focus on the words—what did they matter, anyway? He didn’t give a fuck about what was going on in Gotham. He had bigger fish to fry. Bigger, Russian, potentially radioactive amalgams of different fish that seemed to be stalling on a deal that should have been up and done with already. Not to mention, one of those fish breaking off of the nightmare-fish and showing up, unannounced, sporting tattoos likely administered to him by Nikita Astakhov himself?

These things take patience.

Roman suppressed a scoff. Like he didn’t have patience. He’d been the most patient. Varya had dragged her feet for about a month after they’d put Ilarion in the ground, but after that, things had typically moved fast—the engagement, the twins. Everything except the thing Roman had been waiting for since the beginning. Of course, he’d never anticipated inheriting the business himself and had only gone into the whole thing wanting an exclusive deal, but now he knew better. He knew what was owed to him. He knew what belonged to him.

The elevator door down the main hall dinged. Roman didn’t bother stifling the sigh that wanted to come out of him; it was only ten in the morning, who could possibly need him and for what? He pushed the chair back from the table and came to a stand, sucking his teeth and prepping what he thought could only be the tranquil expression of a man ready to murder before Maxim stepped inside.

He blinked. The tranquility fled his face. Zsasz trailed in after him, looking uneasy. There was something about his expression that didn’t sit right with Roman, the hard lines of the blonde’s face setting him even further on edge. Would his suffering never end?

“Oh, Maximillian,” he greeted, keeping his voice the pinnacle of lazily annoyed. “Clocking in for work a little early, aren’t we? Over-achieving?”

“I am an early riser,” the blonde acquiesced. He looked genuinely apologetic, the fuckhead, in Dolce & Gabbana, no less. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

“A big wager to make, first day on the job.” Roman trailed Zsasz with his eyes, watching the blonde pace around the far end of the table. What had gotten into him since he’d gone to buzz their guest up? Idly, he sat back down at the table, resuming to glance over the words of the newspaper he couldn’t have given two shits about.

And he said nothing. He instead enjoyed, immensely, the act of letting Maxim stand there in silent uncertainty. It was probably almost a full minute before Maxim cleared his throat, prompting Roman to set his newspaper down with a sigh, as though it were very troubling that he had to stop this thing he didn’t even want to do.

“If you’re here to play catch-up with Varya, she’s busy today,” he deadpanned, turning his gaze reluctantly to where Maxim stood. “And every other day. Generally, I think it would be safe to assume she’s much too preoccupied to assist with whatever problems you might have; that type of work is beneath her now, you know.”

“I am sure being a mother and wife is more than enough to keep her busy,” Maxim agreed soberly.

“And transitioning the business in my name,” Roman replied pointedly.

The blonde shrugged, smiling a little. “Of course.”

He felt his eyes narrow. He leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested on the armrests of the chair. It was impossible to figure out what it was about Maxim that Varya might have liked; the man was painfully well-mannered and non-confrontational, which Roman knew wasn’t her style at all.

Never mind that Varya had not once said that there was a romantic interaction between them. That didn’t matter. He knew how men looked at his wife, and Maxim had been a little too comfortable touching her for there to have been nothing at all.

“But, I did not come here to speak to Varya,” the Russian continued, taking a few steps toward the table. “I actually came here to speak to you, Roman.”

Roman blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“I wanted to come and see if you were free today,” Maxim elaborated casually. “I was Nikita’s man. Now, I am yours. It only seems right I get to know you better.” He gestured with his hand. “I know you have more than enough help around here, and I was tied up in Turkey before, but...”

Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He saw no trace of yesterday’s venom in Maxim’s face, no indication that he was trying to be sarcastic or pull some kind of joke. Instead, Maxim’s face looked completely open and earnest.

“You’re here to ask me on a fucking lunch date,” he began, “and not Varya?”

“Varya,” the blonde replied demurely, “is not my boss.”

Huh, Roman thought. He swept his gaze over Maxim scathingly, and then looked at Zsasz, who remained unreadable. Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful thing? It did feel nice to hear Maxim say it, even if Roman would rather see him crying or begging or bleeding out.

