#oh sion imagines

[slytherinshua]

APPLES AND PEARS

genre. fluff. secret relationship. farmer au lmao?? warnings. rivalry between families. having to hide a relationship because of bad blood. not proofread. pairing. sion x fem!reader. wc. 2.4k. request. no. a/n. yes this is based on that one couple in my little pony.... fight me they were cute AND IT WAS A CUTE IDEA. also got the idea from @sleepy-wonus's nct wish x mlp moodboard series and sion's mb. divider by @/pommecita.

The rivalry between your family’s pear orchard and the Oh family’s apple orchard went back too far to even count. Generations of tradition went into the planting, pruning, harvesting, and selling of your pears, and you took great pride in it, much like the rest of your family. You would never get tired of the smell of sweet pears, or the process of baking the fresh fruit into pastries. 

Despite how much you liked it, you often found it overwhelming. Your parents had a few strict rules which you had to follow since you were little. There were only two of them, but you had always found them extremely hard to stick to. 

The first rule was to never eat pears from the trees. You were only allowed to have them once they had been sorted through and separated by quality. When you were younger, you despised this one the most. You absolutely loved pears no matter how many you ate. Not being able to pick them fresh off the tree to enjoy was torture.

The second rule was to never talk to the Oh family, and to never cross the property line on the west side of the farm. Around 50 acres of trees grew on your family’s property. When you were younger, you were simply never allowed to travel to the far west side. This only piqued your curiosity about the rivalled apple orchard. 

Your parents always told you that the Oh family were terrible people who had wrongly scammed your family and stolen your precious land (and loyal customers). You wholeheartedly believed them when you were younger and held the same contempt as they did for the ‘apple family’. But were they really as bad as your family insisted?

“Sion! You’re not allowed to climb the tree!” You whisper-shouted in panic, a basket of pears in your hand which you quickly dropped to the ground, “You’re out in the open again! I’m gonna get in trouble.” You whined, running up to the base of the tree and staring up at the boy. He gave you a mischievous smile. 

“If they come around, I’ll hop down and pretend like I was picking apples this entire time.” He grinned, glancing back at the property line where you saw an empty basket he had abandoned. 

Oh Sion. The oldest son of the Oh family, who you first met when you were 14, and soon found out was exactly your age. Who could blame you for being curious about him? You barely saw anyone outside of your family, much less a boy, that too from the one family you were never supposed to talk to. All the rivalry, competition, and loathing that you were supposed to hold for him disappeared as soon as you saw his face.

Now, a few years later, you and him were still keeping up the delicate act of hiding yourselves whenever you met up. Your parents would have a heart attack if they knew you had been talking to him, much less kissing him. (He was an excellent kisser, though). 

“Your bosc pears are sweeter this year.” He commented, pointing at the fruit hanging from the branch he was sitting on. You could tell he was fishing for compliments— trying to impress you with his knowledge on the fruit.

“Don’t start acting like a pear expert just because you can finally tell the difference. You didn’t even know there were different types before I told you.” You rolled your eyes, “Get down from the tree. You’re putting stress on the branch.” 

“Only if you give me a kiss.” Sion said gleefully, hopping down to the ground in one smooth motion. 

You stepped forward, caging him in against the tree with one hand, “You want a kiss in return for trespassing on my property?” You raised an eyebrow, amused at his antics.

His eyes twinkled, “Are you going to give it to me or not? I don’t have all day.” His hand slipped to your waist, waiting for you to make the move. You leaned in, eyes fluttering shut. Just as your lips touched his and you were met with the sweet taste of apple and cinnamon, you heard a voice drawing nearer. 

You both pulled apart on instinct, and Sion slipped behind the tree and back across the property line without another word. You lamented over the unfortunate timing for a moment before picking up your basket and facing your aunt who had come to ask for your help with the pear butter.

After finishing up the batch of pear butter and peeling and cutting a few baskets of pears, you were finally sent on harvesting duty again. You snuck back to the same tree, hoping that Sion would still be picking apples nearby. It was easy to spot the head of dirty blond against the trees bearing sweet gala apples. 

“No worms got in this year, I hope?” You teased, stepping over the line into the apple orchard. Sion tossed you an apple from the branch.

“See for yourself.”

You smiled, taking a seat on the grass as you watched him work. He was tall, and able to reach the fruit easily. Although he was also lazy, opting to bend the branches down to reach instead of getting a ladder. You bit into the apple, a pleased smile on your face whenever you had the opportunity to break a rule. Sion watched you with a smirk as well, the sentiment shared.

He had been brought up similarly, although not quite as harsh as your parents. Rather than seeing your family as having wronged his, you were painted as lesser and therefore not worth his time. Apples always sold more than pears— the proof was in the fruit, as Sion’s mother said. Sion had always liked pears himself. 

“You owe me for earlier.” He said as he plucked the last apple from the branch. 

“I’m ready to pay up.” You smiled, beckoning him over next to you.

“Good. Because I was feeling a bit cheated.” He plopped down on the ground beside you, shuffling next to you until your knees were touching. You cupped his cheek and drew his face to yours, sighing happily when there were no interruptions to your kiss. 

There were always unanswered questions that came with your relationship with Sion. The simple fact that neither of your parents would ever accept the other often made thinking of the future impossible. So, you lived in the present. You enjoyed every day you saw Sion, and took every opportunity you could to talk to him, hold him, kiss him. You loved him wholeheartedly. 

He pressed his lips harder against yours, deepening the kiss. The taste of the apple you had just eaten on your tongue made him pull apart to giggle. You tasted like him, and it made his chest feel warm.

“I have the fall fair for a week, you know. I won’t be able to see you.” He mumbled, catching his breath.

“Don’t remind me.” You shushed him of the thought with your lips finding his again, desperately getting your fill of the feeling before you would inevitably be deprived of it again. 

As much as he would’ve liked to stay kissing you for the rest of the day, preparations for the fair separated you two once again. You only had time to give him a couple pears to stash away for the trip before he left. He was busy for the rest of the day, preparing recipes and packaging hundreds of apples into boxes. By the time evening came, he had already left on the long drive to town.

You hated when Sion was away. There were many tasks you could do to keep yourself busy, but your small breaks to talk to him at the edge of the farm kept you motivated unlike anything else. Seeing the empty apple orchard only made you miss him more; so you tried to stay inside the house as much as possible.

Your grandma was working on new quilts for the winter. Most of the fabric had patterns of pears or leaves on them, but you found a random stash of apple related ones as well. Deciding to take up your own sewing project, you started to make a small quilt for Sion (although you told your mother it was just a personal project). 

The days had never gone slower. Although it was peak pear season and the orchard was doing better than ever, you were starting to get sick of pears. When Sion wasn’t there, you quickly grew tired of having to be surrounded by them all the time. They weren’t a source of your pride anymore if everyone else around you already shared it with you.

Two days before he was supposed to return, you found yourself walking over to the property line again. It was evening and the chance of any of your family seeing you by the westside trees that had already been picked was low. You didn’t even try to hide your intention as you crossed over the line, looking for a fresh apple to pick. You just missed him that bad.

“Missed me that much, huh?” 

You startled from the sound of his voice, dropping the apple you had just plucked from the tree out of shock. You turned around and there he was. His face was obscured from the night darkness, but you didn’t even need to see his face to know he was wearing his signature grin. 

You ran into his arms, the feeling of him squeezing you tightly suggesting that he missed you even more than you did. He smelled slightly like pears, and it brought a small smile to your face. 

��Why are you back so early? Did I not give you enough pears to keep you away?” You pulled back from the hug, pushing back some of his hair to better see his face. He was so pretty.

“I ran out by the third day. You should’ve given me a better stock.” He complained. “My parents sent me to catch the honeycrisp harvest on the best day. The timing didn’t work out too well this year, so I volunteered to go back by myself.” He told you, “And maybe I also wanted some more pears.” The whispered afterthought made you giggle. 

For the first time ever, you slipped onto the Oh’s orchard without any fear. You found Sion sitting on the porch, peeling apples by hand with a small knife. He didn’t notice you at first, partly because he was so focused on his task, and partly because you had never dared to come this far onto his family’s farm before. 

“What are you making with those?” You asked as you took a seat beside him.

“Apple sauce. We like to slow cook them for a couple hours, but not too long otherwise it’ll turn out too watery. Never overnight.” He grinned, reaching over to a basket and handing you a knife. “Since you’re here, you might as well help.” 

“I feel like I’m cheating on at least 10 generations of my family.” You commented as you grabbed a fresh apple from the pail at his feet and started peeling away the skin. 

You were a bit clumsy with the knife on the apple. They were much bigger than your pears, not to mention a completely different shape. You definitely didn’t have as much skill in the area as Sion. He finished peeling three apples in the time it took you to just do one. His peels dropped into the compost bucket in one clean long spiral, while yours were scrappy and broken. 

“Hold it like this.” Sion said softly, adjusting your hands so that you steadied the apple with your thumb and cut towards it. You watched him demonstrate how to peel it the best, starting from the top of the apple and finishing at the bottom without breaking the peel once. It was perfectly thin without catching any of the fruit on it. You had to admit that watching him do it so perfectly was hot.

With his guidance, you saw better results immediately, although you would never accomplish his level of over 15 years with just 1 afternoon of practice. Once the apples were peeled, you started to core and cut them into medium sized chunks. You had much more success with it, as you were more used to coring pears. 

Cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves went into the pot as seasoning for the fruit. The smell of fall enveloped your senses with sweet and spicy scents. Maybe it was because the same notes were always what Sion lips tasted like, or maybe it was your growing love for any recipe that included apples in it, but you were obsessed with the smell. 

“I should hire you on the farm. Who knew the pear girl would be so good with apples?” Sion teased you once you were done, taking a walk around the orchard together to check on the state of the trees.

“If only our family’s didn’t hate each other.” You mused, letting a sigh leave your lips. You finally had a taste of what it would be like to not have to hide. You knew you would always enjoy any time you spent with Sion, but you didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as you did. 

“It’s a shame. Apples and pears aren’t even that different. They’re better together, in fact.” Sion commented, nudging you with his elbow. You laughed at his hidden meaning, linking your fingers together with his as you neared the pear side of the farm.

“See you tomorrow?” You asked, stepping over the line, Sion still standing on his side. You toyed with his fingers, delaying when you would actually have to say goodbye.

“You know where to find me.” He smiled, letting you decide when to finally let go of his hands. 

Like always, saying goodbye was the worst part of the day, for both you and Sion. Being so close to you, yet so separated left a sour taste in Sion’s mouth. He so badly wished he could spend every moment with you, or even help around your family’s farm as well. He was more likely to get a pear to his face than even the slightest chance of your family accepting him. So, he cut his losses when he had to. He still felt grateful for what he had.

He had you. Sion was hopelessly in love with you, a feeling that you shared without hesitance. And that itself was enough for both of you. 

↳ nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @talking-saxy,, @hursheys,,

@kristianities,, @lilly-cherry7

[wispyxjae]

messy

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

summary: soft dom!sion headcanons, i just love his lips.

cw: soft dom!sion, oral (f receiving), sion is a handsy guy, cheek squishing, fingering in the car, dirty talk.

a/n: i've been overdosing on the wishies for the past 3 weeks and i'm just obsessed w this dude... just know the pic i used of him got the car sex thoughts going... eek. not proofread so lmk if i miss anything!

soft dom!sion who knows you're obsessed with his fat juicy lips. loves kissing you everywhere and watching you get flustered over it.

soft dom!sion whose lips get so so swollen and plump after making out with you... also after eating you out.

soft dom!sion who's a messy eater. the bottom half of his face is just soaked when he's done with you. every time. comes up to kiss you after eating you out too btw.

soft dom!sion who looks up at you with the cutest eye smile all the time because you're so reactive for him and he loooves it.

soft dom!sion who won't give you what you want unless you outright ask. squishes your cheeks together when you don't respond to him. "if you want to cum, don't you have something to say to me, hmm?"

soft dom!sion who's just smiling at you softly while his actions are contrasting. he can be rough or gentle, it really just depends on his mood.

soft dom!sion who's just sometimes a little more Firm with you. it takes a lot for him to turn into a hard dom. very patient with you, very teasing bc of this.

soft dom!sion who has big hands that love touching you everywhere. his hands are always touching you and grabbing at you wherever he can reach.

soft dom!sion who's an ass and thigh type of guy. doggy style is a favorite position of his for this reason.

soft dom!sion who forces your thighs apart while he's giving you head. hums into your pussy, like trying to say "nuh uh" at you closing your legs, but it's just hums that send chills down your spine.

soft dom!sion who loves car sex... imagine him in a leather jacket, one hand steering and the other is gripping your thigh. somehow his hands find their way inside your pants and tease you over your panties.

soft dom!sion who would make you fuck yourself on his fingers while he does nothing and just watches... yeah.

soft dom!sion who feels around the wet patch and tsks at you. “look at you getting so wet for me and i've barely even touched you...”

soft dom!sion who slides a finger over your clothed clit once and when you gasp and buck your hips he's reveling in it, chuckling darkly. “oh baby, you’re gonna ruin your panties” but he doesn't really care, it’s what he wanted.

a/n: i have so much more to say about this but i'll make another post for a Specific Kink i have in mind with sion... hehe

tags: @rikupid and @sminiac thank you for letting me bounce the craziest most insane onriyu ideas off of you guys mwah ♡

[markiemelon]

sion with a babyfever gf!reader text A NEED

BABY FEVER TEXTS WITH SION

🍈: Hi anon! ty for your request! I triedddd lmao

genre. fluff, crack

pairings. sion x gf!reader

taglist ♡‧₊˚ ↴

@wonbins-black-cat @taroddori @nctstarr @i03jae @regularsuh @sol3chu @yurikudon @lilly-cherry7 @onionhaseyoareumm @lexeees @hyunverse

*lmk if you wanna be added to this smau taglist or my permanent taglist to know when I post!

[4doras]

달빛도 잠든 사이 시작된 나의 story ೃ࿔

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, sion

postage. oh sion & gn! reader, no warnings! cost to ship. 588 words

it's the one year anniversary of the forty-second time i saw you. the time at the wharf. when the wind was blowing your hair back out of your face and you clutched your friends jacket tighter around your shoulders. a jacket i wish was mine. a jacket that i later found to wish was my embrace. it was cold that day, raining and with a wind that was quick to kick up the smell of salt from the ocean. you said it was your favorite weather. your favorite smell. sea salt and rain. my favorite everything is you.

if i told sakuya or ryo about the forty-second time i saw you, i'm sure they would do nothing but tease. laugh at the fact that i know each and every moment spent with you, those before our relationship (like the forty-second), those in the interim (the sixtieth), and those after (like the ninety-third). they would say it's cheesy and that there is no way that i can remember every encounter. but i do, when it comes to you. because if i didn't, if i couldn't, then i'm not sure that there would be much else worth remembering.

i've always been forgetful. you know this. constantly grabbing my keys and turning off the lights from each room i enter (each room that i forget why i'm in in the first place). and i hate it. you know this as well. because i find it cruel that we can forget things so easily. i hate forgetting beautiful things. i hate forgetting you. and that's why every second spent with you, thinking about you, is committed to perfect recollection. so i'll never have to forget the most beautiful part of my life and you won't hold the responsibility of reminding me (though you do remind me with every thing you do).

i'm looking forward to seeing you. our two hundred and ninetieth time meeting. and i pity everyone else who fails to cement every moment spent with you. because i revisit them all.

about sion's love letters.

sion's letters are carefully planned with clear, elegant cursive and tidy breaks in paragraphs. he writes them slowly, thoughtfully, in one sitting from start to finish. there's the rare spelling mistake or misuse of a word which he scribbles out, the only flaw on the page. every prose reads sweet, lovingly, and you can hear it in his voice. from his lovesick lilt to the low roll of his vowels from the back of his throat.

he writes in a diary, circling around and underneath fawning, preserved flowers and sparse junk that he presses in between the pages. items and scraps from his daily life that only he would be able to make so beautiful, sticking to the creases of the pages and hanging off ever word. when he sends them to you, he sends you the entire book so that you can read his latest entry (and the five or seven which came before it, additionally new, because he can't seem to stop writing for you).

sion's always looking forward to when you send it back to him. he loves your scribbled drawings and notes within the margins. the way you highlight certain phrases of his and fill at least three pages with all of your endearing love in return. he looks forward to flipping through the things you added, whether that be a bookmark, an order tab, or a candy wrapper. his diary is filled with pieces of love from both you and him, his most prized possession.

your mailbox

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[fyodior]

pure fluff, a little bit of crack. the baby fever is so bad guys. send help. fem!reader // divider by @adornedwithlight

only one kid. that’s what you and toji decided long before there were ever rings on your fingers. only one. enough to scratch the itch of procreating, but not so much that you were drowning in nothing but childcare for the rest of your lives. and you were okay with that! both of you loved your sweet, adorable daughter more than anything in the world, and couldn’t imagine loving anything or anyone more than her. she was quite the handful too, especially in the beginning - she really took after her father - so it reinforced the notion of one and done for both of you. having a family of 3 felt more than enough, and you had never desired to change that.

but. but. she was almost 3 now. and that itch, that undeniable itch, began to rear its ugly head again. every time you tried to deny it, tried to convince yourself that you were fine with just one, your mind played rosy red scenarios of two beautiful kids growing up together by your and toji’s side. the yearning for another newborn in your arms was becoming unbearable.

a plan was necessary though - if you just popped the proposal of another baby to toji out of nowhere, the “no” would come at you at supersonic speed. the love and adoration he had for your daughter was immense, but she was enough for him. so, you had to come at it methodically. and for that, you needed to employ the one person in the world toji could never say no to.

you had been coaching her for at least 30 minutes at this point. the plan wasn’t convoluted, but needed preparation. she’d present him with an adorable gift, butter him up, and ask the daunting question. if only she truly understood the task you were putting her up to.

under the ruse of playing outside during a sunny summer day, you helped your daughter pick out a few flowers from the garden before sending her back inside, phase one of the mission in action. you stayed in the kitchen, hidden but still able to listen in.

toddling into the living room where toji was flipping through TV channels on the couch, your wonderfully innocent daughter giggles as she holds out the makeshift bouquet in her hand.

