#tw bpd episode

[littleoddwriter]

hi! can i request (only if you feel comfortable, if not its totally fine, ignore this!) some trans roman? and maybe victor helping him with his dysphoria?

Dysphoria | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hey! :) Gosh, yes, of course! Thank you so much for this request, you have no idea how excited I got when I read it! I absolutely projected on Roman and thought about him being trans a lot over the last year. So, of course, most of what is written here have been my own experiences, projected on him (not 100% the same, ofc, but--- yeah. I'm pre-everything for example, so, that's already not accurate, but other things that I'm not gonna point out here). Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this, mate! <3

summary; Roman is trans and some day into everything, his dysphoria thought to fuck him over more than usual. Victor helps him through it.

notes; TW // Gender Dysphoria; Mentions of Periods (one sentence); Past Child Abuse (being beaten); Transphobia (nothing explicit, but-); Crying; Self-Harm (punching); Dissociation; essentially Roman's having a BPD Episode bc I always write him having BPD even if not explicitly stated. Trans!Roman, who is on T, but hasn't had Top Surgery, yet. Hurt/Comfort; Showering (mentioned); Cuddling; Kissing; Reassurance; Victor being a good BF.

From the day on that his body has- developed further, Roman’s known that it wasn’t right, that something about the way his body has changed was so utterly and terribly wrong. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it for a long time, uneducated as he’d been, no thanks to his parents who’ve made sure he’d never be exposed to such things.

So no, of course he hadn’t realised that he wasn’t crazy, but in fact experiencing gender dysphoria.

The understanding and connection he felt with other boys, but not with girls; the way he desperately tried to hide his curves when they started to be visible; the way he thought he was dying, when he first menstruated; the way he’s been crying and feeling such burning rage, when he’s looked at his naked form in the mirror; the way he’s thought that if he was a boy, he’d be happier.

He’s not known for a long time that this was an experience a surprising amount of people have made before him, alongside him.

When he’s finally found people describing their own experiences and learned through those that he truly wasn’t alone with his feelings, he also started to gather more information on the right terminology: Transgender; Gender Dysphoria and Euphoria; Binding; Packing; Social and/or Medical Transition; Hormone Replacement Therapy; Top Surgery; Bottom Surgery; Bottom Growth, and so forth.

Roman marvelled at the possibilities for him to bring out the man inside of him to the outside world, for others to see and recognise. He’s been so ecstatic, doing all kinds of research into it and starting to slowly carry it out to the world around him.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t gone over very well at all. He’s gotten to feel his father’s strength, balled into fists, for the first time in a couple of years, after he’s stated his refusal to wear a dress to the gala because it made him uncomfortable. He’s cut his hair shorter just before that, too, which had upset his parents greatly.

Still, he hadn’t let them deter him. Then he was on his own until he was an adult and able to move out. He’d deal with it somehow. It was fine.

And it really had been fine for a while – up until he’s gathered all his courage to come out to his parents, actually.

Surprisingly, his father hadn’t beaten him into a pulp, like he’d expected. Instead – and really, for Roman this was a lot worse than the beating – his parents had kicked him out and written him out of their will, pulling the plug on him ever receiving another cent of the family’s fortune. He’d been allowed to take his things with him until the late night and then he’d been supposed to be out for good. That was exactly what he’d done, too.

Lucky for him, though, he’s opened a bank account a while ago, setting aside most of his allowance there, just to be safe. Although, frankly, he’s done it to pay for hormones and surgery with it, but that was alright. He’d get that money back eventually, so much more than that, too.

Years later, he’s finally come to the point, where he’s changed his name and sex on all documents, now he’s officially been registered as Roman Beauvais Sionis. It was euphoric, really. He’s also started Hormone Replacement Therapy, and it worked out brilliantly for him.

Still, he’s not had Top Surgery, yet. Why? Well, he was scared for one. He didn’t fucking trust doctors, either. And somewhere along the way, he’s become so conscious of having an immaculate looking body that he just didn’t want to ruin it with surgical scars under his pectorals. It had to sound silly to some people, since his chest dysphoria wasn’t exactly light either, but every time he so much as thought about it and informed himself about it, he ended up with a fucking panic attack. So he’s put it on the back burner for the time being.