“I’m busy today,” he replied after a moment, turning his attention back to Maxim. “But you can swing by the—”

“Maxim.” It was Varya’s voice. Roman turned to look at her. There was no baby in tow. This wouldn’t have been unusual, if Maxim had been a stranger; she tended to keep the twins as far out of reach of people she did not know as much as possible, nested away for safety. But Maxim had been her childhood friend, hadn’t he?

“Good morning,” Maxim greeted her warmly. “I was just asking Roman if he would—”

“I know what you were asking,” Varya interrupted. “You overestimate yourself, showing up to your boss’ home unannounced, don’t you think?”

Maxim looked about as lost as Roman felt; the sensation that he’d stepped into a fever dream very suddenly was washing over him. He looked at Zsasz. The blonde gave a little shrug, as though to say, Why the fuck would I know?

“Varushka,” Maxim ventured after a moment, “you know I did not mean...”

“I don’t know anything at all,” the brunette replied coolly. “You should have called ahead.” She paused, and then added purposefully: “Temka never showed up unannounced.”

Roman found himself in the very strange position of feeling...bad (?) for Maxim, standing there a little helplessly, the poor thing. Varya’s words had gutted him. He could only assume that she was referring to the blonde’s father when she said Temka, by the look on his face, and that—

Oh, you wicked thing, he thought, affection welling up inside of him as he looked at Varya, you know just how to unravel a man. Sticking a salted hot-poker straight into his grief-wound, aren’t you?

“I am sorry,” Maxim said after a minute. “I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”

“The transgression is not mine to forgive.” Varya swept around Roman then, sitting back down in her seat. She looked at him, expectant. “Roman?”

“Me?” he asked.

“It is as Maxim said,” she replied. “You are his boss, not me.”

He waited to see if there was some kind of strange undertow to her words, but he could find none; just Varya waiting, expectantly, for him to excuse Maxim’s showing up without having called ahead. It was odd, and he couldn’t figure out why it was that she was acting like this toward Maxim now—had it been the Varya is not my boss comment? Was she trying to make up for their little spat?

It was commonplace for nothing to be straightforward, with Varya. This was different.

“So,” she continued primly, turning to look at Maxim now, “apologize to your boss.”

“I am—” Maxim stopped, like he didn’t want to do it, drawing Roman’s gaze to him. Quite suddenly, Roman thought he knew exactly what his wife was doing; putting the blonde in a position where he’d have to put good faith behind his words. Varya is not my boss, he’d said, but did that matter if he couldn’t even apologize to Roman?

He finished, more smoothly now, “I am sorry, Roman.”

Roman beamed. “Insolence forgiven,” he replied, all thoughts of his disagreement with Varya gone now. He reached over the table, snagging her hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “As I was saying—I am busy today, but you are welcome to swing by the club later this evening. Before midnight. We get busiest just before the witching hour.”

Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”

Varya’s nails skimmed Roman’s palm. She didn’t look up when she said, “Was there something else, Maxim?”

“I do not think so.”

“Then,” she replied sweetly, “have a lovely afternoon.”

A moment stretched where the blonde looked a little unsure, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” and excused himself down the hall. Varya circled something in the newspaper with her red-ink pen, her other hands still interlaced with Roman’s.

“Mr. Zsasz,” she began, “did you let Maxim up?”

Zsasz looked at Roman. “I didn’t,” he replied after a minute. “Armazd did.”

“Hm,” came the reply, even as she noted something in the margins of the paper.

“Were you apologizing for your tantrum, just now?” Roman asked. He would puzzle out why Armazd letting Maxim up was worthy of a hm later. Now, he could see the hint of a smile ticking the corners of Varya’s mouth upward, but she did not sway from whatever it was that had captured her attention in the news of Gotham; instead, she circled something absently.

Varya said, “Did you find it a suitable apology?”

He considered. “Well, I would have liked it better if you’d made him cry.”

“It would have spoiled my appetite,” she demurred, folding the newspaper primly and coming to a stand. “I am taking the twins to the park with Irina. And Zsasz too, if you’ll spare him. I won’t be back until late afternoon.”

“Late? Then you’d better come here, wife.” Roman tugged on her hand, watching her expression warm when he said wife. Once, he might have squinted at loaning Zsasz out to her. Now, he didn’t mind; especially if it gave a peace of mind that she and the twins be that more secure. “So that I can get my fill of you before you’re gone.”