“look what i made for you, da-da,” she grins brightly, presenting the flowers to him with pride.

toji gasps before smiling softly, accepting the bouquet from her little fists and takes a big whiff, making a scene of it to make her giggle.

setting the flowers down, he pulls her into his lap. “these are beautiful, sweetheart, where did you find them?”

“the garden ou’side,” she giggles. “daddy likes them?”

“daddy loves them,” he assures with a fat kiss to her forehead. “where’s mama?”

“still playing,” she responds, mostly as she was instructed to. it’s a bit curt, but still got the point across. “daddy, i have ques-sion.”

“and i might have an answer.”

“when can i have brother or sissy? like my friends at school?” she asks oh-so innocently, referring to the other kids at her daycare.

toji frowns, sighing as he rubs her back. “sweetheart…” he starts, unsure of how to answer. “mommy and daddy only wanted one baby - you are more than enough for us, okay?” he places another soft kiss to her chubby cheek.

she frowns and tugs at his t-shirt. “i wan’ a sister,” she pouts. “so does mommy.”

toji raises a brow. he knows you well enough to quickly put two and two together. “oh? mommy does too? did she put you up to this?” your little minion immediately breaks, breaking out in adorable giggles.

“nuh-uh,” she responds, still trying to remain in character. the smile on your face hurts at this point.

“why doesn’t mommy come out from where she’s hiding, hm?” toji calls, bouncing your daughter on his lap.

meekly, you peek your head around the corner before emerging with palms held up.

“you caught me, you caught me,” you sigh, walking dejectedly towards your little family. plucking your daughter out of his lap, you settle her on your hip.

“we got caught, mama,” your daughter pouts, burying her head in your chest. you just laugh, patting the back of her head.

“you did absolutely wonderfully, my love,” you assure her.

toji rolls his eyes and breathes out before standing up and wrapping an arm around his little family.

“what am i gonna do with you two, hm?” he chuckles. “scheming and plotting like this against me, i’ll never survive.”

you bite your lip. “what if… we made that three?” you offer. “what are you gonna do with us three?” you attempted, grasping at straws at this point.

toji groans softly before laughing, ruffling the soft hair of your daughter. “you really want another, huh?”

for the first time, you offer him a very genuine look. “i do. i really do,” you nod. toji’s heart pangs.

“maybe.” he finds himself saying.

you gasp, making him laugh. “really?”

he coaxes your daughter out from where she still had her to pinch her cheek gently, making her giggle.

“if both my favorite girls want it, i guess i have to, hm?”

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 39

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Sex (but there's plot this time I swear)

Fu-sion Ha!

"As far as Kid's punishments go, this isn't the worst," Heat offered.

You were stripping off your pants in a supply closet. "Oh yeah since cumming on the deck in front of everyone because it feels like you're getting fucked in the ass is fantastic!" You bitched at him sarcastically. 

"Maybe no one noticed." His usual frown twitched up in a smile. 

You paused to stare at him. "Heat. I think they noticed." He managed to pin you, only because Kid was fucking interfering, and by the time he put his forearm across your throat Kid had worked you up so much that you failed to conceal your eyes rolling back and your hands gripping the front of Heat's corset. And the way you cried out was just a little too enthusiastic to be from pain. 

"I had half a boner the whole time if that's any consolation."

You tugged your shirt off. "You must not pay attention because everyone has at least half a boner when they spar with me. Usually after I get their head locked between my thighs." You smirked. 

Heat pushed you up against the wall. "I'm only not paying attention because I'm imagining it's me there instead." 

You rolled your eyes. "Wow, what a charmer." 

He picked your legs up on either side of him, pressing your back into the wall for support. He had his pants down far enough to free his cock, which was now pressed up against your stomach. You looked down, checking to see that his half boner was now a full one, as it should be. Was it a requirement to have a big dick to be an officer? You lifted your self slightly so he could direct his cock to your entrance. He let you move first, so you could sink down on it at your own pace. You sucked a hiss through your teeth. Your cunt was already twitching around him, made sensitive from your untimely orgasm earlier. If he was worked up as much as you, this wouldn't be long. Heat leaned in a way where he could get a better view of where your bodies were joined, watching for a minute before pressing a thumb to your clit. You were impressed that he was holding you up with one arm, even if some of your weight was supported by the wall. You watched his length pull almost all the way out before slamming back in. 

Without warning, the door to the supply closet opened, revealing one of the rookies. "I- sorry I- j-just needed a m-mop." His face was so red it was nearly purple.

"If you don't shut that fucking door, I'm going to cut off your head, shove a handle in it, and mop the deck with your hair," you snarled at him. The door slammed shut before you finished saying the last word.

Heat pressed you harder against the wall, increasing his pace, and biting your neck. "You're sexy when you threaten people," he mumbled against your skin.

"You're ngh-next if you don't m-make me cum."

Heat grunted in acknowledgement. He grabbed your hips and brought your pelvis down hard on his own, until there was a steady stream of curses tumbling from your lips. Heat licked his lips and pressed them against your own. He brought his hand up to your throat and squeezed, remembering how much you liked when Killer did it and how you came when he put his forearm across your neck during your sparring. You groaned into his mouth. Heat didn't think you knew you were doing it, but your nails were leaving angry red stripes down his back. 

"H-Heat." You didn't have to say anything else. Your glassy eyes and head lolling back told him you were almost there. That look alone had him cumming. You felt his cock throb as he unloaded in you. Fuck it was hot to watch him unravel like that. Feeling the wetness leak onto your thighs, your own orgasm washed over you. Heat grunted as your pussy milked him for all his was worth. He stayed buried in you with his head nestled in your neck until his dick started to soften. You were definitely going to have to get new panties with the amount of cum that was dripping down your legs. 

Both of you got dressed, leaving the supply closest in a much more relaxed state than you had been in when you entered. "By the way," you told Heat, "I would have won in normal circumstances." 

He laughed. "Guess we'll need a rematch." He reached to smooth some of your hair that had gotten wild. 

"Heat, have you been in there this whole fucking time?" Wire walked up, looked pissed. "What the fuck were you doing?" He looked between the two of you and answered for himself. 

"Inventory," Heat said quickly.

"Fucking," you said at the same time. You looked at Heat and then at Wire. You cleared your throat, "Multitasking." 

"'Multitask' on your own time." Wire put it in air-quotes. 

Heat punched him in the arm. "You're just jealous."

"If you need me to help you with inventory some time, let me know," you ventured, unsure if you and Wire were on joking terms yet. 

Wire's face turned red and he quickly spun on his foot to retreat to the helm. "Get to work, assholes!" 

Kid found you and Heat later to release you both from his torment. Then, the rest of the day, you spent cleaning every barrel on the ship, gun and cannon alike. When you finally finished with everything, you went to the galley to help Killer. You hadn't really seen him all day and you wanted to. Was it weird that you sought his attention? Not even for anything nefarious, you simply liked being around his calm presence. When you got to the galley, he wasn't there yet. You busied yourself with the usual prep work. This time, you cheated. You don't know why you didn't think of it sooner. All the veggies were cut into perfect cubes thanks to your devil fruit. Killer was never going to buy that you did it by hand. 

In your boredom waiting for him, you decided to play with your powers some more. You grabbed an apple and a banana. First, you turned the apple into a banana and took an experimental bite. Banana. Then you turned the banana into an apple and tried that too. Next, you decided to combine them. You ended up with a banana-shaped fruit with shiny red skin like an apple. It had a texture that was somewhere in between the two and it tasted like a mixture as well. You were contemplating the implications of this new use when Killer finally showed up. 

"Oh! Hi Y/N." Killer sounded like he was surprised by your presence in a good way. His attention was immediately on the veggies you prepped. "Either your knife skills have improved exponentially or you used your fruit." 

"I might have." You showed him the fruit you created. "Behold. A banapple." 

He inspected it, taking a piece and eating it through the holes on his mask. "You made this?" 

For the next hour, Killer was handing you different foods to combine, to see what would happen. He was a little giddy. This new trick had recipes forming in his brain left and right. You indulged him in whatever he asked. He looked so cute when he was excited about food. The same way Kid looked cute when he talked about his inventions. The only indication of the passage of time was the sound of stomping speedily approaching.

"WHY THE FUCK DO I NOT SMELL FOOD COOKING?" Kid wasn't sure what he walked in on. Every flat surface in the galley had some form of edible monstrosity on it. "What the fuck?" His face instantly turned from irritation to bewilderment. 

As Kid stood in the doorway, a reddish-brown muzzle appeared between his knees, snorting angrily, mirroring Kid's own feelings. The nose at the end of the muzzle twitched as it picked up intriguing new smells. The pig behind the muzzle was so allured by these smells that she threatened to topple Kid over her back when she pushed through his legs to get closer. He moved forward with her, afraid of getting a tusk right up the as. Or worse: an impaled ball.

Killer threw one of the hybrids to him. "Eat that." 

Kid looked at it dubiously. "What the fuck is it?" It looked like a strawberry, but it was bluish-purple. He popped it into his mouth. "Some kind of weird berry?"

"Strawblerry." 

"Blawberry."

You and Killer looked at each other. "We're workshopping the name."

Kid was possibly more confused than he was when he first walked in. "Workshop my fuckin dinner and then ya can do whatever science shit yer doin." He was too damn hungry to care about whatever dumb shit you two were doing. He left to go sit in his spot at the table and grumble until food appeared in front of him. 

Killer cooked faster than you had ever seen him do it before. He even had you sit out because you would "slow him down". For a big guy, he was light on his feet and zipped around the galley easily, throwing things together. You enjoyed watching him. His long blond hair bounced with every step he took and you were not immune to the way his ass sat in his jeans. You couldn't see his face, but you could imagine what it looked like as he was deep in focus. He was trying to get done as soon as he could so he could get back to experimenting with your power. You could have guessed that's why he was moving so quickly, though it was made obvious when he couldn't stop thinking out loud about what to try next. 

While he did that, you were thinking about the implications of being able to fuse living things, organic matter. This is what you wanted to test next. You didn't have the heart to try anything on the sweet little mice that ran around the ship, but with the impending clashes, you could take more prisoners. The thought made you smile. You sat on the counter, after clearing it of your creations, swinging your legs. Patiently, you listened to Killer while he cooked. At several points, he came at you with a spoon of something, pulled down your chin, shoved whatever it was into your mouth, and then closed it for you, barely waiting for your opinion of it before returning to the stove. You weren't against him feeding you. Everything he touched was delicious. And it was kind of hot. 

He handed you a plate, "Can you go give this to Kid?" 

You took it from him. "Do I look like a waitress?" Still, you did what Killer asked and unceremoniously dropped Kid's plate on the table in front of him. Before you could walk away, his armed snaked around your waist and pulled you into his lap. "Hey!"

"Shut up! If I want ya on my knee while I eat, yer gonna sit on my knee while I eat." Kid shoved a forkful of food in his mouth. With less of an edge to his voice, he added, "I haven't gotten to talk to ya in a while." 

You would have put up a fight if there were other crew around, but no one had rung the dinner bell yet, so it was only you and Kid. And Mini under the table. "What are you talking about?" Your eyebrows knit together. "We literally fucked the other day." 

"That's not what I meant." Kid looked down at his plate and pretended to pick out a good piece for his next bite. His pale complexion left his light blush nowhere to hide. "Talk. Have a conversation. Since ya fixed the hole I haven't seen much of ya around." 

"I would classify what we do as bantering or arguing before I call it a conversation." 

"Did I do somethin?" 

"I don't understand what you're asking." What was with Kid? This was not a side you had seen before. 

"To make ya fix the wall. Did I really irritate ya enough to push ya to fix it?" 

"You're constantly irritating. If that was the driver, it would have been fixed same day." You added, "I had to fix it because people won't feel comfortable telling me about personal issues, if there's a gaping hole with their captain on the other side." You poked him in the chest. 

He grunted. 

You studied his face, which seemed, not sad, some other thing. Let down? Disappointed? Sulky? "Eustass Kid," a smirk crawled across your face, "are you trying to say that you miss seeing me?"

The expression fled his face and was replaced with a haughty one. "Of course not! As yer captain it's my duty to check up on everyone." He angrily shoveled more food in his maw. 

"Oh? So then should I get Killer to come sit on your lap next? Do you need to check up on him, too?" You were bounced off his lap when he kicked his knee up.

"Go finish helping Killer!" 

You rolled your eyes. People started to trickle in, their growling stomachs telling them it was almost time. You returned to Killer and helped him set out food. The two of you ate in the galley, alternating bites of food with practicing your devil fruit. Killer was so animated as he went on and on about how many different things you could probably do, all kitchen related. This is one of the moments where you would have liked to see his face. You bet his smile was wide and his sapphire eyes were shining with eagerness. After the food was long gone, and the mess hall long cleared, you realized how much time had passed. 

You yawned. "Hey, Kil, I'm kinda tired." You had a long day, the sparring, Heat, cleaning, helping Killer. 

He scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry. I didn't realize how late it was." You imagined that there was a blush on his face, but couldn't tell for sure past his mask.

"It's ok. You were so enthusiastic, I didn't want to stop you." Your eyelids were heavy. "But I think I'm spent."

"Thanks for indulging me." 

"Anything for you, Massacre Soldier Killer." You grinned at him, half-sarcastic. You really did enjoy seeing him like this though. 

He stood there silently, like he was debating something. This time you knew he was blushing because it spread down his neck and he was fidgeting with his hands. "Why don't you come to my room?" He promptly added, "You might wake up the girls if you go back to the women's quarters.... You don't want to see Dive on lack of sleep." 

You were going to say something crass but decided against it. "Good idea, Killer." You knew full well that he knew you were more than capable of sneaking in somewhere quietly. Both he and Kid had been acting so strangely, asking you things in roundabout ways instead of being direct, as they had been before. So Killer could interrogate you but couldn't ask if you wanted to spend the night with him? So Kid could be a gaping asshole and try to kill you multiple times but was too shy to ask if you wanted to hang out? What the fuck was going on? At least Heat was being normal.

As was the routine, Killer gave you one of his old shirts to sleep in. You planned on keeping your hands to yourself anyway, though you wouldn't have the chance to fool around with him because you fell asleep almost instantly. When you awoke, Killer's hand was splayed out on your stomach again, thumb slowly rubbing the soft skin underneath, indicating he was already awake. You rolled halfway to see his bright blue eyes staring back at you. You wondered how long he had been awake. Usually he went right to the kitchen when he woke up.

"Mornin," you sounded groggy. You stared at his face, remembering what it looked like when he was half-dead on the beach compared to now. "I know you have your reasons, but I wish you wouldn't cover this up." You rolled completely to face him, putting a hand on his cheek, then brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "If anyone should cover their face, it should be me," you laughed sleepily.

He reached out to touch the scar on your face, retracting his hand when you flinched away.

"I'm sorry." You didn't see hurt in his face, nor pity. "It's a reflex. It reminds me of too many bad memories. Makes me sick to my stomach if it's touched." 

He nodded with understanding. "Do you think...maybe one day you would tell me what happened?" If he was to know more, maybe he would come to understand you even better.

You looked down. "I don't know," you said softly. 

"Hey. Forget I said anything." His voice was reassuring. "Don't think about that right now." 

"I want to." You said after a while. "to tell you I mean." You had never openly talked about it, not even to yourself when you were alone for those years on the island. It might relieve you of some of the anguish to tell someone. You felt safe with Killer, emotionally safe. You don't think you could ever tell Kid. He was too unpredictable when it came to stuff like that. He had his kind moments, but in his anger, you didn't trust him not to use it against you. Killer would never do that. "When I'm ready." You smiled weakly at him. 

"Of course." Killer appeared pensive. "I don't like my smile," he blurted out. His face immediately turned tomato red and cleared his voice. "I wear the mask because I don't like my smile. I don't like my laugh and I don't like my smile." He let out a deep breath. 

Your eyes widened. You didn't expect him to actually tell you what his reasons were. He had told you about the laugh already, but not the smile. "You don't have to like it." You smiled warmly at him. "Because I like it enough for both of us." The fact that he let himself be vulnerable meant a lot to you. He continued to stare at you and you could feel your face burning.

Abruptly, Killer closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you. His lips were gentle and warm and softer than you remembered. His hand rested on your hip and pulled you closer. It slid up your back to your neck, pulling you in to deepen the kiss. You opened your mouth, letting his tongue slide past yours. He flipped you so that he was above you now, pressing his weight into you. You moaned, feeling his erection through his underwear rubbing against your bare slit. Killer sucked at your neck, rutting against you slowly. You wrapped your legs around him, forcing him harder against you. He removed your shirt, then his underwear. His cock brushed against your leg.

"Killer!" There was a frantic knock at his door. "We have a problem." 

He looked at you with a pained expression. If it weren't for the panic to their voice, he would have told them to fuck right off. "Later?"

You sighed and nodded. You had waited this long, what's a few more hours. Your heart was racing in your chest. Why did you have butterflies like you were about to lose your virginity? Maybe because no one had denied you for this long. It felt new and different? You moved slower than he did, but got dressed to see what the issue was. It better be good to twat swat you like this. You groaned.

Next Chapter

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception Chapter Sixteen

The Great Wicked

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

Feeling Good by Avicii

Roman's eyes snapped open with a feral intensity, and his thoughts were immediately consumed with murder. 