It hasn’t really bothered him too much, yet. He worked well with sports bras, binders, and tapes, sometimes nothing at all either, albeit rarely.

His partner in crime (and more), Victor Zsasz, who he’s met about two years ago, has taken it in stride that Roman wasn’t a ‘typical man’ and he was secretly grateful for it. It’s been something he’s always been cautious of, but fortunately Zsasz wasn’t typical by any means either. He didn’t care what was between Roman’s legs or on his chest, as long as it was Roman and no one else. Charming, really.

One late afternoon, though, Roman’s been feeling a little off all day long. It wasn’t anything new; his moods fluctuated between extremes very quickly all the time. Still, he could very well live without days on which he’s felt as though his skin was too tight and like he was one very minor inconvenience away from breaking down crying.

He’s gone to take a shower, washing off the day’s grime before changing into something more comfortable. All business meetings for the day had been taken care of by then and with the way he’s been feeling, he’s made no plans on going downstairs to oversee his club.

After his shower – throughout which he’s kept his eyes closed for most of it, having taught himself to navigate through it mostly without seeing at all by then – it’s all come to a tipping point, apparently.

Still naked, his eyes swept over the mirror, glancing at his own body quickly.

Roman’s been working out since he’s gone on testosterone, making sure his body looked more and more masculine as the years have passed. He was pleased with the progress he’s made.

But when he caught that glimpse of his chest, he stopped short. Overwhelming sadness, disgust and rage broke through to the surface, suffocating him all too suddenly.

Quickly, he pulled the light grey cotton shirt over his head, making sure it sat loose enough. He looked back into the mirror.

It was as though suddenly all masculinity had been stripped off him.

He could see the curves on his chest, his shirt not loose enough to cover them up entirely without anything binding them. He’s stopped binding all day long a while ago, having started to feel more comfortable, thanks to Victor and the hormones’ affects. It didn’t change the fact that in this very moment, it was all too visible – his previous femininity.

Roman kept on looking, all aforementioned emotions overwhelming him more and more, so quickly and suddenly, practically choking him from inside.

And then he was screaming.

He was crying, sobbing violently.

He was punching his thighs first and then the mirror, cracking it.

All of a sudden he was stopped from continuing.

His wrists were being held in a strong grip.

His vision was blurry.

He was still convulsively sobbing and shaking.

“Roman.” It sounded so far away, almost distorted, but he could tell it was Victor. His Victor.

“Roman, hey. Look at me.” It was becoming clearer with every word.

Snivelling still, Roman tried his best to focus on coming back, on looking at his partner. The tight grip Zsasz had on his wrists helped grounding him more easily, more quickly. Fresh tears rolled down his red, puffy cheeks, but it cleared his vision a little. He looked straight into Victor’s beautiful deep, yet empty, brown eyes.

“You’re okay, Roman. I’ve got you. I promise,” Zsasz assured him, sounding so calm and so convinced of his promise.

Roman nodded jerkily, although he didn’t believe Victor entirely.

Then Roman tried to get his arms out of Zsasz’s hold, which he tightened at first, but let him go eventually. He must’ve seen how worked up Roman was getting.

Finally released, Sionis wrapped his arms around Victor, embracing him tightly, pressing himself against him, so that nothing could possibly get between them. Zsasz immediately reciprocated and put his arms around Roman’s waist, holding onto him, while he started crying again, the violent sobs shaking his entire body, cries of anguish leaving his lips. His voice sounded so abused, so raw and broken.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, boss. I’m here for you, Roman,” Victor shushed him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

After a while, Roman started to calm down, his snivels dying down to quiet hiccups, tears having long stopped to actually fall.

He released Zsasz from the embrace and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning frustrated. It was so wet. He was disgusted. He turned towards the sink and washed his face with cold water, rubbing it dry with his towel.

He didn’t spare another look into the mirror.

Afterwards, Roman and Victor walked over to their bed, lying down on it. Roman cuddled into his partner, burying his face in the crook of his scarred neck, wrapping his arms around his waist and tangling their legs. Zsasz put his right arm around Roman’s shoulders and with the other one’s hand he held onto his forearm over his own stomach, stroking his thumb over the soft skin there in soothing circles.

“D’you wanna tell me what happened?” Victor asked quietly.