The brunette laughed, letting him tug her down onto his lap. She carded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and brushed their noses together; it was all glowing affection, now, warmth buzzing under her skin.

“Oh, darling, now I want to leave quicker, and more often,” she murmured, “so that you’ll never have your fill of me.”

Roman supposed that was how she’d gotten him in the first place. Hooked him with being inaccessible, with being coveted—as if she had always known he was not a man could resist something considered off-limits—and now that he had her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d seen the way that others looked at her, and by proxy him; with want. With envy. Bruce Wayne could eat shit.

“Roman,” Varya said, “I want you to be careful when you are around Maxim.”

He paused, pulling back to look at her a little. She smoothed her hand over the slope of his collarbone affectionately.

“You are right,” she continued. “When Maxim finds out what I did—if he does—he will be angry about it. He is used to being the right-hand man, you know. Do not...” She glanced down, looking for the words. “Do not give it to him so easily. Make him work for it and prove himself to you.”

Tracing the lines of her expression—soft, concerned—Roman dragged his thumb across her wrist.

“I told you, doll.” He planted an affectionate kiss to her wrist. “Don’t worry about these things. I’ve got it perfectly under control.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I know you do, Romy—”

“Then stop this fussing,” he interjected mildly. “You’re spoiling your very charming apology. You know I love a good public humiliation. Which park are you taking the twins to?”

The dark eyes of his wife swept over his face for a minute, contemplative and impossible to gauge, before she smiled at him warmly.

“The one just a few blocks away. It has the most shade. Mr. Zsasz, won’t you bring the car around?”

And just like that, things were back to normal. Varya swept away to busy herself with getting ready and loading the twins, and Zsasz went to pull the car around, leaving Roman at the table for a rare moment of peace. Soon enough, he’d have all the information he needed from Dorian, and he could well-and-truly mitigate Maxim Kuznetsov as a problem, and everything would be back on track. He could bet money Varya didn’t think he’d had the foresight to dig up information on Maxim—it wasn’t his style to get his hands dirty, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures.

Roman sighed, quite pleased.

Back to normal.

[ieatannoyingchildren]

GOTHAM MASTERLIST:

G/N Reader unless otherwise requested N/A Smut (for now) SUCKER FOR VILLAIN FLUFF

Characters:

Alfred Pennyworth | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Barbara Kean | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Bridget Pike/Firefly | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Bruce Wayne | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Butch Gilzean/Grundy | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Ecco | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Edward Nygma/Riddler | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Fish Mooney | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Harvey Bullock | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Harvey Dent | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Hugo Strange | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Ivy Pepper | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

James Gordon | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Jeremiah Valeska | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Jerome Valeska | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Jervis Tetch | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Jonathan Crane/The Scarecrow | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Kristen Kringle | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Lazlo Valentine/Professor Pyg | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Leslie Thompkins | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Lucius Fox | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Nathaniel Barnes | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Oswald Cobblepot/Penguin | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Ra's Al Ghul | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Sara Essen | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Selina Kyle | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Sophia Falcone | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Tabitha Galavan | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Theo Galavan/Azreal | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Victor Fries/Mr. Freeze | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

Victor Zsasz | preferences | one-shots | imagines | requests

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

The only one I need...

For the sweet @stardancerluv 🥰🥰🥰🐇🐰

Hope you like it!

Sitting on her couch, (Y/N) glanced at the window of the penthouse with a thoughtful look in her eyes. She distantly stroke her slightly rounded belly. The young woman could not still believe that in five months, she would become a mother.

This perspective positively thrilled her, of course. She was happy to start a family with the man she loved... even if the latter was not the suited man for being a father, according to many Gothamites. Indeed, (Y/N) was married to Roman Sionis, one of the ruthless mob bosses of the city. Of course, when he was in business, he was cruel and wicked. But, when he was with her, Roman was the perfect husband.

The young woman sighed: honestly, he was happy to be a father. Well, she guessed he was glad. Since the beginning of her pregnancy, she cannot confirm if her husband was ready to start a family.

Moreover, she felt that he was distant from her. Roman barely even hold her when he was an insatiable hugger. Perhaps being pregnant made her look less glamourous in his eyes. After all, Mister Sionis was a man who showed interest in appearances. Sure, a changing body was not a pleasant view for him. He certainly preferred spending time with gorgeous women in hourglass bodies.