What kind of goddamned, cock-sucking, myopic moron would dare set an alarm for him on a Thursday? The kind who was about to get his head blown off and kicked in the crotch until the intrusive thoughts were satisfied forever; that’s who. 

His eye twitched, with all the stability of a mental patient about to have a psychotic episode, a portrait of morning fury seldom witnessed outside of a grizzled detective novel. His head whipped towards the source of the noise with the ferocity and precision of a bird of prey honing in on its target. His hand shot out like a claw, ready to strike with violent intent, but instead, it landed on his phone, crushing it with a grip fueled by rage and frustration. 

Oh.

Him. It was him who set the alarm. 

Well, he sure as fuck wasn’t about to kick himself in the dick or blow his own head off, that was for damn sure. Why the fuck did he set an alarm in the first place? It was seven in the goddamned morning, Romans day didn’t usually begin until nine or ten. In a rare exercise in restraint, he set the phone down rather than chucking it. Two in a week was a bit much even for him and rolled back onto his back, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth into a grin. 

Anyone who said Roman Sionis couldn’t be a romantic was wrong, this made for the second time he’d shared a bed with a woman and sex hadn’t factored into the equation, definitely odd for him. A fucking anomaly, really. Though to be fair, the first time, nothing had happened due to the whole ‘doctors orders’ thing, what a buzzkill. Fucking glucose crash.

If there hadn’t been a medical emergency, he was confident that he could have easily enjoyed the cliché ‘sex after narrowly avoiding death’ scenario. It was a popular trope - the girl is filled with gratitude and admiration for her hero, and they can't resist the passion any longer. Fuck those were fun. It had been a while since he had pulled off that stunt, but it was always exhilarating. 

A smirk spread across his face as he imagined the pleasure of rolling over, and waking her up by teasing an orgasm out of her, far more satisfying than waking up to an annoying alarm. That was how he knew he liked Belladonna; when the thought of seeing her come undone under his hand was more enjoyable than the idea of sex. 

He couldn’t help it that her moans were so damn sweet, she was so easy to tease and play with, and the best part of all? She loved it. Abso-fucking-luelty loved it.

But then his grin fell almost immediately when his hand didn’t land on a soft hip or the smooth curve of her ass. It hit empty bed. The sheets beside him were cool, untouched by the warmth of another body. Roman's hand groped the emptiness before his mind jolted the rest of the way awake, cobwebs of sleep fraying.

What the fuck?

He blinked several times and squinted looking at the space next to him, sure enough, she was gone. Judging by the coolness of the sheets, she had been for some time. 

He looked over his shoulder where a small sliver of light was streaming through a split in the curtain. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw with a frown etching deeper into his features—a blend of sleep's inertia and the prickling annoyance that she had slipped away without waking him. 

He vaguely remembered Belladonna saying something to him and then the softness of her lips pressing to his cheek. What had she said to him? What did he say to her? Fuck, he couldn’t remember.

Roman wasn’t a morning person, not unless it was for a damn good reason; like blow jobs. Blow jobs were��great reasons to wake up. He looked at the nightstands where his phone sat and noticed a small folded slip of paper, he picked it up and in a neatly scribbled font were the words:

‘See you later, don’t be late.’

There was no signature, just a little drawing of a set of what he assumed to be wings and a halo. The fuck was that supposed to be? 

He nearly completed the text message asking her what her drawing was, addressing her as ‘Angel’ before he realized what it was. She wasn’t much of an artist.

He shook his head and made a mental note to never play Pictionary with her.

Don’t be late? 

To lunch? What was that supposed to mean? He was never late.

He cast one more look to the side of the bed where Belladonna had slept, still plenty annoyed at having woken up alone, still plenty annoyed at having woken up… period. 

With a grumble, he swung his legs out of bed, the silk sheets whispering a sly farewell as they slid from his body. The air was cool against his skin, the penthouse unnervingly silent without Belladonna's presence. 

He was not a morning person.

The chill of the bathroom tiles was a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the shower he’d just stepped out from, wiping away the steam from the mirror, Roman assessed his reflection as if searching for imperfections, hair damp and tousled, eyes dark with unrest—and ran a calloused hand over the planes of his face. Water splashed onto his skin, droplets clinging to his lashes like remnants of a dream he couldn't fully recall. 

He stood, with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. As usual, his mind was wandering aimlessly, without any particular thought occupying it. This was when his mind tended to drift to some, admittedly, strange places. At least he wasn't thinking about fish. 

Fucking Cobblepot. 

If he didn't have to worry about the potential consequences of provoking someone as petty and annoying as Cobblepot, he might just dump a kilo of salt into his aquariums and let nature take its course. 

He had heard rumors that Cobblepot fed disappointing goons to his pet shark, a great white named Tiny. Although he couldn't confirm the rumors, why take that chance?

His thoughts drift back to safer, less peculiar territory: the previous evening—the exotic tastes of Turkish cuisine still lingering on his tongue, and leftovers in the fridge. Never sleep on leftovers. The memory brought a rare wholesome smile to his lips, but it was tinged with an unusual sensation: guilt. 

He had insisted on Turkish cuisine for dinner, without considering the fact that those meals were often longer affairs, sometimes lasting for hours. And of course, he had pushed her to try as many dishes as possible, enjoying her reactions as she experienced the "forbidden fruit."

It still boggled his mind for her father to be such a piece of xenophobic garbage that he’d deny her another culture’s cuisine. Sure, Greek food was great but to eat only that? He shook his head again before lathering his jaw for a shave.

He also realized something else; he’d taken her on a date last night. An honest to god date. For the first time, a date with him hadn't ended in sex. They'd talked for hours, savoring a parade of small plates and glasses of rakı and ayran in the Turkish tradition. He realized with no small amount of surprise that he'd enjoyed her company far more than the sex. 

They'd returned to the penthouse well past midnight, leaving Belladonna with maybe only five hours of sleep. 

Splashing water on his face did little to dampen the remaining irritation. He didn’t like feeling guilty. It was a feeling that could only be described as; icky. 

Pussies felt guilty. Little weak-willed men who couldn’t get shit done felt guilty. He looked into the mirror catching the reflection of his empty bed knowing that nothing had happened in it.

Was Roman a pussy? No, but he sure needed to get some.

The sharp metal glided across his skin, each pass removing the stubble that had appeared overnight, grounding him in the reality of the morning and bringing him back to his usual pristine appearance. The man who looked back at him in the mirror wearing the same cold expression that Roman usually wore as well as he wore his suits; nearly. There was a lightness in his features and he couldn’t explain it, he was still tired, and wasn’t wild about being up so early, nothing about him had changed. Not really.

Well, not entirely true. He wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face with a towel, frowning. When had he become so attached to her presence that her absence left him this pissy and introspective? He shook his head at himself in the mirror, as if he could shake off these annoying feelings. But he already knew it was too late. Belladonna had worked her way under his skin, and he wasn't keen on letting her go. He wasn’t done having fun with her yet, and until the investigation was concluded, she wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?

Smooth-faced, Roman ran his fingers through his damp hair before slicking it back. He quickly got dressed, adding a splash of cologne as a finishing touch. Each piece of his suit was treated with the precision and care an aristocrat would give to their finery, making sure not to wrinkle the crisp fabric of his white shirt or mess up the collar while putting on the jacket. He even took a moment to polish his black Italian shoes until they were perfectly pristine. Crisp and flawless.

Roman liked enough routine to be able to predict the movements of others but also found great joy in chucking that routine out the window whenever it pleased him. Sometimes things needed to be shaken up, violently. Like a martini at happy hour.

And when it came to routine, he could pretty much always count on Zsasz sitting in the kitchen every morning with the smell of strong coffee brewing. His right-hand man would be sitting in silence about as expressive and active as a statue with a cup of black coffee and the newspaper. He was never really sure what Zsasz was reading because they didn’t exactly talk about the Gotham Rogues latest game, and neither men were really into sports. Come to think of it, he wouldn't be surprised if Zsasz was marking off names in the obituaries for a twisted round of psycho bingo. Ah, the joys of having colorful associates in the criminal underworld. 

Zsasz offered a curt ‘Morning,’ which Roman returned with a noncommittal grunt; even on good days, it was generally a wise practice in one’s mortality to not really say much to Roman until he’d had his first cup of coffee; or maybe his second. No cream or sugar, Roman liked it black, like a lot of things. 

“When did she leave?” He finally spoke after a sip.

“Six, dropped her off myself.” Zsasz replied without looking up.

“You left me unprotected?” 

Zsasz stopped and looked up to the mock horror and shock Romans face before the two men chuckled and scoffed. Zsasz was handy, sure, and in a way protecting Roman was a facet of his job, but that protection extended to more than just being a bodyguard. Lots of people looked at Zsasz with all his scars and off-putting demeanor and might be tempted to think he was a homicidal slice of meat with two brain cells bright for third place.

A lot of people were really fucking wrong. 

Zsasz's had a way of dissecting people, metaphorically, their slightest twitches and fidgets betraying their innermost thoughts and fears. It was almost as if he could read their minds, predicting their every move before they even committed to them. Those who found themselves in his intense gaze felt like trapped prey, frozen in place as if any sudden movement would give them away, not unlike a T-Rex. It made for a disturbing but impressive party trick. Zsasz was more of a velociraptor. 

Zsasz studied his targets with an unsettling intensity, making them feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. His skills at analyzing human behavior were both impressive and unnerving, leaving those around him on edge and constantly aware of their every action. 

Plus it didn’t hurt that he had an IQ of 130. No, Zsasz was just as sharp as the blades he carried.

A silence hung in the air, but both men remained unfazed. Everything seemed typical until a jarring buzz interrupted their conversation. Zsasz's eyes darted between his phone and Roman, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Roman couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic display of emotion from the usually stone-faced Zsasz. Maybe he had finally found a good meme to share.

"Something amusing?" Roman inquired, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Caught, Zsasz's eyes flickered up, his smirk widening before he slipped the device into his pocket. 

"Nothing worth mentioning. Are we making any stops on the way to the club?"

The question gave Roman pause, momentarily distracting him from his earlier line of inquiry. 

"The club?" he repeated, 

"Remember? You offered the club up for Belladonna's photoshoot today," Zsasz replied with an eyebrow raised as if it were obvious. "We need to be there by 8:30."

"Ah, right," Roman muttered, suddenly recalling his offer from the previous day, that explained his alarm. 

Roman rolled his eyes and grumbled, yet another instance of past Roman's impulsiveness causing problems for present Roman. He could already feel the regret creeping in as he remembered not only agreeing to this favor for Belladonna but him being the one to suggest it. 

How delightful. Looks like future Roman will have to deal with it now. Thanks, past Roman.

"No stops," The prospect of seeing her sooner rather than later ignited a spark within him, however slight. 

With each sip of coffee, the memory cemented its place in the forefront of his mind the rest of the way, bringing a considerable boost to his mood as he anticipated a day filled with ego stroking for him.

He had come to the rescue by offering his club as a location, and now he was sure to be seen in a positive light by Belladonna's co-workers and boss. Speaking of which, her boss seemed particularly grateful for his help. This photo shoot would definitely bring good business to the club, especially with how much the fashion industry loves to talk. The designer was supposedly a fan of his, he was even going to get to play model too with a piece that was allegedly something only he could do justice to. 

And it would all be captured by Belladonna herself. He’d have her complete attention and he liked that just fine. 

It was the only thing making this early wake-up call tolerable.

“Should probably check on the doc at some point,” Zsasz offered and Roman nodded as he stood up, downing his coffee, the bitterness leaving a sharp aftertaste on his tongue. “Seemed a bit rattled after we left him.”

“Mmm, how is our new friend?” Roman asked, setting his empty cup down.

Zsasz pulled his phone back out and with a few taps pulled up a tracking app, “Looks like he made it to work on time.”

“Good for him, nice to see that work ethic taking priority over bodily terror.”

Zsasz nodded in agreement, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "Think we should bring him some coffee. Those stiff psychiatric types aren't as tough as ER doctors. They tend to need a little careful handling."

"Careful handling?" Roman scoffed, buttoning up his jacket. His voice took on a detached, deadpan tone as he added, "What do I look like a barista? Fill a cup with muddy water and piss, then call it good. Might teach him some resilience."

As photography shifted to the digital realm, the distinct sound of old-school camera flashes was replaced by a subtle clicking noise that served as a barely noticeable confirmation of a captured photo. Despite the convenience and benefits of digital photography, Belladonna found herself drawn to the comforting sound of an old-school camera shutter. But she couldn't deny the advantages of being able to immediately view a photo without wasting time, resources, and money on developing it. Still, she had a soft spot for old-school wet film and its nostalgic charm.

She had become deaf to the constant clicking noises in her workplace, as they were drowned out by a cacophony of other sounds. Over time, she had learned to tune out most of it, since the majority was not relevant to her work. The only opinions she truly cared about came from three individuals: her boss, the client, and the technicians. However, they were rarely the ones adding to the endless chatter surrounding her.

Another soft click captured the model's sultry gaze as she posed against a luxurious velvet backdrop that was a plush booth in a dark corner of Roman’s club. The heavy bass of an ambient track vibrated through the air, a pulsating heartbeat to the hive of activity that had overtaken the space.  

"Chin up, Gina," Belladonna instructed. "Arch your back just a bit more and keep your eye soft. Perfect."

Belladonna crouched down, her camera clicking as the model held her pose. After getting a few shots, she stood up, slinging her camera over her shoulder, and walked over to her. She gently adjusted their arm placement and gave some pointers on how to angle their face toward the light. The models she worked with were always open to direction and eager to please, making her job easier. However, sometimes it was challenging to convey her vision to them. A small tweak here and there usually did the trick, bringing her ideas to life through the lens of her camera.

Belladonna had developed a pretty good sense for the girls who would do well in the business. 

It was no easy feat, as they needed to possess a delicate balance of qualities: professionalism, thick skin; the criticism was always piping hot, strong work ethic, and adaptability to handle any project rain or shine, were just a few of the mental requirements. 

Then there was the ever-changing standards of beauty - one season freckles were in, the next they were hidden under layers of foundation. Not to mention the physical demands of constantly altering your body's natural shape to fit into size six clothing. Forget it. Belladonna couldn't wrap her mind around it all, but kudos to the girls who could.

Most of them were pretty sweet and had no shortage of talent. 

This girl, Gina; she made it a point of remembering their names like they were actually human beings and not just walking hangers. She was good. She knew exactly how to work the camera, giving just the right amount of attitude and natural beauty but also being careful not to overshadow the piece she was wearing. It was about the collection after all, not necessarily her, but as Belladonna had once said: making people look good was her job.

She would probably do well for a while but Belladonna had the sense that it would only take a few seasons before she found this life wasn’t for her. She’d more than likely roll out of bed one day with an epiphany that modeling and all the stresses that came with it, wasn’t for her. She saw it all the time, surprisingly, a large amount of them went into the medical and mental health fields. She saw a lot of models turned dental assistants. 

And good for them, the fashion industry was cutthroat and had a tendency to chew people up and spit them right back out. 

Gina was draped in a sleek, midnight black gown that hugged her curves like a second skin. Angular cutouts, a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit had her exuding confidence, while the asymmetrical hemline added a modern edge, luxurious textures, and bold lines. Some people were just made to wear certain things, and Belladonna was certain this dress was made for Gina.

With an acknowledgment from Belladonna in the form of a wave of her hand, a young handsome male model strode into the shot in a tailored charcoal gray suit that exuded understated elegance. 

A subtle sheen caught the light, accentuating the clean lines, and contrasting black lapels added a touch of modernity to the classic ensemble. It was a look that reminded her of Roman but he pulled it off and filled it out far better than this young kid did. No shade on the kid, but he was still a kid; Roman was a man.

"Okay, guys," she directed, motioning for the models to get into position. “Elliot, come on in.”

She wanted this shot to be edgier – darker with just a hint of light highlighting the chemistry between the two models' features. She fiddled with the camera settings for a few minutes before nodding in satisfaction. 

Unseen, from the shadowed fringe of the room, Roman leaned against a column, arms folded, largely unnoticed yet noticing everything. His dark eyes were not drawn to the half-dressed models nor the glittering array of props; they were fixed solely on Belladonna. 

There was something about how immersed she was in her work that captivated him more intensely than any whispered fantasy. It was the way she carried herself, the slight tilt of her head when bringing the camera to her eye, the confident set of her shoulders as she issued directives. 

And damn, she looked good. She was a vision of professional poise in her straight wide-leg black slacks and white halter neck blouse that hinted just enough at the curves beneath to stir the imagination, though it didn’t take much to stir his. The disciplined bun at the nape of her neck exposed the line of her jaw, a quiet strength rather than demure submission. It was a good look for a professional woman, and his lip curled into a smirk as he thought of how he’d love nothing more than to pull that bun loose and wrap her hair around his fist and use it to expose her neck to him.

His dark eyes followed Belladonna's every move; the epitome of control and confidence, shaping the chaos into coherence. Taking him back to the night she'd shown at his penthouse with an air of determination, demanding order amidst their tangled arrangement. The memory of her strength was as alluring now as it had been then, her power just as intoxicating.

His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from Zsasz at his side. The lean man nodded subtly toward Laura, Belladonna's boss, who was approaching them with a friendly expression.

"Quite the production, isn't it?" Laura commented as she reached Roman, her eyes also on the shoot. "Most people don't realize the amount of work that goes into a fashion shoot like this."

“Not as simple as point and shoot, is it?” Roman nodded in agreement, not really caring about the conversation but faking it well enough. "It is fascinating to watch."

Laura nodded appreciatively. "She’s good, isn’t she?” Roman nodded, “You’d never know she hates her job.”

Roman did know that she hated her job, well, rather, she didn’t enjoy it, hate seemed a bit strong of a word; she had a good assistant in Daisy and her boss seemed a fair woman, and judging by his digging; it paid pretty decently too.