“Fucking gender dysphoria is what happened,” Roman murmured against Zsasz’s skin, sounding agitated, still.

Victor sighed sadly.

“You know it’s lying to you, Roman. You’re a man. Doesn’t fucking matter what your biological sex is or whatever.”

Roman scoffed, “But I’m not a real man. I was a fucking- I can’t even say it,” another frustrated groan, “I looked into the mirror and all I could see was-“

“No,” Victor interrupted him, “Roman, you are a real man. Whatever you thought you saw in the mirror wasn’t real. Your mind’s playing tricks on you to make you feel bad about yourself. You’re as much as a man as me. Or literally any other fucking guy here in Gotham, more so than some of them, too. I promise.”

“You really think so?” Roman nearly whispered, lifting his head to look at his partner, assessing him.

“Yes,” was Victor’s simple answer, such conviction in his eyes and voice, it was palpable – it took Roman’s breath away.

Roman nodded, “’Kay,” he paused for a long moment; then he leaned down and kissed Victor on his full lips, a very small smile stretching his own, “Thank you.”

He rarely ever said ‘thank you’ to anyone at all, but he knew it was the only appropriate response he had for Zsasz’s constant reassurance – his help.

Instead of saying anything else, they started kissing, tenderly making out and enjoying each other’s company, warmth, and mere presence.

Roman may not have always felt complete security about his identity, but he’s never been alone with it either. Victor’s unfailingly been staying by his side, fending off bigots, unbelievers and even his own mind day in and out.

He couldn’t possibly find the right words for just how grateful he was.

He thought that no words could even come close to describing it.

[littleoddwriter]

Listen | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

"“You never listen to me!”for roman and victor??" anon

summary; Roman is having a really bad day, mixed in with an episode, and Victor is here for him, like always.

notes; TW // BPD Episode/Rage episode; Splitting; FP (Favourite Person). Roman has BPD; Victor is trying his best/being a good BF; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Victor is Roman’s FP, and for those who don’t know, a symptom of BPD is splitting, so that’s also sth that’s happening here, which is why he is saying those things, which he doesn’t mean.

A/N: Before anyone comes for my ass; I have BPD and wouldn’t write Roman having it if I didn’t. It is a personal headcannon of mine that he does have it. And I thought this was my best approach to fulfill the request and stay in character, y’know? So, uh, sorry if this doesn’t suit your desires, anon, I couldn’t think of a different scenario (which is probably influenced by me not dealing well with my BPD atm (or ever), anyway, so like, yay). I hope you like it anyway!

Roman wasn't feeling like himself that day. Most often when he felt like that, he didn't even know why. It was frustrating. He felt out of control, he always did. He fucking hated it. Those kinds of moods either made him want to crawl in a hole and just not come back out until he felt better, or he would talk and talk and talk, about everything that was crossing his mind. He was aware of how fucking exhausting it must be, but fuck, it was even worse to have all those thoughts repeat themselves over and over again, until they're let out eventually. So naturally, when Victor wasn't listening for maybe just one topic Roman was suddenly bringing up, he exploded. In the back of his mind, he knew that Zsasz tried his best to always listen and calm him down and be there for him, but when he was feeling so awful, it didn't matter anymore. "Fuck! You never fucking listen to me, Zsasz! Do you have any fucking idea how fucking exhausting it is to be me? No, you fucking don't! And then you're even fucking ignoring me? Are you serious? Fuck you! Why don't you just leave me the fuck alone, huh? You're so fucking dense, you know that? You don't fucking get it, do you? You stupid fucking fuck! I'm fucking suffering here and what are you doing? Nothing!" Roman was seething with rage, as he kept yelling at Victor, he even started throwing pillows at the other man. "I'm sorry, Boss," Victor said, raising his hands in a placating manner and putting on his most soothing voice. It only enraged Roman more. By then, his yelling had become incoherent, and he couldn't even remember what he had shouted if he wanted to. What he remembered, though, was Victor suddenly being in his face and grabbing his wrists, like he always did when he was so upset. Roman tried to wrench from his grip to no avail, although granted, his attempts were half-assed. Breathing heavily, he slowly came back to himself, staring at Victor, who looked openly concerned about him. "You know I always listen to you, Roman." He spoke with such devotion, such honesty, that it took Roman's breath away. "I know," Sionis rasped, nodding to emphasise his understanding, "I was just... I- I don't know. I didn't mean any of it. You know that. Right?" "I do. Don't worry," Victor replied, talking so smoothly and quietly, smiling slightly. "I'm not worried," Roman lied. He was worried. He didn't want to lose Victor, ever. He knew he was being difficult sometimes and that he often said hurtful things without meaning them, at least not to Victor, but he didn't want to drive the only person that meant something to him away with it. "You wouldn't leave me, would you?" "Only in a body bag, and even then. Who knows if I wouldn't find a way back to you?" Victor grinned, showing off his two gold teeth, Roman loved when he did that. "'Kay," he sighed deeply, hanging his head and resting his forehead against Victor's shoulder, "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me, Victor?" The question was whispered, so hoarsely and softly, as if he didn't actually want him to hear it. And maybe he really didn't. "I do, Roman," Victor said, letting go of Roman's wrists and wrapping his arms around his waist, rubbing his back soothingly. "Let me make you feel better, hm?" It was rasped into Roman's ear, which was almost directly next to Victor's lips. Roman could only nod. He was exhausted, felt extremely drained, but fuck, he just wanted- no, needed - Victor to make him feel better, and like himself again. He didn't know what he would do without Zsasz, but luckily he most likely never had to find out.