(Y/N) felt tears rolling down her cheek. Of course, she had everything she dreamt of, but she felt so alone.

"Hi, (Y/N)! You're alright?"

Wiping her tears, she turned around and saw Victor, who stood there, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Oh, hello, Vic. I am sorry I did not hear you coming."

"That's okay... Are you sure you're alright? You seem upset."

"Me? No, don't worry: I am just tired. Pregnancy mood swings, you know."

"I guess so. Well, I mean: I trust you on this one... Is there anything you want?"

She shrugged.

"No... Unless you know where Roman is?"

"He has a business meeting at the club. Stu and Joe are with him."

She nodded, a sad look on her face.

"I see... Thank you, Victor. You can go if you want."

Shaking his head, the scarred man sat on a chair and asked:

"Do you think I am going outside and leaving you like that? I may not be the smartest, but I am not blind. I see there is something that worries you."

(Y/N) stuttered:

"No, no, no! I assure you..."

The skeptical look Victor gave her made her stop. She sighed:

"Okay, you won. But I don't think that the wailings of a pregnant woman are interesting."

"I will see... Go ahead!"

She bit her lip before explaining with a quivering voice:

"I feel so alone. Since I told Roman the news, he acted distant towards me. It feels like he did not want this child or that he found me ugly. I cannot tell what he thinks... Argh, I am getting mad!"

The henchman gently patted her hand.

"Don't worry, (Y/N). Roman always acts like that when something new happens. I know him for years, and I can tell you that he would never think about having a family of his own... until you tripped in his life!"

"Do you just said that I am clumsy?"

"Maybe! Seriously, (Y/N): he always told me that no woman could compete with you, concerning beauty or cleverness! But he just tried to cope with this new situation. And you know that he does not easily share his feelings..."

She slowly nodded.

"I guess so... I wished that he opened up to me about his opinions."

She slightly grinned.

"I appreciate your help, Victor. Thank you!"

"Hey, you make my boss happy! It's the least that I can do!"

He looked at his phone.

"Ha, I have to leave: Roman needs my help!"

"Is there anything wrong?"

"No, no: he just needs my... special skills!"

"Okay, okay, I got it! See you later!"

"Bye, (Y/N) replied Zsasz before leaving the penthouse.

While (Y/N) relaxed, Victor drove to the warehouse where Roman and his bodyguards waited for him with their prisoners.

"Hi, boss!"

"Ah, Mister Zsasz! You come at the right time! You see, those gentleman tied upside down belonged to the gang of the Davinovitch brothers. And they thought messing with our dealers was a good idea. Anyway, peel off their faces! I want to send a warning to their bosses! Make sure they suffer!"

Victor sadistically grinned.

"With pleasure, boss! Just let me pick my tools!"

And while Zsasz peeled off the faces of the prisoners, Roman asked:

"I wonder... Where were you before I called you?"

"I went to the penthouse checking on (Y/N)."

"Ah, my beloved wife! So, how is she doing?"

His henchman grimaced:

"Well, she is physically healthy. However, I am afraid to tell you that she is upset, to say the least!"

The mob boss started to worry.

"What do you mean?"

"Honestly, boss: she is on the verge of depression!"

"WHAT? AND YOU SAID THAT JUST NOW?"

"I just saw it today. I asked (Y/N) what's going on, and she confessed that something upsets her. Well, someone upsets her."

Roman turned towards his bodyguards and yelled:

"WHO DARED MAKE MY WIFE FEEL MISERABLE?"

The henchmen denied their involvement, shaking with fear: the last one who dared made (Y/N) cry rested in pieces with the fish.

"You better not lie to me because if I found the guilty, he would finish like those jackasses! Am I clear?"

His guards nodded.

Once Victor finished his job, they went to the club. The scarred man cleared his throat and said:

"Boss, when I said that someone upset (Y/N)..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was talking about you!"

"I beg your pardon? How can I upset the woman I love, the mother of my child?" asked Roman, annoyed.

"Seriously, boss. (Y/N) feels alone, and you do nothing to reassure her! If only you saw her, she was down depressed!"

Roman frowned.

"To that point?"

"I'm telling you!"

The mob boss sighed.