"You don’t say?" Roman feigned surprise, intrigued by what she had to say about Belladonna's preferences.

"No surprise there, is it?" Nope. He fought a roll of his eyes. “It’s a shame really, she could do so much more if she wanted to.”

“Sounds like you’re looking for someone to take your place,” Roman added, knowing all too well how to read between those particular lines. Laura smiled in response but just shook her head in resignation.

“She’ll never do it. Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s reciting the alphabet backward in her head right now.” Roman scoffed at that. Then he started to try it. Did Q come before R or the other way around?

 “No, she’s never been a fan of fashion shoots unless lingerie is involved.”

Full stop. 

Romans raised eyebrows and asked the question he didn’t, Laura just smirked and nodded.

“It takes confidence to make a woman feel beautiful and sexy at the same time and Belladonna doesn’t lack that particular skill to make people feel comfortable around her.”

Roman thought again of that same night when she crawled into his lap like she belonged there in his penthouse. Like his lap had been a throne.

"Really?" 

Roman raised an eyebrow, a playful edge to his voice. Interest piqued, he tucked away this newfound knowledge like a secret, imagining Belladonna amid the haunting beauty of ancient stone and shadowed nooks—a contrast to the vibrant energy she commanded now. 

A slow smile crept across his lips. His angel, he mused, was full of surprises.

"She’s gonna be impossible to replace, but if I’m being honest, I’m shocked she’s stayed on as long as she has."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I didn't think she would come back after- " She paused and glanced at Roman warily before continuing, "after what happened."

Roman's face hardened as he replied, "I know about the assault."

Relief and guilt flooded her face, one after the other, and there was a tremor on her lips like she wrestled with whether or not to let the words loose that were dancing on the tip of her tongue.

“I asked her to stay late that night.” 

Roman stiffened slightly at the admission, “No one expected her to come back but she did, we never really knew why. She didn’t care for the work, and most people would probably have packed up and left Gotham.”

She couldn’t… Roman thought with a bit of venom, he knew the truth; she couldn’t leave Gotham without finding her mother. But her boss probably didn’t know that, and by the looks of it, the woman felt guilty even though reasonably, none of it was her fault. He could see it in her eyes, she felt responsible for what happened to Belladonna and maybe a compassionate man might have tried to alleviate her guilt; tell it it wasn’t her fault, and while Roman lacked in the compassion department, he wasn’t completely devoid of it. But he still had none to spare. He’d never been able to get those images of Belladonna in the medically induced coma out of his head.

He supposed part of her was hoping or maybe waiting for him to give her some assurance that it wasn’t her fault and logically, it wasn’t. She couldn’t have possibly known what was going to happen, but this was Gotham, and something about this city was just sick. It really did take a special person who lived in a protective bubble to think that just because you worked in a nicer end of town where the violence was sneaky, and less visible, didn’t mean it couldn’t touch you.

No; Roman wouldn’t be handing her any ‘get out of jail free’ cards. Sometimes you had to live with the careless choices you made, so you didn’t make them twice. But he did give her this, from what he could see, she’d taken steps to protect her people more; security in the lobby, additional cameras inside and outside the building, and the building was often locked so that you had to be buzzed in. It wasn’t much, it sure as hell wouldn't stop him but he supposed that some level of accountability was better than complete apathy.

The more Roman thought about it, the less it made sense. A random mugging outside a fashion house in one of the downtown districts? The busiest and one of the most expensive blocks in Gotham, during rush hour? It didn’t add up, but then that was Gotham math for you.

"But Belladonna isn’t most people," Laura explained, her eyes scanning Belladonna's movements as she adjusted a model's pose. That she wasn’t. “It was quite a transformation.”

“How so?”

"We were all shocked when she showed back up to work a few months after the attack. I think most people would shrink back into themselves and keep a lower profile if they didn’t pack up and leave, but with Belladonna...”

“It was like we were finally seeing her personality, she was sharper, harder and in a way, more self-assured at work, asserted her opinion, and spoke her mind more. Started telling more people to fuck off, that was fun to curb.” Laura paused briefly as if thinking over the change, trying to make sense of it. “I’m not sure how she did it, the investigation went nowhere and her ex left her... God knows I couldn’t handle that.”

He knew exactly how Belladonna had changed. You know when your life flashes before your eyes and you either come out scared or pissed off? Well, she came out absolutely livid. A brush with death will do that to a person.

"What kind of man leaves a woman after something like that happens?" Roman scoffed. The question was rhetorical, but behind it lay a hunter's keenness for details.

"A model," Laura replied with a bitter laugh. Roman's jaw clenched at the revelation, disappointment evident in his eyes. Laura noticed this and nodded in a way that suggested she understood Romans sentiment. “Oh, come on now, don’t tell me you’ve never dated someone because they were just pretty to look at? In this industry? Hell, we all do it.”

Well, that was fair. Roman had dated, wined, dined and fucked his fair share of pretty faces just because they were nice to look at.

“They looked nice together but you two?” She gave Roman a nod of approval, “You’re bringing something out in her lately,”

“Oh?” Never the one to pass up praise, Roman smirked.

"I don’t imagine that you’ve known her long enough to know what she was like before and after the attack," Laura leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

Roman processed this information silently, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Laura's expression softened, and it was clear that beneath the professionalism, genuine concern lingered.

"Back before the attack, she was all about work, like it was her whole life but not in a way that people who eat, sleep, and breathe this stuff. For her it was like she just had nothing else," Laura replied. "She was always reliable, hardworking, did her job, but she kept to herself. Never really rocked the boat, always been something of a lone wolf."

"Yet even wolves need a pack," 

As if on cue, Belladonna suddenly looked up, her gaze colliding with his from across the room. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up into a knowing smile and she returned her attention to the models milling about, leaving Roman to wrestle with the unsettling realization that she had gotten under his skin far more deeply than he cared to admit.

"Some men just don't know how to help a broken woman." She glanced sidelong at him, a hint of approval in her gaze. 

Roman watched Belladonna laugh at something one of the models said, her head thrown back in genuine amusement—a sight rare and captivating. His chest tightened with a mix of pride and something fiercer, possessive. 

She was never broken, just bent.

"You look absolutely ravishing when you're focused," His voice was like velvet, as he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek. 

"Ravishing? Someone’s feeling suave today." Belladonna lowered her camera, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. Roman grinned, women had a way of lighting up when given the right compliment.

“I’m suave every day.” His lips curled into a smirk. "Though, I must say, waking up alone this morning was a cruel twist of fate."

"Work waits for no one," She replied, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and amusement. 

"Besides, I did kiss you goodbye. Not my fault if you don't remember it. Must have been quite the dream." 

“Oh, angel, you want to know what’s in my dreams? I’ll give you a front-row seat,” He chuckled, glancing around the bustling club. The low rumble of voices and clinking glasses filled the air, adding to the energetic atmosphere. "How's the shoot going? Everything running smoothly?"

She wanted to be serious but also wanted to play into his flirty banter, these moods of his where she was the center of his attention were growing on her and she wasn’t sure but she thought them to be somewhat genuine.

"I’ll pass on the midnight performance, for now,” She teased, Roman pouted slightly, his lips forming a cute little frown. “Bit of a madhouse here, it’s an organized chaos, but everyone's thrilled to be here. You're still the man of the hour, keep this up and they just might hold a parade for you." 

Roman preened at this, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Roman's eyes trailed over her. "I hear Adrian Blackwood is eager to meet me. Should I be flattered or concerned?" 

"A little of both." Belladonna continued, teasing him a little. "I think he may have a little bit of a crush on you." She smirked playfully. “Rumor is he loves a man in a suit.”

“And why wouldn’t he? The mans clearly got good taste," Roman replied with a roguish wink, “Don’t go getting all jealous, Angel. I’ve played on both sides of the fence but these days I’m a one woman man. I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint the poor fellow.”

Curiosity piqued by his admission, but it didn’t entirely surprise her. Roman was a man all about excess, he certainly wasn’t shy and with a wardrobe like his she was pretty sure he’d at least toured the closet which made him more secure than most men. She’d have to ask him about that sometime, she didn’t mind swapping stories, hell, she was sure he already had a few notions about what her education was like at a private all-girls school.

"Tell me, how long will you be tied up here?" 

"Why? Are you angling for your close-up, Roman? I had planned on you being our grand finale."

"Saving the best for last, I like it," Roman said smugly, but it was short-lived when his expression quickly turned serious. "But something's come up actually. I need to slip out briefly to handle a personal matter."

The playful ease to her expression faded and her face fell. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Roman remained silent, his nonchalant expression only fueling her annoyance. “Roman, you're a part of this now. You can't just leave." She reached up to rub her temples combating the headache she knew was coming from Roman’s inability to not cause drama, "When were you planning on sharing this change of plans with me?"

"Maybe this morning if you hadn't been in such a rush out the door," Roman replied, a hint of mischief in his voice.

She pursed her lips, displeased but before she could argue further, Roman leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper. 

"It concerns your mother, Belladonna. Just trust me and don't ask any more questions."

The mention of her mother made Belladonna pause, her eyes searching his for a moment before her expression softened slightly. The irritation didn't vanish completely, but she seemed less combative, and as he had said, she didn’t ask him any questions. But she sure as hell wanted to. 

He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed and the twitch of her lips, like locked gates stemming the tide of endless inquiries and what he hoped might have been a few grateful kisses. She was trusting him. Or maybe she didn’t have a choice.

"Fine, but don't be late. We're planning on wrapping up by three, which means you need to be here by at least noon."

Roman scoffed, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It's a simple errand, angel. You don't think I can handle that in a timely manner? I mean Jesus, it's barely nine."

Her eyes narrowed at his playful tone. "Nothing is ever simple with you, Roman," she retorted. He wanted to argue, but she had a point.

"Have I ever let you down?" Roman asked earnestly, hoping to ease her worries. But her critical look and quick recall of recent drama had him adding "Lately?" 

He pulled her into his arms, enjoying how hers immediately wrapped around his neck, that was a handy little trick, "I'll be back before you know it with your favorite rose-infused white mocha. Hot or iced?"

A small smile appeared on her face at the mention of her favorite coffee, “Iced.” Oh, how she tried to hide that smile, but she couldn’t. Roman couldn't resist leaning in to steal a brief, yet tender kiss from her lips. "Just hurry back," She murmured as they parted.

"Count on it." With a final, lingering glance, Roman turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd, leaving Belladonna to return to her work, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

In the confines of an unmarked car, Detectives Craven and his partner Ramirez observed Roman as he sauntered out of his club with Zsasz at his side, practically skipping, not a care in the world. The sight made Craven grind his teeth and he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands.

"Looks like Sionis is on the move," Ramirez noted, 

"About time," Craven grumbled, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "Question is, do we follow him or keep our sights on Miss Black?"

"Isn't she just collateral damage?" 

"Maybe, but she's also the weak link," Craven replied, a sinister smile creeping onto his face. "It's only a matter of time before she gets spooked and does something dumb."

Roman reached his car, where Zsasz had been waiting for him. Their brief exchange was drowned out by the noise from the streets, leaving Craven and Ramirez guessing at the content. 

"Let them go," Craven decided, his gut churning with anticipation. "We stay here and watch her. She's bound to slip sooner or later."

Roman's generous offer to use his club as the location for the shoot was met with awe and gratitude and would be the talk of the fashion house for weeks. The club itself was a statement of luxury and extravagance, with every detail meticulously planned and executed. When they first arrived, the pristine venue welcomed them with open arms, ready to cater to their every need.

To everyone's surprise, Roman had gone above and beyond by providing additional staff for the day. A non-alcoholic bartender served non-alcoholic drinks, working hours, and all that. A bouncer ensured their safety and that no one wandered where they shouldn’t have, and a sound technician stood by for any technical or musical needs. And just when they thought it couldn't get any better, a delicious catered lunch was laid out for them to enjoy.

Throughout the day, Roman's name was on everyone's lips in glowing praise and admiration. Even long after he disappeared on his mysterious errand, his impact on the day lingered. 

Taking a moment to savor her sandwich, the crisp lettuce and tomato paired with the spicy aioli burst on her tongue with each bite, and she grinned as she eavesdropped on her coworkers' praise of Roman. He’d be lapping all of this up if he were here, all with a feigned humility while in reality, she was pretty sure he’d be sporting a praise erection. She knew he liked being praised but then what man didn’t enjoy a little ego-stroking? 

It made her wonder what kind of things he did like, and her thoughts began to drift to more salacious territory. She and Roman had been together for a few months and with each new hurdle what they had felt less like a facade and more real, the thought bothered her because her gut told her it was just a game for him and while she’d hardened her heart, Roman had a way of making her swoon a little more than she’d have liked. 

It wasn’t real. She reminded herself but it sure as hell was fun, for now at least. 

It was easy to forget that earlier in the week first the disastrous trip to the precinct, then she’d put a gun into Roman’s hand and dared her to use it on her, then stormed out of his place to what she thought was the safety of her own home where she’d been held at gunpoint and nearly shot. Then the glucose crash and all the fun physical effects that came with that. 

Their romance may have been fake, but everything else surrounding it was very real - including the bullets.

"Can you believe it? I mean, first, he lets us use his club and now he’s catering it? I’ve been on the waitlist to see this place for months!"

"Isn't Belladonna just so lucky? I mean, Roman is not only hot but really generous too," someone whispered nearby. 

"Who knows if it'll last, though?" another coworker chimed in, skepticism lacing their voice. "You know Roman's reputation in the tabloids.”

“Oh, come on, those are gossip rags. Nobody gets painted in a squeaky clean light.”

“Bruce Wayne does.”

“Besides, you’ve seen how he is with her, he treats her like a queen.”

“Yeah, and everyone does dumb stuff when they’re young. Seriously, those paps go too far sometimes.”

"Maybe she's finally the right woman for him. Belladonna deserves someone to take care of her," 

"Did you see those two creepy guys in the car watching us?"

Belladonna's brow furrowed and she paused mid-chew, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs

It could have been something else, maybe just a random pair of creeps loitering doing a drug deal or trying to pick up models, right? But that icy feeling creeping up her spine didn’t lie.

Her lunch was suddenly very not interesting and her appetite had disappeared. She found herself turning down the hall the two women had just come from, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke wafting in from their smoke break as good as a trail of breadcrumbs to trace their steps. 

She slipped out a back door and into the empty alleyway where delivery trucks would come and go.

Looking both ways, she saw that there was nobody around. She tried to calm the anxious feeling pulsing through her fingers and toes, but it wouldn't go away. She took a few tentative steps towards the main road, where the entrance to the club stood in broad daylight. Peering cautiously around the corner, her heart skipped a beat when she didn't see anything at first. But on her second scan of the street, she spotted it - the luxury car, its polished surface gleaming under the midday sun. Parked illegally in a fire lane, its windows tinted darkly. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of two figures slouched in the front seats. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled—she knew those silhouettes.

Craven and Ramirez.

She felt ice flood her veins, they were just there, watching the entrance. She wanted to storm out and scream at them but honestly, what was that going to accomplish, calling Roman didn’t seem like a good idea, they’d be gone before he got back. A little cartoonish lightbulb went off in her mind and she reached for her phone while staying hidden dialing the only other person who could help her.

"Derick, they're here,"

"Please, Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything I know!" 

The man's eyes widened with fear as Roman grabbed his shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh like talons. He let out a pained whimper as Roman squeezed harder, his face twisted in sadistic pleasure. 

But Roman didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the man's ear. "Are you sure about that?" His tone was low and threatening, causing the man to shrink back in terror.

Roman released him and stepped around to face the trembling man, moving slowly, predatory, a tiger circling its prey. His expression softened in a way that mimicked sympathy but his eyes remained cold and calculating. 

The silence that settled was awful, especially considering the only other sound was the sound of the clock hands ticking away. And the man trembled under his gaze, knowing that he was at the mercy of a dangerous and unstable man. But it only grew worse when another chilling sound cut through the air - the distinct scraping of metal against leather as Zsasz drew his knife from its sheath. The man's eyes darted towards the assassin, who stood nonchalantly against the wall, casually cleaning his nails. The glint of the blade in the light sent shivers down the man's spine.

"Please! Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything. And I haven’t told anyone about our conversation, I swear!" He recoiled as far as he could in the chair away from the glinting knife, oddly enough he didn’t try to get up, he wasn’t tied or cuffed to the chair at all, it was Romans presence that kept him in place.

“No one! No one knows!” 

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, Roman held up his hand to Zsasz and the sound of his knife against his fingernails stopped and the painfully slow ticking of the clock resumed. Several long and uncomfortable seconds of silence passed, where there wasn’t a shred of emotion on his face. A mask of complete and utter indifference. 

"Mr. Barnes… I want to believe you," Roman purred, his tone laced with insincere sympathy. “I really do.” He leaned in, hands braced on the arms of the chair, caging the man in. "But how can I trust a man who would falsify medical records to this degree? Keeping a perfectly healthy woman locked up in a psychiatric facility while her daughter searches for her...how many years has it been, Zsasz? Five?"

“Four.”

Roman grimaced, “Well, now that's still no good. Mr Barnes, Howard- Can I call you Howard?” he asked, feigning interest and camaraderie.

The man nodded slowly, perhaps feeling slightly reassured by Roman's use of his name. Humanizing him.

Roman leaned against Howard’s desk and lit a cigarette, the smoke coiling around him like a sinister serpent as he took a long drag. 

"Tell me, Howard," he drawled with dark humor lacing his words. "How would you feel if it was you trying to find your own mother for five long years-”

“-Four years.”

“Right, four years. Four years, looking for your mother because she was trapped in a hospital by some pencil-pushing lackey who falsified her medical records? Just imagine the anguish of never knowing if she would ever be free again. How would you feel?"