[littleoddwriter]

You’re Alright | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Another vent fic, who would have thought?! I’m sorry for not fulfilling another request tonight and making you wait instead, but uhhh- If I hadn’t written this then I’d probably have done sth like Reader does in the fic, and none of us would want that. So, yeah, short “disclaimer” for those who might be worried then; I haven’t done the ‘really bad’ things that Reader will be doing in the fic, obviously. That’s why I wrote it - so I wouldn’t follow through with it. [I hope it’ll prevent me from doing it entirely (speaking of tomorrow, for example, lol)]. Anyway, mind the tags and all that, if anyone should end up reading it at all. Cheers!

summary; OCD and BPD strike again? Reader has open wounds and intrusive thoughts pop up to only make matters worse. Roman is being a good ass boyfriend, y’all.

notes; TW // Contamination OCD; BPD episode, kind of; Delusion (I think?); Dissociation; Descriptions of open wounds; Self-Harm (scratching oneself; also Attempted Self-Harm); Intrusive Thoughts; Anxiety; Knives. Male!Reader; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Grounding; Showering (nothing explicit, but the shower plays a part in the beginning); Receiving Help; Also Roman calls Reader “sweet boy” and “sweetheart” for those who might feel uncomfortable with that.

While Roman was still busy, you had taken a shower, like you did every single day, as it was set in your routine. That evening, though, you were in utter pain. Your hands, wrists and forearms were littered with open, bleeding and puss-oozing wounds, in which you had then discovered lint from your sweater you've been wearing all day. It made you feel sick and panicked. Your mind was racing, while you were desperately holding your wounds under cold water to wash them out and hopefully get the lint out of there.

Every once in a while, you stopped the running water and looked at your wounds in the bright light of the bathroom, closely inspecting them. There was still some lint in them. You wanted to scream. Instead of doing that, you grabbed your soap, turned on the tap once more and then scrubbed your hands and arms to get rid of it, anxious that it would actually cause an infection.

That was all before your shower. When you've finally gotten rid of all the lint, you stepped into the shower and tried to just concentrate on that and think about what you'd be doing with Roman that night. It was hard, though. Your thoughts always jumped back to your wounds, which you also couldn't help but see while you were showering. It was awful. You felt sick to your stomach.

After your shower, you toweled yourself dry quickly and dressed in your most comfortable clothes, which consisted of a too big, old shirt and sweat pants, for calm, casual evenings. Then you took a closer look at the wounds once more. There really seemed to not be any more lint in the open ones, but you noticed that some of the closed ones were a little dark. Your mind started racing once more. Was it lint that you hadn't noticed before the wound closed? Was it possible for the wound to close up properly when there was something in it? You didn't know, you weren't a doctor after all. Fuck!

Trying not to let the anxiety get to you, you washed your hands again and tried to just think about Roman and nothing else.

It just wouldn't work. 