"What have I done?" he muttered.

He turned towards Victor.

"Call Dean: tell him I have a specific order!"

"Consider it done, boss!" smirked Zsasz as he dialed the number.

The next day.

Thanking the driver, (Y/N) went out of the cab and entered the penthouse. Her appointment with the doctor went well. She was in good shape, and her baby was healthy. Moreover, she knew that she expected a boy.

The woman smiled: a mini-Roman. Let's hope that he won't inherit his father's temper!

She headed to the living room when a pleasant smell welcomed her. Intrigued, she went forwards and discovered a table perfectly laid with her favorite meals.

"Is anybody here?" she asked.

Suddenly, Roman appeared with a huge bouquet in his hands.

"Here comes my beautiful wife! How was your appointment?"

"Uh, it went well." (Y/N) answered, taken aback by Roman's behavior.

Yesterday, he was cold as ice, and today, he acted like at the beginning of their relationship. Something was fishy...

"Wonderful! Now, let's sit down and enjoy our dinner! Let me take off your coat!"

"Thank you, Roman. But I can do it."

"No, no, no: let me take care of you, darling. You must be exhausted!"

Once they sat down, they started to eat. (Y/N) ate a few mouthfuls, which confused her husband.

"Is everything okay, sweetheart? You don't eat that much. Yet, you must build your strength for the baby!"

"Can I ask you a question, Roman?"

"Of course, my love. What do you want to know?"

She sighed before requesting:

"Can you explain why do you plan this dinner? Do we celebrate something? A successful trade?"

The mob nodded before he put down his fork and said:

"So, Victor was right. Do you think that I neglect you?"

"WHAT? No, I would never say..."

She mentally cursed Victor: why did he need to tell Roman?

"My little doe, there is no need to panic. Besides, I owe you an apology..."

"What for?"

"I made you feel miserable. You, the only person who sincerely loves me for who I am and not for who I seem. And how do I thank you? By letting you alone with your insecurities and sadness!"

(Y/N) was impressed: she did not expect Roman to do this! 

She gently put her hand on his:

"You know, I appreciate your gesture. But I can understand that starting a family might trigger you, as you don't have good memories of your parents..."

"As it happens, it gives me a lesson: it taught me what not to do with a child! I don't want my offspring to suffer as I did!"

He paused before he explained:

"About my distant behavior, I know I have no excuses. But... I was scared!"

"Scared?"

"Yes, I know: coming from me, it sounds weird. But I feared to fail you and our kid. Imagine that I end up being like my old man: a pure jackass!"

His wife firmly stated:

"But you're not your father. You succeeded better than he would ever do! You just proved it: you have concerns about how to raise our child properly!"

He smirked:

"That proves I rightly choose my life partner. I don't know what would I do if you were not here!"

Roman leaned and gave her a small kiss on the lips.

"And don't ever think that you are ugly! No matter what happens, you're still the most gorgeous woman in all Gotham!"

(Y/N) felt her heart melt: she never managed to resist his sweet talk!

She hugged him:

"Thank you."

"No, thank you!" he muttered while hugging her back.

They stayed like that a few minutes before Roman exclaimed:

"Now, let's finish our dinner, and then, let's go to bed!"

An hour later, the spouses laid in their bed, in each other's arms. Roman gently stroke (Y/N)'s hair while she laid her head on his chest.

Suddenly, she felt his hand resting on her belly, making her chuckle.

"You wanted to check if the baby is alright?"

"Kind of... I just want to let them know that I am here for them, no matter what happens!"

(Y/N) beamed.

"I am sure our baby boy would appreciate it!"

"Indeed... Wait, did you just say...?"

"You heard it right: there will be another Mr. Sionis in Gotham!"

Roman happily laughed.

"Amazing! I can't wait to meet him"

"Let's hope he won't have your flair for drama!"

"What?" exclaimed Roman, faking shock.

They both laughed and talked during the night, planning what they would do with their son. 

In the end, while they drifted into sleep, (Y/N) heard Roman whispering in her ear:

"You're the only one I need..."

And as she closed her eyes, all her fears vanished in the air. She could not wait to write this new chapter with the two men of her life... 

Thanks for the reading!

I hope you like it and do not hesitate to ask for another story!

Take care! 😘🥰😍