Roman's gaze bore into Howard, but the man remained silent. The easy demeanor on Roman's face quickly dissolved as his question went unanswered. "Howard, I asked you a question," 

“I- I’m adopted,” Howard stammered, fear evident in his eyes. "I don't know who my mother is."

This was the wrong answer. 

In a sudden surge of controlled fury, Roman slammed his fist down on the desk before lunging at Howard, his hand gripping tightly around the man's throat. His eyes were dark and abyssal, devoid of any emotion except for pure rage.

"Howard," Roman growled through gritted teeth, "you're not making this easy for yourself. I suggest you suspend your disbelief for just a moment and try to see things from someone else's perspective. Can you do that?"

Howard nodded furiously, his breaths coming out in short gasps.

Roman continued, his grip still firm on Howard's neck. "Now, let’s use the power of our imaginations, shall we? Pretend your mother didn’t hate you enough to abandon you like the trash you are and that you and your mother were close, inseparable even. But one day at sixteen, you come home expecting a warm hug from your mom, only to find her gone without a trace. Poof.”

Howard swallowed or tried to but it came out more like the croaking of a frog with Romans had on his throat. 

“Then, dear old dad tells you she's not well and has been sent away for her own good. And then you only see her once a year until you're twenty-five. Then nothing. Four years of radio silence and no matter how hard you look, where you look, she’s gone. Can you imagine that kind of pain, Howard?” 

Howard whimpered but managed a slight nod, but it didn’t satisfy Roman. Cigarette smoke curled around them like a menacing fog and his eyes glanced to the glowing embers of the cigarette trapped between his fingers, then he glanced back to Howard.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. Mental anguish is difficult to comprehend, physical pain however,” Roman paused menacingly. “Did you know cigarette ashes can burn from anywhere between 450 degrees and 1400 degrees?” 

Howards eyes went wide in terror as Roman raised the cigarette and looked at it while his grip on Howard’s throat tightened a bit. 

“There’s plenty of room for variation depending on the amount of ash, composition of the cigarette, and airflow…”

"What do you want from me, Mr. Sionis? Please!" Howard pleaded.

"I just want a little empathy, Howard," Roman taunted. “Can you do that, Howard?”

Howard wasted no time in nodding his head. 

“Ok, so, where we’re at now is you’ve given me what I asked for and that's good, that buys you points. However, I don’t know if I can really trust you not to talk to anyone about our conversations here and your attitude is certainly lacking, that buys you nothing.” He released Howard and took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. 

“Believe it or not Howard, I am looking for a reason to let you live. It’s a risk, but it always is. The last time I took a risk on letting someone live it turned out pretty nicely, I mean, she’s gorgeous and the woman can’t keep her hands off me.” Roman chuckled and Zsasz nodded in agreement, relishing in their sick sense of humor.

“I won’t say anything, I promise.” Howard's voice trembled as he glanced nervously between Roman and Zsasz.

“Pinky swear?” Howard blinked at the unexpected request. “Oh, come on now Howard, that’s the most sacred of promises. Everyone knows that, right, Zsasz?”

“Sacred.” 

Roman held out his pinky for Howard and his very shaky hand slowly rose as if sensing it was a trap, he linked his pinky with Romans and they shook on it. 

Roman’s smile should have been a warning sign, but Howard was blinded by the charming grin and didn't pull away. In one swift movement, Roman dropped the cigarette, clamped a hand over Howard’s mouth, and twisted his hand, breaking Howard's pinky with a sickening crack. The air instantly shifted from tense but calm to filled with muffled pain-filled groans.

Tears streamed down his face as he realized he had made a grave mistake by trusting Roman.

“See, there’s a lot of work involved with getting rid of you, and it’s expensive, isn’t that right Zsasz?”

“Inflation is a bitch.” Zsasz added with a sympathetic nod.

“Killing you involves calling a cleanup crew, paying them, and hoping they don’t fuck up their job again, I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He paused and nodded to the closed office door which led down the long hallway they’d come through. “Then there's witnesses to handle out there, in the waiting room and anyone who will see the building's security footage. Trust me when I say I’m not interested in that much work for a pencil pusher. But I won’t stop at hurting just you.”

The man squirmed, breaking eye contact and clutching his hand, which was still firmly in Roman’s grasp. 

“I could be tempted to forget about all of that if I knew you had just as much to lose from anyone knowing about this conversation as I do. Say, if you told me what doctor gave you the order to make the changes to Maria Caruso’s medical records…”

"I-I can't tell you. I'll lose my job, or worse."

The man's eyes bulged in terror as Romans' smile faded. He crushed Howards hand in his and Howard groaned, covering his own mouth, saliva coating his palm.

"You're a dead man if you don’t tell me," Roman growled, his voice a dangerous snarl. "I’ll take you apart. Piece. By. Piece. In ways the darkest snuff films have never dared to touch, and then… Then it’ll get worse." 

Howard’s eyes flickered nervously towards Zsasz, who grinned menacingly, exposing the scars on his neck as he lightly traced a knife over his own palm, drawing a thin line of blood. 

"Who gave the order for the falsified records?" Roman demanded. "Don't make me ask again."

Howard trembled violently, finally gasping out a name: "Dr. Elias Antoniou."

With a satisfied smirk, Roman loosened his grip slightly. He had finally gotten the information he needed. In an instant, Roman's demeanor shifted to one of casual amusement as he took a step back.

"There, was that so hard?" he asked lightly. He glanced at Zsasz. "Why can't people just make things easy on themselves?"

Zsasz gave a casual shrug, flipping his knife deftly between his fingers.

A sinister smile spread across Roman's face as he turned his attention back to the trembling man. The man's hands were shaking uncontrollably, betraying his fear. 

"Feel better now that you've got that off your chest?" Roman's voice was like honey laced with poison.

The man just stared for a long moment, eyes wide. Finally, he croaked in a hoarse voice, "Will you let me live?"

Roman tilted his head, seeming to consider it. "What's in it for me if I let you walk out of here?"

The man licked his dry lips nervously. "I-I can keep feeding you information. About the doctor, his meetings, the patient..."

Roman's eyes glinted with interest at that. "I mean, I can get that anyway" he purred. "You've got a few minutes to convince me."

“I can get you access to Ms Lopez.” He offered desperately.

“What if I wanted to hurt her? Would you really throw such a lovely lady under the bus to save your own skin?” 

Howard froze. He didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a trick, some sick game and he didn’t know what Roman might do next. His whimpering turned to soft crying.

“Oh, for Chrissake, Howard, pull yourself together. I’m not going to hurt her, Jesus, if I wanted to hurt her I wouldn’t be going through this much trouble. Use that fancy degree of yours.” Roman shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

Howard hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dr. Antoniou meets with someone once a month to discuss her. It’s like clockwork." A flicker of excitement crossed Roman's features at this revelation, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

“What do they talk about?”

“All business. He wants to know who tries to visit, who asks about her, what she does, who visits around her, and what changes there are to the staff.”

Roman's eyes glinted with genuine interest now. “We can work with that. Anyone else?”

“Uh, seem to talk about another woman too. I'm not sure who she is. But the doctor is clearly interested in her, he always asks about her, where she is, what she’s doing."

Roman's focus sharpened. "A woman? Give me a name."

The man swallowed hard. "Bella...Belladonna Black, I think he said."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Roman's face. This had proven useful after all. He released 

a controlled breath and his fists clenched and unclenched,

"Now, you know talking about our conversation would be very hazardous to your health, you know that, don’t you sport?" He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. 

He nodded his head frantically. "I know, I promise. You were never here.'“ Roman looked at Howard’s swollen hand, quick on the uptake he quickly stammered out, “I-I slammed my hand in my drawer, happens all the time!”

“You’re smarter than you look, Howard.” Roman finished his cigarette with a smile, “So, in exchange for not slitting your throat from ear to ear and raining hell down on every living soul in this building, you now work for me. Understood?”

A sharp breath. The man's head bobbed. "Y-yes, sir." 

"Good." Roman straightened, strolling around to face the man. He smiled, cold and sharp as Zsasz's knife. “Believe me when I say, I am very good and raining hell down on those who make me angry, and you know the wild thing, Howard?”

The man swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. 

“I don’t even care about Maria Lopez.” Roman looked at Zsasz and shrugged with a smile, “I’m doing this all for a woman.” Roman laughed as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “I think you know her.” Howard looked curious. 

“Miss Belladonna Black.” 

Tears and snot streamed down the man's pale face as he openly wept. "Please, I only did what I was told."

"Well now, you're going to do what I tell you to do."

"Did they see you?" 

Derick's voice was taut with tension, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to snap. It was ten seconds into the call and he could already tell he wasn’t going to like how it went. The mere thought of Roman discovering what was happening sent chills down his spine. He had seen Roman's molten temper before and didn't want to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end.

"I don’t think so," Belladonna replied,

Belladonna replied, her tone hushed as she crouched behind a set of dumpsters. Her eyes darted around the edge, trying to get a better look at the situation while still keeping her phone pressed to her ear.

“What the hell are they doing here? Can they even be here?”

"The detectives were assigned to the case. As long as they're not bothering or harassing you, they have every right to surveil places where you or Roman might be." 

Belladonna's nails bit into her palms and her mind raced, this didn’t feel right.

“Are they doing anything unusual?”

Belladonna scoffed in frustration. "Define 'unusual'."

Derick let out a frustrated sigh, he liked Belladonna as a client, he really did but the woman was spending far too much time with Roman for his liking. 

"What exactly are they doing right now?" 

"They're parked in their car just outside of Roman's club, watching and listening. I overheard a few coworkers talking about them when they came back from a smoke break."

“Did they approach your coworkers or engage with them in any way?”

“I don’t think so, but they’re creeping everyone out. Creeping me out.”

“Yes, the detectives have that quality in abundance. However, unfortunately, that’s not illegal, Belladonna. Unless they’re actually doing anything suspicious or illegal then we can’t do anything apart from asking them to leave and if they’re in the street, which is city property, public property they don’t have to go unless it veers into harassment. Which it doesn’t sound like it is.”

“They’re illegally parked in a fire line but that’s it.”

“Well, you can call the police but odds are it won’t go anywhere, they’re on duty and the most another police officer will do if one shows up at all is tell them to move out of the fire lane. The best you can do if you think you and Roman are being harassed is take photos and document them being there. Other than that, there's nothing to worry about."

Belladonna let out a disappointed sigh, her gaze drifting to the sleek car in front of her. Her eyes narrowed as she took in its details, letting out a curious "huh" as she did so.

"Everything alright, Belladonna?" Derick asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," Belladonna replied a bit hesitantly, still studying the car. "I guess I just didn't expect undercover detectives to have such a nice ride."

“What do you mean? Are they not in a marked car?”

"No, it's unmarked, but it doesn't look like an unmarked car. It's too... nice."

"Too nice? What kind of car is it?" Derick inquired, his interest piqued. "If they're driving their own personal vehicle, then they might not be on duty. In that case, we could potentially have something on them for harassment if they're not officially surveilling you or Roman."

Belladonna squinted, trying to make out the details of the car. "It's an SUV... wait, no way.” She paused. “It's an Audi. That seems well above the GCPD's budget or a typical cop's salary."

“An Audi?” Derick's tone shifted from nonchalant to concerned at this revelation. "Indeed, that's not standard for the GCPD. Those cars cost more than the entire department makes in a year. Can you see what model it is or any other distinguishing features?"

"Sure," she said, clutching her phone tighter. "It's a dark blue, possibly black, looks like a Q7. Looks like a dent on the driver's side wheel well and what looks like a scrape along the side. First three of the license plates are RT5 and I can’t quite get the last four, the sunlight is hitting the plate."

"Let me check," Derick said as Belladonna could hear the sound of his fingers rapidly typing on a keyboard in the background. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she discreetly observed the detectives.

Derick felt a weight settle in his stomach.

"Alright, Belladonna, listen carefully," Derick's voice came back, serious and focused. "The car you described matches one that went missing after its owner was found murdered, the investigation is pending. Without the VIN number, I can't be sure, but this is not good."

“What do we do?”

“We? We do nothing. At best, those detectives are driving a stolen car. At worst, maybe they’re involved in something shady. You need to get someplace safe and we need to inform Roman and the police about this.”

“You said, without the VIN, we can’t do anything. Hypothetically, if we had the VIN what could that mean for the detectives?”

Derick hesitated before answering, his words laced with caution.

“Hypothetically? It could create enough doubt or suspicion to get them tossed from the case and 

investigated by internal affairs. But the case wouldn’t go away.”

“But they’d probably assign different detectives, right? Maybe detectives who aren’t after Roman’s blood, right?”

There was another long pause as Derick weighed the options. “Possibly.”

As Belladonna processed this, movement caught her eye. Craven and Ramirez were exiting the car, their steps deliberate as they began to circle the club like predators stalking prey. 

"They're moving, Derick. They're casing Roman's club, can’t tell what they’re saying."

"Take a photo from where you are and step away, Belladonna. Do nothing else," Derrick insisted, but there was a crackle of urgency in his voice that betrayed his calm demeanor. “We need to inform Roman."

“Derick, where would a VIN be on a car?” Belladonna asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“No. Belladonna, no. Don’t even think about it. Go back inside. I’m calling Roman right now.”

“Derick, you can either tell me where it is, or I’m gonna find it myself.”

"I'm not giving you legal advice, you are going against the advice of your attorney, '' Derrick replied, cautious. "Buthypothetically, it's usually located on the dashboard near the windshield, on paperwork in the glove box, or inside the driver's side door."

"Hang on a sec," She muttered, her determination overtaking her fear. Derrick's continued protests faded into the background as she darted towards the opulent car, her heels clicking on the pavement. 

"What do you see?" Derick demanded. 

She wet her lips, scanning the empty street, keeping somewhat low and her head on a swivel.

“It’s a black Audi, Q8," she muttered under her breath. "Front driver's side is dented, and there’s a huge scrape that's been painted over but the paint doesn't quite match." Her eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. "License plate RT524F0."

“Great, that’s enough.” Silence, then, "Get out of there. Now." 

"Not yet." She cautiously approached the vehicle, using the hem of her shirt to open the unlocked passenger slide door. The interior was a mess, with crumpled coffee cups and scattered police files emitting a strong stench of stale caffeine. She grabbed a napkin and began rummaging through the cluttered glove compartment. No ownership papers.

“No registration.” She muttered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice.

Glancing up at the windshield, she searched for the VIN, but saw nothing. “Nothing on the windshield.”

"Checking the driver's side door now," 

"Belladonna, I'm serious. Leave. Now." The warning in Derick's voice only pushed her further.

She ignored him, circling to the driver's side. Her adrenaline spiked, the driver's side door was on the street, where anyone could see her, there was no cover. But she figured she'd come this far and if this was the thing that could get rid of Craven and Ramirez, it was worth the risk, and this far, Roman had done all the dirty work.

The door was unlocked and it gave a little pop as the weatherproofing seal broken, the dome light turned on.

And then she saw it - the VIN stamped on the doorframe.

“Got it. VIN WBAPH93567KM12345.” She snapped a picture and looked over her shoulder surveying the street again. Still clear. 

"Fantastic, now get the hell out of there!”

She quickly wiped down the door handle, making sure to get every inch clean before closing the door with a soft click. Her heart stopped. The dome light was still on, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t run, couldn’t even turn around. She just stared at the dome light and the seconds dragged on and on waiting for it to go out.

Mercifully, after what was probably only thirty seconds the light faded and she breathed a sigh of short-lived relief, before turning around just in time to see Craven and Ramirez rounding the corner of the club and heading straight her way. With a deep breath, she slipped her phone into her pocket and pasted a scowl on her face, trying to appear unfazed by their sudden appearance.

Adrenaline pulsing through her veins giving her guts she didn’t know she had as she met them in the street.

Craven and Ramirez strode towards her grim smiles twisting their lips as if they were pleased to see her. Her heart leapt into her throat and her arms hugged her sides, for some reason, despite the warmth of the day, she’d have given anything for a coat.

"Am I under surveillance now? Is that what you're doing, creeping out my coworkers?" She snapped.

The men looked at her with smug amusement, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Should you be under surveillance?" Craven asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Anything you want to tell us?”

Belladonna squared her shoulders and met his gaze trying to ignore that awful shaky feeling in her voice. "If you have questions, ask them. Otherwise, leave me and my coworkers alone." 

Ramirez's chuckle was dry as chalk. "We did ask you. But it seems there are...inconsistencies in your story." 

“Like what?” Panic flared in her chest, but she kept her face impassive. "You have no right to harass me or Roman. You took your shot and you missed."

A primal fear screamed at her to turn around and check the car to make sure the light was really off, but she knew if she did that, they would know what she had done. They couldn't possibly know about the VIN. She was sure she’d closed the door before they’d seen her. The light was off. 

It was off.

It was.

Craven prowled closer, his steps heavy and deliberate as he closed in on her. She felt herself being backed up against the cold metal of the car, a physical barrier between her and this dangerous man. His voice was low and dripping with venom as he spoke to her. 

"You've gotten yourself tangled up with some very dangerous people, sweetheart. But you still have a chance to do the smart thing and cooperate." His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his glare. Her heart raced with fear and outrage at his audacity. Before she could react, his grip tightened and she winced in pain. "Unless you want to end up like your boyfriend."

Belladonna's anger overpowered her fear as she knocked his hand away. "This is harassment! I'm reporting you to the chief of police! By the way, you’re illegally parked."

This was as good a spot as any to storm off indignantly but before she could make another move, Craven's hand shot out again, this time grabbing at her bun and catching a fistful of her hair. The two men formed a wall around her, blocking any potential onlookers from seeing what was happening. She cried out in pain as he wrenched her head back and forth, shivers running down her spine.

“Get your hands off of me!!”

“You’d better be careful, Miss Black. Think about the last time someone had a fistful of that pretty hair of yours, screaming didn’t help you then did it? Six weeks in a coma is nothing compared to what might happen next time.”

Her blood ran cold and the color drained from her face. A memory of sharp pain in her back shot through her freezing the breath in her lungs as she looked into Craven’s eyes, dark and soulless. Not dark like Romans. Romans eyes burned, they were alive, Craven’s looked empty.

"Your boyfriend is a dead man," He snarled. "We're going to bury him so deep in Blackgate prison he never sees the light of day again.” He jerked her head again and she let out a yelp.

Desperate now, Belladonna scrabbled at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers from her hair. "You have nothing on Roman," She growled out, trying to sound half as angry as she felt, and a fraction of as angry as Roman would be.

"Oh, little girl," Craven sneered, his hot disgusting breath wafting over her face. "Evidence can be fabricated, witnesses can be paid or disappear entirely." He paused and then added with a chilling smile, "And once we take care of Roman, there'll be no one left to protect you."

Suddenly there was a hand on Craven's shoulder and he turned to see Ramirez gently prying him away from Belladonna. "I think you've scared her enough," Ramirez said coolly. "For now."

A shiver shook Belladonna's body, sending a chill down her spine.

With a brutal shove, Craven threw her head back, causing her head to smack the window of the car before tumbling to the ground. The detectives said nothing more as they slid into their vehicle, slamming the doors shut. The engine roared to life, the tires screeching as they peeled off down the street and disappeared around the corner. 

Dazed and in pain, Belladonna slumped on the ground, cradling her throbbing head, blood pulsing in her temples. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. 

“Derrick, did you get all that?”

There was a brief pause before Derick's tense response: "Every single word."

The camera shutter clicked in rapid succession, capturing Roman's intense gaze and the slight curl of his lips, giving off an air of playful mischief. Behind the lens stood Belladonna, her dark eyes locked with his as she snapped picture after picture. The chemistry between them was electric, tangible in the charged atmosphere that seemed to crackle around them. 

Belladonna had only a brief fifteen minutes between her altercation with Craven and Ramirez, which she said nothing to Roman about, and his arrival. But in that time, the anticipation between them had grown even stronger. And now, as she lowered the camera for a moment to admire him, she couldn't help but appreciate how effortlessly he wore the custom-tailored black embossed suit that had been specifically set aside for him. It accentuated his dangerous edge, adding to the allure that surrounded him.

Adrian Blackwood, the designer behind the collection piece, practically fell over himself with excitement upon seeing Roman in his creation. And who could blame him? Roman looked good, leaving no doubt that Adrian had excellent taste. She had playfully teased about the designer having a crush on Roman, but now seeing him in person...was there some truth to it?

But any thoughts of the designer quickly vanished as Roman's focus shifted solely to Belladonna. She commanded every bit of his attention, and he reveled in the fact that he held hers just as strongly. He needed no direction from her as he effortlessly exuded charm and charisma in each frame captured by the camera. They were a perfect match - both captivating and captivatingly drawn to each other.

She raised the camera again. 

As she resumed taking photos, Belladonna offered him a knowing smirk, one that made his heart race and his muscles tense with anticipation. 

At first, he thought something might have been wrong when he arrived and Belladonna was nowhere to be seen. Going right past anyone who tried speaking to him, through the employee-only doors, a man on a mission. Following the virtual breadcrumb that had been the mysterious text message from Belladonna:

Deja vu?

"Perfect," Belladonna breathed, snapping another shot. She offered no direction, just an occasional smirk when his gaze lingered too long. He soaked up her attention like a flower tilting toward the sun. 

In the storage room where their little adventure began, there she’d been. She’d taken him by surprise, and while it wasn’t the type of kiss that made his dick immediately hard, there was something different about it. An intensity that she rarely displayed and left him wanting more. No smart words from her despite Romans prodding. Just a sharp jerk on the lapels of his suit jacket and the crushing of her lips on his that saw no room for subtlety. Her rose-infused mocha had quickly been forgotten as little beads of condensation inched their way down the cup.

As she continued to snap photos, Roman found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the burning desire he felt for Belladonna. He couldn't shake the memory of their earlier encounter, nor could he ignore the heat pooling in his gut at the thought of what might have happened if not for his self-imposed 'no sex in the club' rule. 

‘If it weren't for that, I'd drag you back into my office right now...’

"Last one," Belladonna announced, breaking through his heated thoughts. She stepped closer, bringing the lens up to his face before snapping the final photo.

"You're a natural, Roman." She praised, a hint of mischief dancing in her dark eyes. "I think we got it," she said finally, lowering the camera. 

Cursing under his breath, he struggled to restrain himself as she packed up the equipment. The shoot was over, but he wasn't ready to relinquish her attention yet.

"One more," He insisted, his eyes burning. 

Belladonna hesitated, then lifted the camera again with a shrug. As the flashes continued, Roman's thoughts raced. What would her reaction be when she learned of the tasks he'd set in motion today? When she saw the lengths he'd gone to for her? Roman suppressed a smile. 

Sparing her life that first night had been an impulsive decision, but now it was proving to be a most interesting one.

The camera clicked a final time and she lowered it, shaking her head. "We're done, Roman." 

He nodded slowly. For now, they were done. But soon, very soon, they would begin again.

Seventeen

OK! Before you throw your tomatoes at me, hear me out!!! THERE WILL BE SMUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!

-Emerges from behind her laptop shield-

Ok? I had to set a up a few more things so the next few chapters will be some kinky, smutty fun! Promise!! And that chapter is already half written and I promise it's going to be worth it!! We good? Come on guys, stick with me!

So, do we have any guesses on whats going to happen next or are we all just sitting around waiting on smut? Smut? That's fair. You guys are going to need a whole damn carton if cigarettes after this next one!

If you'd like to join the taglist, leave me a comment or a reblog, you guys know the drill. Love y'all. Stay toxic fangirls, stay toxic.

@keffirinne @tarrensbookmarks @supernatural-lover @daenerys-skywalker @gilverrwrites @tarrenterror25 @hereticpriest

[oh-three]

Ahsoka Ep8:

Idk, I think I might've been wrong about Enoch being a droid.

"Even I fell victim to the heroics of a single Jedi. Never again." You better hope.

WHY ARE THEY STEPPING TOWARD HER, THAT'S SO CREEPY.

Damn, okay, that was cool. Morgan is a true Nightsister now (as if she wasn't before).

Oooh, blade of Talzin.

The Jedi, the Witch, and the Warlord over here sounding like The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe 🤔

Why did they have to stay with the Noti again?

AYYY, EZRA'S MAKING HIMSELF A LIGHTSABER.

Ezra and Huyang 😂

SABINE MENTIONED KANAN.

HUYANG CALLED HIM CALEB.

THAT IS THE SAME PIECE KANAN HAD.

I like how Huyang just happened to have a little lightsaber workshop in the ship.

Ohhhh, so, Ahsoka was worried about Sabine ending up like Anakin. Now that makes sense.

Ahsoka & Sabine bonding ❤

"Being a Jedi isn't about wielding a lightsaber." HEY, KANAN SAID THAT.

NOW THAT WAS A COOL MOVE. Rip ship

NO, THEY'RE LEAVING HUYANG. How's Huyang going to connect with purrgil??!?

Oooh, so the Eye of Sion is gonna connect to the Chimaera like a hyperspace ring.

"He woke up the witches". They were WAITING for him???

"Rain hellfire upon them." REBELS FINALE REFERENCE. "There'll be no negotiating with the apprentice of Anakin Skywalker." Coward.

You know things're getting real when Sabine's put the helmet on.

Holy shit, Ezra and Sabine almost got crushed into oblivion.

Thrawn being ominous. I wanna see this.

OH NO. THEY'RE CHANTING.

OMG YES. THE NIGHT TROOPERS ARE UNDEAD NOW.

RUN.

So, these stormtroopers were told they were gonna die, be brought back as zombies, and were OKAY with it? Damn, they've got guts. Fucking awesome btw.

"What's you excuse?" Lmao. Exile, maybe? Just a guess.

Thrawn telling Morgan to stay behind to buy time. I'm kinda surprised she's okay with it ngl.

Ezra hearing the zombies and saying "fuck this have some more door".

MORGAN-AHSOKA REMATCH.

Oh my god. I just realized. Ahsoka is gonna get left behind because she stayed back to keep Morgan away.

AYYY, THERE YOU GO, SABINE. CONGRATS ON YOUR GREATEST FORCE ACHIEVEMENT. AND ON NOT GETTING EATEN.

WAIT NO.

DID EZRA JUST GET RESCUED TO BE FORCED TO LEAVE BEHIND HIS RESCUERS.

THERE GOES A LIGHTSABER.

Oh, Morgan's voice echoes now too.

SABINE, NO.

OH AND THERE GOES MORGAN. RIP.

Ezra over here impersonating stormtroopers like the old days.

Yeah, please don't forget the helmet, Sabine.

HUYANG, THANK GOD.

I thought for sure they were getting left behind 😭

Watch Ahsoka catch up to Thrawn because he's making a speech.

"Today victory is mine."

AND THEY WERE STILL LEFT BEHIND. THEY WERE SO CLOSE. 😭

Wait until Thrawn finds out Ezra managed to tag along again Lmfao.

MORAI. MORAI SPOTTED.

Omg, I totally forgot about Shin and Baylan.

Oooh, Shin and her marauder tribe. I can imagine her having a clan-war (in a sense) with Ahsoka, Sabine, and the Noti.

UH, HELLO, THOSE ARE THE MORTIS GOD STATUES.

Hey, maybe the caskets are just stasis chambers.

HERA AND EZRA REUNION.

"Hi, Hera. I'm home." 😭

Dude, he's gonna have to tell her that Ahsoka and Sabine didn't make it. 😭

"It's time to move on." DON'T SAY THAT. MY HEART'S ALREADY BROKEN BY YOU TWO GETTING STUCK HERE NOW.

OG Ahsoka theme ❤

OH MY GOD, HELLO AGAIN, ANAKIN.

[slytherinshua]

LIFELONG (COFFEE) ADDICT

genre. fluff. warnings. jokes about addiction. and brief marriage mention. sion is so whipped. not proofread. pairing. sion x reader. wc. 572. request. requested by anon for #21: "when I’m with you everything else goes away.” a/n. i swear in every wish behind this man is drinking another cup 😟 he's just like me 😭 the coffee addiction goes hard.

“I’m going to marry you one day.” Sion sighed dreamily as he wrapped his arms around your waist, whispering the affectionate remark close to your ear. You giggled at his sentiment, finding his morning clinginess to be one of his infinite attractive traits. Your boyfriend always looked forward to the days off work when he could stay with you, partly because he could never get enough of your company, and partly because the coffee you made was almost as addictive as your lips. 

He felt that way now as well, the first morning he was back in your cosy apartment, holding you closer than ever as the smell of freshly ground coffee beans reached his nose. Although he still had much more to do that morning before he was ready for the day— he still had to change out of his pyjamas and tackle the birds nest that was the current state of his hair— he allowed himself to rest completely against you, warm cheek rested on your shoulder as his arms squeezed your waist.

“You say that often these days. Do you really miss me that much?” You asked him back as you poured the kettle of boiling water over the grounds in slow circular motions. You had been dating Sion since before he debuted, and the busy schedules he had now certainly put more distance between you two than he was used to.

“All the time. But, when I’m with you, everything else goes away.” He told you softly. Sion was more than excellent at his job, and you could tell how much he loved what he did. He got to perform on big stages and work with his best friends. There were definitely more pros than cons to his job, and he would never even think about doing something else. But one of the biggest cons was the stress and distance. 

You were his way to destress and relax his mind so that when he got back to work, he could lead his members in the best way possible. You could always feel how much weight he was carrying, and all the burdens that he had to face head on. But, thankfully, Sion was easy to please, and didn’t expect you to carry any of his responsibilities. Simply being with you was enough to give his body a reset. That, and tasting your coffee, of course.

“You’ve seriously never thought of opening a coffee shop?” Sion asked, a hint of shock in his voice.

“Never. I don’t think I’d like serving customers that much. You’re the only one who’s tolerable.” You joked, mirroring Sion’s grin. He finished his cup of coffee in the time it took you to only start sipping yours. Naturally, you stood up to serve him a second cup.

“You’re such an addict, Sion.” You giggled at how excited he still got as you placed down the refilled mug. He looked simply adorable, still in his pyjamas with messy hair and puffy face. 

“I know already. Coffee, sleep, and you. The 3 biggest addictions of my life.” He said it proudly, smirking slightly at your shy smile at his addition.

“Someone needs to put you in rehab.” You brushed back some of his hair, revealing his forehead as a clear target for your kiss. 

“Not for you.” He stated clearly, drawing the line for which addictions he could go without. “I hope I’m a lifelong addict.” 

↳ nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @talking-saxy,, @hursheys,,

@kristianities

[markiemelon]

could you maybe write sion situationship texts?

HI ANON! thanks so much for your request, this one was so fun, I hope you enjoy LOL

SITUATIONSHIP TEXTS WITH SION

༚ genre: fluff, crack

༚ pairings: sion x gn!reader

taglist ‧♡‧₊˚ ↴

@wonbins-black-cat @taroddori @nctstarr @i03jae @dummyskirtz @sol3chu @yurikudon @lilly-cherry7 @onionhaseyoareumm

*lmk if you wanna be added to this taglist or my permanent taglist to know when I post!

[dream-meister-translations]

WELCOME TO THE TOY MARKET SION AFFECTION #1

━

Fairberg, the Land of Toys, The Toy Market

One afternoon, we ran out of balloons during the Toy Market so Sion and I went out to buy more.

EMMA : They weren't exaggerating when they said this was the Land of Toys. There are so many cute balloons in all different shapes and colors!

SION : Right, that's how they get you. But don't you think you're buying too many? Star shaped balloons, heart shaped balloons, you're really getting carried away...

EMMA : But if I don't snatch them all up now, they'll sell out before I get a chance! Besides, even you bought balloons shaped like cats!

SION : They're for practising light magic... More complex shapes require more concentrated magic to illuminate properly....

EMMA : (So why do I feel like that's got nothing to do with it?)

Before I could ask, a playhouse on display in the storefront caught my eye. 

SION : Huh? What’s wrong?

EMMA : Nothing's wrong, Sion, just feeling a little nostalgic, that's all. I was wondering if kid's still play with toys like these. 

SION : With playhouses? They are very well made these days…

EMMA : You have an older sister, don't you, Sion? Did you ever play make believe with her?

SION : ...As a child, I don't know, but then I don't exactly remember much of anything back then.

EMMA : Aww!! I wish I could’ve seen you guys back then. You must have been so cute!

SION : What about any of that’s cute? This isn’t one of those interpersonal things, is it?

EMMA : Um, what?

SION : Sorry, I'm a little cynical these days… Some single celled organisms around here say I have a fractured personality…

EMMA : Oh, God, no, that's not what I meant at all...!!

SION : I don't know. I've not really thought about it, but I guess...

SION : I... Think I wanna see what you were like as a kid, too. I imagine you weren't that much different from now...

EMMA : ...Does that mean you think I'm immature?

SION : You can interpret that however you want.

SION : Come on, we should go. It'll get crowded before you know it.

EMMA : Hey, w-wait a minute--!!

EMMA : ("You can interpret that however you want", huh?)

EMMA : (I guess that means we both wanna get to know each other better. But... Does he really feel the same way?)

Interrupting my own train of thought, I became faintly aware that I was just staring at a blushing Sion, the red of his cheeks reaching his ears...

[yazzydream]

Too Flawless (Gojo Satoru Playlist)

I made a Gojo playlist not to long ago... and then more playlists for other characters too. Lol. Anyway, thought I’d share it now. → [Spotify Link]

1. Mada Minu Ashita ni (Into the Unseen Tomorrow) - Asian Kung-Fu Generation Chosen by Gege Akutami.

[...] We who are presently here Yes, to an unseen tomorrow No matter how sad the ending awaiting us is Let's call it Hope

2. Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic Because I'm a cliche.

Oh my, it feels just like I don't try Looks so good I might die All I know is everybody loves me Head down Swingin' to my own sound Flashes in my face now All I know is everybody loves me Everybody loves me

3. YES MOM - Tessa Violet Lyrics are pretty self-explanatory. But specifically, some imagery of Gojo's "honored one" scene comes to mind.

Bet you've been a fan of me See me in your fantasies Everything I got, I got working for me so Eat that, peep that I'm the one to beat, yeah [...]

///

20/20 vision with ambition's how I'm made I can't keep from winning when it's in my DNA Push me down and I bounce right back Trampoline and it's in my past Rising like a phoenix making fire from the ash, yeah

///

God, it's such a treat Just getting to be me Spending all my time on what I want Looking in the mirror I'm so glad I'm here [...]

4. Without Me - Eminem Gojo is a headache everyone wouldn't miss. Especially those higher ups in jujutsu society.

So the FCC won't let me be Or let me be me so let me see They try to shut me down on MTV But it feels so empty without me

///

Now this looks like a job for me so everybody just follow me 'Cause we need a little controversy 'Cause it feels so empty without me

5. Can I Get a Witness - SonReal Some meme songs are really too good.

No, I ain't too flawless and no, I ain't the best And no, I don't say sorry and no, I ain't perfect But I am the man, I am the man Shots fired

6. Trust Issues - Emei I mean, Gojo has this whole grand ambition to change all of jujutsu society because he doesn't trust the ones who do control it. (For good reason.)

Calling them incompetent 'cause I might need control Recovering perfectionist, I'm learning to let go

7. Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer POV: The singer talking about Gojo. Reminded of that one comment Akutami made about how he can't imagine Gojo being sincere to a woman specially.

Fight so dirty but your love's so sweet Talk so pretty but your heart got teeth Late night devil, put your hands on me And never, never, never ever let go

///

Call me in the morning to apologize Every little lie gives me butterflies Something in the way you're looking through my eyes Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

8. comedy - Sion Inspired by that one color spread of Gojo and Getou standing as a manzai duo.

No way, tell me this is just a part Of a comedy TV show or a prank You told me, yeah, that we'll only have to laugh My eyes are sweating in regret, so please explain Oops, I did it again If they don't let me play, they all go away Hey, we're friends 'til the end Be mine or it ends You just can't keep a good guy down

9. hot girl bummer - blackbear Honestly, Gojo vibes~✨ And that one line about how he can't be boxed in is too perfect.

Fuck you and you, and you I hate your friends and they hate me too Fuck you and you, and you This that hot girl bummer anthem Turn it up and throw a tantrum This that hot girl bummer 2-step They can't box me in, I'm too left This that drip that's more like oceans They can't fit me in a Trojan [...]

10. Drugs (feat. blackbear) - UPSAHL

So, you say you're moving out of state Soon as you graduate... interesting (yeah) Anyway, you're leaving Need a hug? Okay then Call me up, no, thanks man

///

[...] So just stop the faking Not for here for nameless faces Pointless talkin', conversations [...]

11. High Enough - K.Flay Gojo reaching enlightenment.

I used to like liquor to get me inspired But you look so beautiful, my new supplier I used to like smoking to stop all the thinking But I found a different buzz The world is a curse it'll kill if you let it I know they got pills that can help you forget it They bottle it, call it medicine But I don't need drugs

///

Cause I'm already high enough […]

12. STRUT - EMELINE Gojo Satoru, shameless human dumpster fire.

They say I'm tragically obsessed Hot mess, God forbid, I'm getting what I like Every night, make 'em livid All these saints are watching me My sex life like TMZ You're welcome, bitch, the show is free I don't do the walk of shame, I strut (strut) [...]

13. you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish Gojo's just biding his time.

Bite my tongue, bide my time Wearing a warning sign Wait 'til the world is mine Visions I vandalize Cold in my kingdom size Fell for these ocean eyes You should see me in a crown I'm gonna run this nothing town Watch me make 'em bow One by, one by one, one by, one by [...]

14. Kid in a Candy Store - JoJo Siwa Obligatory ode to Gojo's love of sweets. 🍭

I don't need no money, just a little bit of honey Got a jellybean heartbeat keeping me hungry Chocolate and vanilla with a strawberry swirl I'll never sugarcoat it, I'm my own kinda girl

15. Candyman - Christina Aguilera

[...] There's nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm He's a one stop shop, makes my panties drop He's a sweet talkin', sugar-coated candyman A sweet-talkin' sugar-coated candyman

16. IV. Sweatpants - Childish Gambino Gojo is that rich kid asshole.

[...] I'm winnin', yeah, yeah, I'm winnin' (Why) Rich kid, asshole, paint me as a villain (Whyyy) Don't be mad cause I'm doing me better than you doing you [...]

///

I'm winning so they had to dump the Gatorade And I don't give a fuck about my family name

17. Villain - Bella Poarch

I don't know why I'm like this, I'd love to piss you off Something in my psychosis finds it a little hard I always got good intentions, you tell me I saved your life But I'm craving your attention (and you know that I've got two sides)

18. Gojo Flow - DizzyEight, Mix Williams A song written specifically for Gojo. There’s a bunch of these on Spotify, but only a few I like.

I got that Blindfold Swag, that limitless energy, I'm a menace to society, woah

19. My Ordinary Life - The Living Tombstone So many of the lyrics are so on point I'm left baffled.

They tell me that I'm special, I smile and shake my head I'll give them stories to tell friends about the things I said They tell me I'm so humble, I say, "I'm turning red" They let me lie to them and don't feel like they've been misled They give so much to me, I'm losing touch, get me? Served on a silver platter, ask for seconds, they just let me

///

They tell me I'm a god, I'm lost in the facade Six-feet off the ground at all times, I think I'm feeling odd No matter what I make, they never see mistakes Makin' so much bread, I don't care that they're just being fake They tell me they're below me, I act like I'm above The people blend together but I would be lost without their love

///

Can you heal me? Have I gained too much? When you become untouchable, you're unable to touch Is there a real me? Pop the champagne It hurts me just to think and I don't do pain

19. Shame On Me - Avicii Closing out with the second song chosen by Akutami. Pretty sure he's trying to tell something to those who love Gojo. lmao

I'm baptized and born again Imma raise hell to the bitter end I'm a crazy little bitch in the first degree Shame on you for loving me

[sidhebeingbrand]

Sheev Palpatine is a pathetic little pissboy

Look I know in late november 2022 this cannot help but sound like a take on current events, but I assure you it is not.

I am Aware of the Parallels but this is 100% original contempt for the in-universe job performance of fictional character Sheev 'Darth Sidius' Palpatine and it predates any social media crises.

I just think Sheevo gets way too much credit for being an iron-fisted tyrant when in fact he is absolute garbage at ruling the galaxy. He is absolute garbage at most things, actually, but because he was very successful at one thing he was under the impression that he was a savant at everything, at least until the last five minutes of his wasted life when he at last saw that he had control over absolutely nothing and could do nothing about it but go 'wha happun?' and fall down a reactor shaft.

Seriously. Sheev 'send in the clergy, they can move diagonally' Palpatine was a stumbling failure with good PR and rabid fanboys and that's all. He should be held up as a laughingstock and if his more creatively villainous predecessors have any presence left at all in the force I hope they give his ghost daily wedgies.

I will go into this AT LENGTH but for those cowards who don't care about my particular favorite star wars minutiae, here's the TL:DR; 'Emperor' Palpatine spent 20+ years tricking more competent people into building a power structure that he ran into the ground within 25 years, building nothing but a monument to the failure of management, and then after burning his 1up he did the same thing again but somehow worse [30 year planning period, >1 year of payoff, I hope those cultists on exegol weren't hoping for a great ROI]

~Oh but the Sith contain the seeds of their own destruction always~ no 80% of this cannot be blamed on the Sith it can be blamed specifically on Sheev being a snotty fuckboy from a rich world who dropped out of dark wizard school way too early because he thought he was smarter than his teacher, and he could not imagine consequences happening to him.

ETA: Please do not get me wrong, I am not ragging on the writing of Star Wars here. I think it's incredibly realistic and satisfying. Also it gave me the urge to bully a fictional character AND I SHALL

Over and over in SW properties we see the space fashies lamenting 'the good old days' of the empire when 'the world was run in an orderly fashion'. This was never the case, as we are also explicitly shown. They think it was because they are morons, which is very much by design, because Palps ran his empire with the same strategy he used to destroy the republic, only much less patience. It started failing from day 1. Before day one, even, but we'll get to that.

Sheev is very good at co-opting the strengths and weaknesses of other people and using it to destroy them. That is not the same as being able to build or run a system of government! He cannot synthesize new thoughts, he cannot make things, he cannot even keep an existing system running correctly. At Best he occasionally (but not often) picks the correct person to delegate to, or at least he did on his first go round. Palps mark 2 just kind of shat the bed there.

'Oooh but he's a Sith he's supposed to destroy things' well champs actually. ACTUALLY. He's real bad at that too. Oh, he caused an immense amount of destruction in a very short time-- or two very short times-- but to what end? A couple decades of decaying rule? He didn't get to eat the life-force of the planets he genocided like Darth Sion. He didn't have a death machine to power; there was the eternal-life-via clone thing, but we know how well that worked out. His bid immortality was a laughable failure and that is a direct result of his own incompetence. His legacy is twenty years of suck, quickly overshadowed in history by his rabid attack goth. He stacked the deck in his favor and then accidentally ran his winning hand through a shredder.

Here are the things that worked super well when trying to destroy the Jedi and destabilize the republic: -remove anyone competent from the room who might see through your ruse, except for a few trusted pawns you control completely -never let anyone else see the whole picture; hoard knowledge and never share it -tell big lies, they're easier to believe than the small kind -crush anyone who notices what you're doing instantly

He chisels cracks into the foundation of the status quo over two... three? Decades? He steers the twisted moral conviction of Dooku, the real desperation of the future separatist worlds, the expertise of the Kaminoans, the good intentions of the non-corrupt fraction of the Senate, the patience of the Jedi, and he constructs a war he controls on both fronts. Great! He wins!

Then what does he do, immediately? He gets back on his bullshit because why would he change his playbook even though his situation has changed completely.

-Even before he takes power he's making Good Choices, turning Anakin on Dooku because blah blah Sith only two blah blah. But of course, Dooku was powerful and righteous in his bent way and might have been a threat to him. BEGONE, Competence!

-Then he shatters the expertise of Kamino and collects a few broken pieces and calls it 'all good'. Surely a handful of scientists and a couple freighter-loads of equipment is all they'll need for your infinite-clone-bodies project! Their performance won't suffer at all if you bomb their carefully honed technology into the sea! Everyone does great work under duress. But if left at full power, they could have raised another army to threaten him. BEGONE, Competence!

-He immediately sets about purging cultural memory of all things Jedi. He quickly and successfully reduces them to fables and myths, which definitely have less cultural staying power than 'the weird religio/political sect we see at the Coruscant Starbucks all the time' But if anyone ELSE has their teachings his hoarding of the archives is less valuable, and also someone might teach new Jedi! BEGONE, Shared Knowledge!

-Then he squanders the clone army which is so disastrously stupid I cannot fathom what he was thinking except maybe 'I'm bored with the army, I'll let space-racist Tarkin set policy'. Seriously. Don't let the boys in white age out gracefully; no. Within a year, begin decommissioning them to replace with natborns. The timeline of Operation War Mantle seems to be that the remaining commandos are expected to fully train a new army within a couple months. Yes, the literally engineered super-soldiers who fought the largest galactic war in centuries can definitely download their expertise within a few financial quarters it's fine. But if the clones remained a fighting force, they might someday be used against him! Especially if their bio-chips start going and they get a little upset about having their agency stripped at a soul-deep level and that thing with murdering friends and loved ones! BEGONE, Competence!

Within about ten years, he also strips any competent leadership out of the remnants of the GAR unless they are the truest of true believers (Tarkin, Yularen for some fucking reason) and/or he has something to hold over their head (Mitth' "Raw Dog" 'Nuruodo ) . This is true top to bottom: anyone with a decent sense of proportionate response is booted to make room for true believers eager to suck that cog-shaped dick.

The result of this is that Palpatine's actual competent leadership is concentrated in half a dozen high-ranking officers, which will be a Problem When the Rebellion Starts.

And the rebellion is going to start because his immediate overreaction whenever his power is challenged starts the destabilization of the empire pretty much immediately. Inquisitors are scary? Yeah, but fear turns to anger turns to resolve real fast. A Sith should know that. Yes you CAN order your soldiers to murder force sensitive kids outright, but the ones with a strong moral compass are going to have second thoughts basically immediately and... I don't know, immediately start feeding information to dissidents. If not defecting outright.

It's like he forgot how to be subtle? Once he didn't have to hide his intentions anymore? And he didn't realize... people would react badly? Or, more likely, he thought he could just... tyrant harder. No efforts to maintain loyalty in anyone but a few happy fascists and one reluctant Chiss. Oh, he probably had dirt on the Senate but he seemed to oppose any policy that would pressure-vent the growing resentment. Bread and circuises won't work if you only give them to the top centurions, my man.

Shit really hits the fan in about 5BBY (what's the battle of Yavin, Sheevo? Why would people count backwards from it? Don't worry, it's probably fine) . Sheev has been running the empire for fifteen years, the unrest is already strong, and then someone steals a big hunk of imperial cash out in the open where people can hear about it, and suddenly whole swathes of the population are realizing that the Empire really isn't untouchable after all.

So time for some sentient rights violations! That's nothing new, and it's always worked before! Tell big lies, commit big atrocities, nobody's ever called him on it before except for some nags like Mon Mothma, and what's she going to do, buy a rebellion? Denounce him and defect? (Well, not for another three years, anyway)

The empire got away with subjugating Ryloth because everyone knows Twi'leks are a passionate, proud warrior people who just won't stop fighting even when they should.

The empire got away with the genocide of Lasan because hey, they're not even near-human and they're kind out of out on the Rim, who'll notice.

The empire got away with declaring the Wookies non-sentient despite them.. having fought in the separatist wars? For the Republic? But most people don't know that the slaves mining spice in Kessel are fucking war heroes. It's fine, it's all fine.

And surely his empire can ride out the mild scandal of indefinite prisoner retention without retrial. None of these events have ever radicalized anyone who will be important parts of the fight against him. Having an army that does things like 'murder dissident broadcasters' has definitely not left any plucky young orphans afloat to become heroes.

And perhaps Palps isn't to blame for every one of these little precipitating events; he does surround himself with people who like being cruel to others. But this is the culture he established. Unlimited power to do anything to anybody, that was his deal. It's not smart it's not tactically sound but it was his make-a-sith wish we know at least some of the brutality came straight from the top.

He grips his empire tighter, and more and more grains of sand start to slide through his fist.

Shit comes to a head in 0BBY even before Luke Skywalker leaves Tatooine, because remember how Palps only tolerated about five competent people in positions of power?

Yeah, a plucky young Jedi and some spacewhales just vanished to a location unknown, and with them they took 30% of the Empire's tactical savvy and troop morale in the form of one (1) blue art snob. Yeah. Maybe you should have a had a few backup admirals who were also good at their jobs.

And now an entire planet has overthrown its occupying imperial apparatus through a ragtag band of ... people radicalized by imperial atrocities, INCLUDING A WHOLE STABLE OF LOST FAITH DEFECTORS. An imperial cadet who saw her science fair project go too far; an ISB agent who is less okay than he realized with the genocides he was party to (seriously, you made an ISB agent queasy. Good jorb.) One of your FORMER Space navy commanders, a competent one who saw which way the wind was blowing and bailed. Three of those super-soldier clones who Tarkin decided weren't worth keeping around back in 19BBY.

And the non-defectors? A general who grew up in the Rylothian resistance. A surviving Jedi. A kid whose parents who died in imperial prison because their radio program was Mean About The Empire :(. And the only people loyal to the empire at the grassroots level are loyal because they're stupid or scared-- and the empire doesn't reward informants unless they're rich and useful. Seriously, they mostly get killed. Not a way to build a base of fans.

Krennic's Death Star was already in the works, but with Thrawn gone and no longer arguing against it becomes the imperial strategy #1. Palps tosses all his eggs in that basket without a second thought. But it's built with the usual imperial 'beatings will continue until moral improves' method, and as it turns out when you put engineers under duress they do things like... I don't know, put a trash chute in just the right place to slip an explosive into the main reactor core. And then tell their kid about it.

Was manipulating people just not fun if they didn't know they were under duress? You used to be good at this, sort of, almost? You at least picked the right people to bank on, back pre-empire.

So then Rogue 1, and another ragtag bunch, at least one specifically, SPECIFICALLY driven to be a rebellion hardliner by the PORD act of 5BBY which was specifically Palpatine's response to having his lunch money stolen.

(Yes yes Doylist analysis 'all of this is put into place post-original trilogy, justification after the fact'. Well, you know what? It works. The guy who decided Big Stupid Planet Blaster 5000 was a good use of military resources is probably also the guy who had a hissyfit and imposed systems-wide collective punishment over a bank heist that involved 10 whole people. That tracks. It all feels very realistic NOT TO DRAW ANY PARALLELS IN MID NOVEMBER TYOL 2022)

And the Stormtroopers. 'Only imperial blasters are so precise', Ben was that epic shade or have you just not dealt with the rank-and-file and you think everyone's as competent as the purge troopers you were up against nine years ago? Because they suck. They are a pitiful shadow of the GAR in every way, including their armor and equipment and training.

Anyway they let actualfax war hero Obi-wan Kenobi get the deathstar plans off-planet because the average trooper has the motivation of a limp dishrag, I wonder why that is, proactivity and competence being so generally rewarded.

And here Palps sits with his eggs in one big stupid basket and boom, another Jedi whose parents your morons in white gunned down because they ... weren't actually in possession of stolen droids when you showed up? And you were frustrated? Anyway, another orphaned kid with a heart of gold sees the plans made by the engineer under duress and takes his shot at your reactor and blows another... good 50% of your competent military leadership out of the sky into a twinkling debris field, taking upwards of a million troops and contractors you very much needed along with it. Yularen, professional ISB cat herder, gone. Tarkin, moderately competent racist, gone.

(And then you said hold my beer I can kill more imperial troops than that little dune hick ever could but WE'LL GET TO THAT)

And what is Palpatine's response but a Bigger Death Star.

Get new ideas. Change your plans once ever. I beg you.

Thrawn probably could have held Endor against the rebellion and the local angry teddy-bears, but you know, orphan with a heart of gold, space whales, wildspace. Yularen might have been able to get a mole in and sabotage the rebel effort a little more successfully, but you know, Death Star I. And having backup for them would have meant a critical mass of competence in one place and Palps just couldn't have that.

Then. Then.

In a moment Palps could have salvaged he instead has a hissyfit when Anakin's Stupid Son is less easy to corrupt than Stupid Anakin and decides to kill the kid in ... front of Anakin... you know, the guy who fell because Palps personally weaponized his fear of losing those he loves...

And down he goes into the reactor shaft, where he explodes. "Waaah I have a kill switch to nuke my home planet and a lot of my own men if I die so there" Git FUcking Good scrub, you know what your first apprentice did after his own reactor fall? He built himself a robot body and conquered Mandalore with his bare hands. (Also his loyal himbo brother's bare hands. Also Pre Vizsla's incompetence. And a lightsaber. STill, more impressive than your shit, Palps).

No, Palps doesn't have half the pure spiteful darkside fire, the chutzpah of an emotionally damaged Nightbrother. (Literally, there was only half an emotionally damaged Nightbrother and he still bootstrapped himself up better).

Oh, but bonus round. The whole infinite clones gig, he had backup bodies to shunt himself into! Yeah, how DOES that go with your off-brand ripoff of Kaminoan tech? Not so well? Oh, that's fine, find a kid with a lot of midichlorians and you'll be wielding the force in a new body in no time.

It might have helped if Palps could access all the troops and resources he had pre-war, but ... oops, Operation Cinder, aka Operation 'I can kill more of my own men than some sandfarmer from Tatooine' sure put paid to that! At least Naboo is still standing since it turns out three hot chicks in N1 fighters would in fact win a battle against a sky full of spicy satellites.

Also, re: the kid: too bad most of the knowledge about Mandalorians was destroyed in that recent purge, because of that policy of 'destroy knowledge wherever you find it, create artificial scarcity for your personal library'. I'm sure it wouldn't have changed anything if the straggling survivors of the empire knew that 'raise baby' was literally the first tenet of Mando culture, or that aggressive transracial adoption is the reason there still IS a Mando culture after the last Taung died literal millenia ago.

No it's fine some idiot's just going to send a devoted Mando out to find an orphaned child this will definitely not put a kink in any of those cloning plans or set back the timetable.

BUT PALPS PREVAILS, EVENTUALLY, and he decides 'I will do the same thing I did the last two times but BIGGER AND STUPIDER because I think new ideas are for losers' and thirty fucking years later now with a 'Starkiller' which is a Deathstar But Cooler Guys, he gets finally gets his second shot at --

Oops there's a ragtag band of deserters, veterans from the resistance and force sensitive orphans against the Space Reich 3.1. He loses control of his pet Skywalker Solo almost instantly relative to Vader's run, and this time the new empire crashes on takeoff.

And not a single lesson was learned, because he's dead. Again. For good, hopefully because what kind of a clusterfuck could round 3 be, given the drop in quality between Empire and First Order. One sith should only be subject to so much humiliation.

I tell a lie, there's no such thing as too much humiliation, and Palpatine's '''reign''' will be a punchline among military circles for centuries to come.

[lilly-chou-chou]

What do you think of Kento Yamakazi

I remember getting this ask 2 months ago as well. So I'll sau it again.

My views of Kento will always be the same. He deserves better. "Fans" need to love him for his brilliant acting not his fucking face. Sure his face is a plus point but imagine being an actor since you were a kid and spent years perfecting your art only for people to fawn over you just for your looks? Bitch it I were to be Kento I will go in sane.

Mans deserves respect.

And ooh I always thought he would do an amazing job in bizarre films directed by Sion Sono or something with nostalgic get melancholic feel like Wong Kar Wai's cinematography or something brutal yet sophisticated and colourful like Miike Takashi or idk maybe totally bizarre and outlandish like works of Nobuhiko Obayashi.

I think I just listed all of my favorite film directors but oh well. It is what it is. Honestly speaking Kento would def pull off being in films similar to Tetsuya Nakashima's 2009 revenge film Confessions.

Kento is an absolute artist and k wish nothing but best for this man's career.

[kirnet]

Mouth to Mouth

Kirnet/Atton. 3.2k words. 

Atton ached.

Actually, that wasn’t strong enough. Atton fucking ached. He could barely tell which direction was his head and what was his feet in the fog of blinding pain. It was as if someone had punched through his skin and carefully unspooled his intestines like an old crone knitting a ball of yarn. He couldn’t even muster the strength to open his eyes.

Speaking of old crones, there was one less of those in the galaxy. Maybe Atton hadn’t been able pull off anything suitably heroic before Sion had torn him asunder, but he was sure that a certain ex-Jedi knight with a shining lightsaber had taken care of it. He hated that ugly witch, but Kirnet had a certain affection for her, and he almost felt bad for her loss. What he truly felt bad about, though, was that pathetic monologue he had managed to choke out before collapsing in a pool of his own blood. The quality of the delivery was atrocious, so bad that Kirnet had cried all over him as she pulled him into her lap.

Huh. Even in death he was dancing around the truth.

The distant scream of an engine pulled Atton from his thoughts. It wasn’t the Hawk’s gentle hum, that was for sure. He cracked a swollen eye open and immediately blinked it closed as light pierced his vision. After a few moments he tried again. He wasn’t in the Hawk’s dingy medbay with its too-firm bed, rather he was in a large and pristine room, the gray walls alight with different machinery and equipment. A large window made up the entire wall to his left, which allowed blinding sunlight to flood the room. He could make out the sprawling expanse of a city when his eyes adjusted. He was up high, so high that the streams of vehicles that weaved through the skyscrapers were reduced to blurry dots. 

Atton made to sit up to get a better look, but a sudden dizziness and a strange feeling in his chest pushed him back down to the pillow. He ran a hand over the papery robe he was dressed in, his fingers gliding over thin bumps under his clothing. A monitor on the wall chirped occasionally in time with his rising heart rate.

Oh, so he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse.

Muffled conversation drifted through the walls, one voice higher and controlled and the other low and raspy. Atton shimmied deeper under the blanket as they grew louder.

“The Senate thinks-” Ugh, so the blond boy wonder had survived the ordeal. It was a miracle that he could even speak, given how efficiently Kreia had almost crushed his windpipe. 

“The Senate can file their complaints with Revan when she returns. They’re damn lucky I even extended the courtesy of informing them.” Atton ignored the tightness in his chest as he shot up. Kirnet released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Mical, but I just don’t have the focus for politicking right now. But if the Jedi want to survive-”

“Then we’ll need the support of the Republic, I know.” There was some rustling of clothing, and Atton forcefully pushed down his overactive imagination. “That’s what I’m here for. You’ll have plenty of time for persuasion when you bring a missing Sith Lord back.”

The chirping picked up speed as Kirnet laughed. “Thank you for all of your help. I’d be dangling some senators over the skyways if you weren’t here.” 

“I seriously doubt it.” Disciple gave his pleasant farewells and retreated with heavy footsteps. He could feel Kirnet’s deep breaths as she milled about outside the door. Atton cursed the lack of any reflective surface in the room. He knew he looked as ugly as he felt, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to see that. He settled for carding an aching hand through his greasy hair and praying it achieved an effortly sexy look before throwing himself back down on the bed.

The door slid open and Kirnet entered the room. She was dressed a little nicer than she did on the ship, with an asymmetrical buttoned jacket that was collected under a simple belt without any pouches. Her braids, usually decently even, were broken up into strands of wildly different sizes. The dark eclipses under her widening eyes accentuated their roundness as they fell on him. “Atton!” she sputtered. “You’re awake! Wait, let me get the medical droid-”

“No!” He was barely able to croak out the syllable, his voice hoarse from disuse. How long had it even been since he had passed out on the floor of that blasted academy? He shuffled over on the tiny bed as Kirnet gave him an owlish blink. “Stay?” He patted the empty space next to his covered legs. “Please?”

She slowly stepped over to him, her footsteps muffled by soft boots. “Sit up first.” Her hand trailed from his shoulder to in between his shoulder blades. She held him in place as she adjusted the pillow and then gently lowered him back down. When he was situated, Kirnet crossed the room to a table Atton hadn’t noticed before that contained a pitcher of water and some glasses. She poured a glass and set it into his hands. Only after he gulped down the whole thing did she sit on the bed, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she looked at him.

Atton wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?” His voice was much more intelligible after the water.

Kirnet’s lips quirked to the side. “Your hair’s a mess.” She reached forward and combed it back with her fingers. “You’ll get a shower- a real shower with real water, not sonic waves- once the doctor approves it.”

He didn’t even try to hide his pout. “You bring me all the way to Coruscant and I can’t even use a fancy shower? That’s cruel.” He turned his head to the window. “This is Coruscant, right?”

“Welcome to the Jedi Grand Temple.” Kirnet took the glass from his hands and set it on a side table. “Sorry that this room isn’t as exciting as the library or the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but it was the best we could do while keeping you alive. Someone will give you a tour when you’re healed up.” 

Cramming a group of people together on a ship made you familiar with their habits, largely against your will. You could tell who was who by the sound of their chewing, or their gait, or the intensity of their snoring when you were trying to sleep. Atton thought that he knew Kirnet pretty well, especially since he actually wanted to learn her habits, so it came as a complete surprise to him when she grabbed the belt of his robe without warning and yanked it open. A welcome surprise, though, if his frequent daydreams were any indication. The monitor on the wall let out a series of high beeps as she peeled the garment away from his chest, her calloused fingers gliding to a patch placed above his heart. “I’ll have to get someone to check out that monitor,” she murmured as she tilted her face down to hide her smile. “It seems to be malfunctioning.”

“You just want an excuse to feel me up.” Atton ignored the growing heat across his face as he leaned back. Kirnet hummed as her hands trailed lower, unfortunately stopping right above his underwear band. There was another patch, this one large and slimy, that engulfed a large section of his abdomen. He could just make out the jagged outline of new flesh through the semi-transparent material.

Kirnet delicately prodded around the outside of the patch, immediately retracting her hands when Atton hissed. “You’ll be due for a replacement soon. This kolto patch is almost used up.” Atton couldn’t get his arms to fully cooperate, but Kirnet waited patiently until he could grab her wrist and pull her hand into his lap. 

She ran a gentle thumb over his smarting knuckles. “How long was I out?” Long enough for the kolto to work some of its magic, sure, but still recent enough that he could see the haunted glint in Kirnet’s eye. 

“Six days.” Kirnet pushed her bangs to the side with her free hand. “We had you and Bao-Dur in full kolto tanks for a while. I was worried you weren’t gonna wake up before I left. Bao-Dur still hasn’t.” She released a deep sigh as Atton squeezed her hand.

“So you’re really going?” He knew the answer already, but he didn’t like the idea of her leaving without him, especially in pursuit of a person who had abandoned her once before. Revan might hold the key to some important puzzle, and Kirnet may have forgiven her, but that didn’t mean Atton couldn’t hold a grudge in her stead. 

Kirnet’s face scrunched up, and that little wrinkle that she got on her brow whenever she was thinking emerged. “Of course I am! If Revan thought something out there was dangerous, then it’s dangerous. She shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

Atton raised an eyebrow. “So that means that you have to go off alone?”

“First of all, T3 is coming- He absolutely counts!” Kirnet interjected as Atton rolled his eyes. She poked a finger into his exposed chest. “I know what you’re getting at, Atton, and the answer is no. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.” He opened his mouth to argue, but he snapped it shut when she gave him a bone-chilling glare. It might have been over a decade since the wars, but Kirnet could still perfectly channel her General persona. “Do you have any idea what you looked like then? I still haven’t gotten all of your blood out of my clothes.”

She gently untwined her hand from his and pressed her palms into her eyes. “Look, we’ve started negotiations with the Senate for better resources. There are a few Jedi that have resurfaced, like Bastila and some others who hid after Revan left to help us rebuild. Mical is taking care of the politics, Mira and Visas are already scouring the galaxy for younglings, and Brianna is tearing up the archives.” Kirnet dropped her hands and patted his leg. “You and Bao-Dur will have plenty of support, and things to keep you busy, when I’m gone.”

“Are you kidding? Teaming up against Kreia was the first time we’ve actually worked together without you breathing down our necks.” They might have all orbited around Kirnet, but that didn’t mean they even tolerated each other’s presence. 

“Then you’ll have no problem doing it again. I’m sure you’ll remember how.” Kirnet fell quiet for a while as she focused on smoothing the wrinkles out of the blanket. The rumble of speeders and the monitor’s subdued chirps filled the silence. “How much do you remember? About your encounter with Sion, I mean,” she eventually murmured. 

Atton ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought. All of it. He remembered all of it. The feel of Sion’s cracked fingers closing around his throat, the pain that shot down through his spine as he was slammed into the wall, the… Atton didn’t realize he was holding his wound until Kirnet softly dragged his hand away. “Most of it, I think. I almost had him on the run, too, but-” he gestured to his body. “You know.” He could still taste the desperation he had as he crawled through the maze of rooms, the thought of her the only thing keeping his deadening muscles moving.

Kirnet nodded, her gaze focused on his split knuckles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She gave him a smile that only he would know was forced, her dark eyes teeming with emotion. “I know you probably don’t feel great, Atton, but you look a hell of a lot better than you did when I dragged you back to the ship. You’ll be healed in no time.” 

She was giving him an out, Atton realized with a mix of horror and relief, a chance to claim amnesia instead of facing his deathbed confession. They had flirted for months, sure, but Kirnet was like that with everybody, and Atton would have to be more than blind to not notice the way the other crew looked at her. Maybe this was her way of letting him down easy, of erasing a very prominent L-word that kept ringing in his ears. Or maybe she thought him a coward. He certainly hadn’t planned on telling her under normal circumstances. She was destined for more, fated to restore the Jedi and defeat whatever hidden threat awaited her in the shadows. The heart of the Force was waiting for her. Atton hadn’t even managed to protect her.

He always was a fool.

Atton sucked in a breath. “And... I seem to recall a rather poetic confession.” The breath left his lungs as Kirnet’s eyes snapped to his. “Like something out of the holovids.” A lie and a truth, and she was privy to both.

“It was horrible,” she groaned. Kirnet’s posture immediately relaxed as she scooted up closer to the head of the bed. “Traumatic. Please, never do that again.”

The monitor chirped, but Atton tried to force his best smolder around the swollen planes of his face. “You don’t want me professing my love to you?” If Kirnet wasn’t interested, she would have laughed in his face by now.

“I don’t want you dying again.” She closed the distance and dropped her forehead to his chest. Atton didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her frame. “I was so worn out from the fight that I could barely heal your wound. I was convinced that every step I took would be the moment you truly bled out, or that a piece of rubble would crush us both, or that you were already gone and I had just deluded myself into thinking I could save you,” she mumbled against his skin.

Atton placed his chin on the crown of her head and breathed in. Motor oil and herbal tea stung his nose, but somehow she made it work. “For better or worse, I’m here.” He had dreamed about a moment like this for months, on the quiet nights of the ship when he didn’t need to shield his thoughts from other waking minds. Now that he finally had her, Kirnet was ready to slip away to some unknown corner of the galaxy. He squeezed her tighter and pressed his chapped lips into her hair. 

“So you’ll keep professing your love?” Kirnet teased as she pulled her head away. “I could use the ego boost before I go. T3 can get mean.”

Of course he would, he always was. The lingering touches, the teasing, placing his jacket over her when she curled up asleep in the hidden alcoves of the ship: they were all betrayals of his heart when his foolish mouth couldn’t form the words. Atton brought his trembling hands to the sides of her round face. “Kirnet Cavira.” He had meant the words to sound overly solemn, but he couldn’t quell the laugh that found its way into his voice. “I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and now that you’ve bullied and nagged me for months, I somehow love you even more.” He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “So you need to return with your Sith Lord soon so you can heckle me some more, alright?”

She looked beautiful like this, with her lips slightly parted and the glow from the window lighting her face. Her hair was disheveled now, and the darkness under her eyes still hadn’t alleviated, but it was such a common sight that he hardly even noticed. Her eyes trailed down his face. “I’ll agree to that if you get the lightsaber workshop organized before I return.”

“Deal.” The kiss wasn’t explosive, the stars didn’t realign or shake the foundations of the Temple. And it wasn’t like the holovids: Atton’s breath was too bad for that. It was simply homely, as if he belonged inside the action. The frequency of the monitor’s beeps increased as Kirnet pressed into him, her hand trailing up his midriff. Atton blindly fumbled his hand over his chest and ripped off the patch above his heart. He threw it in a random direction before his hand drifted back to Kirnet’s neck. Blissful quiet engulfed them. Their noses bumped together as Kirnet tilted her head, and Atton swallowed up her sheepish giggle.

Kirnet was only lightly leaning on him, the majority of her weight placed on the arm braced against the mattress. He knew that she was just trying to spare him from his injuries as best she could, but he couldn’t fight the gravitational pull between them. He needed her weight, needed to feel every plane of her body mold into his. Atton gently pulled her down, smiling into the kiss as she collapsed onto him with a surprised squeak. His body flashed with pain, but he hardly registered it. 

Maybe it only lasted for a few moments, but Atton was ready to sink into eternity as Kirnet’s hands, always cold, wrapped around the back of his neck. But she pulled away with a smile that rivaled the sun, leaving her bitter herbal taste on his tongue. “You smell like ass,” she eventually breathed.

Atton laughed and pulled her back in. He pressed a kiss to her lips, the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the center of her brow. He was drunk on her, or maybe it was the delirium of pain and exhaustion, but he didn’t care to find the difference. “You don’t seem to mind much.” Each word was accentuated with a new peck. 

“I don’t,” Kirnet conceded as Atton tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She barely pushed his shoulder, but he flopped back against the pillow with a lopsided grin. The heart rate patch flew from the floor into Kirnet’s awaiting hand. She lightly patted it back onto his chest, but she pouted when the chirping didn’t resume. “Atton, remember when I said we were negotiating for resources? Please don’t break any more expensive medical equipment.” Her hands never stilled, and they trailed from the corners of his jaw up into his hair. “I’m going to get the doctor, okay?”

“Trying to get me into the shower that soon, eh?” Her outline was starting to blur into the sunlight. 

“Don’t try your luck, flyboy.” Kirnet pressed a kiss to his temple and stood up. “I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. Try to get some rest.” She pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Rest? Atton didn’t need rest, not with the giddy electricity lighting up his nerves. He complied, though, after the little wrinkle reappeared on her forehead, and sunk deep into the pillow. “Hey, Kirnet?” he managed to mumble out as her silhouette approached the door. She paused. “I have no idea what state I’ll be in then. More mouth-to-mouth might be necessary.”

He could feel the affection in her scoff. “Love you, too.” After a second, the door opened with a hiss and slammed shut.

Atton closed his eyes, the warm tint of the sun slightly permeating his eyelids. “Love,” huh?

He could live with that.