Instead images and thoughts pushed themselves into your mind, making you watch how you hurt yourself in your mind's eye. You had to see how you would scratch open the closed wounds, or take a knife and cut them open, to get them really bleeding and hopefully get all the dirt out of there.

You didn't want to do it. It was very tempting, though. So much, so that you had to will yourself back to reality and calm down for a moment, before you finally left the bathroom, shaken up and clenching your fists rhythmically.

Then you were stuck in the bedroom, pacing and doing skills to get rid of the urge, but nothing worked. Nothing made the images go away. Nothing eased your mind. Nothing made you look at the wounds and think it was everything but what you thought it was.

You started to get desperate. Knowing he allowed you to interrupt him in such cases, you wanted to call for Roman or go get him, but you always felt so guilty about it. You knew how important the current meeting was, and you didn't want to embarrass him in front of his business partners.

Subconsciously, you had started scratching the spots that were responsible for your situation. You didn't break skin just yet, but you were close. It burned painfully. 

It wasn't enough.

Not really knowing what you were doing, your legs moved you over to one of the bedside tables, Roman's, where you knew a knife lay in it. You took it out of the drawer and pulled it out of it's expensive leather sheath. It glinted in the dimmed bedroom lights, as you looked at it closely, as if in a trance.

Then you sat down on the edge of the bed, the knife in your hand, as you tried as hard as you could not to follow through with this. Every little glance at your wounds made you weaker. Every little thought of what could be under your skin, under the closed wounds, made you itch for it more and more.

"Don't do it, sweetheart," you suddenly heard Roman's calm voice, startling you.

You looked up at him with wide eyes, while the blade pointed at the back of your one hand. "But-"

"No. Don't do it. It's stupid and you know it. I'm here now. Put the knife down, sweet boy." With every little sentence he stepped closer to you, slowly and deliberately, his arms spread open, and his hands raised, in a placating manner.

"There is something under my skin! I- I just need to get it out and then I'll put the knife down, okay?" Your hands started shaking. If it was anxiety, or from trying to hold yourself back, you didn't know.

Suddenly Roman's hands wrapped around each of your wrist; one pulled your arm forcefully away from your hand, as it was the one holding the knife. "Let go of the knife. Now." He squeezed your wrist. It hurt, due to the open wounds, less because of how tightly he was gripping your arm.

After a few moments, you finally let go of the knife and let it fall to the floor between you and Roman. He quickly picked it up, put it back in the sheath and then back in the drawer.

All the while, you sat on the edge of the bed, your entire body quivering. You felt so fucking sick to your stomach all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whined repeatedly, not able to look at him at all, instead looking at your thighs.

Roman sat down beside you and wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close and against his chest. "Ssshhh, it's alright. It's alright, sweetheart. You haven't done it on purpose, it's alright, eh?"

Sniveling, you buried your face in his chest. He rubbed his hands gently up and down on your one arm that wasn't pressed against him. Like this, he continued shushing you for a good while, as you tried your best to calm down.

When you've calmed down quite enough, you withdrew from his chest, reluctantly looking at him. You knew that if he could smile, he would try to put on his best reassuring, gentle smile for you. Even though there was nothing of his remaining face visible, but only his leather mask instead, you just knew that was what he was trying to express anyway. You leaned up and pressed your lips to the cold metal zipper, like you always did. He nudged his masked face against yours gently, in the mock of a kiss back.

"What can I do to help you, my sweet boy?" Roman asked after a few moments, murmuring it against your lips.

"I- I don't know. I'm sorry. I have no fucking idea." You lowered your head, partially in shame, partially in frustration.

Roman lifted your head back up by his gentle grip with his index finger and thumb on your chin. "It's alright. We'll find a way. Should I perhaps call the doctor and have him take a look at it?"

With wide eyes, you shook your head frantically. You couldn't stand doctors at the best of times. You were terrified.

"Alright, no doctors then," he chuckled lightly, making you smile wryly. "How about we'll carefully clean out all your wounds then, and wrap them up afterwards? Would that help?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" You shrugged, wincing.

Roman sighed and squeezed the arm where one of his hands still rested on. "We'll just have to try then, eh?," he nudged you gently, "Come on then, let's do this, alright, sweetheart?"

"Alright, yeah. Thank you," you whispered, smiling softly.

Roman leaned into you and nudged his face against yours once more, as you kissed the zipper a couple of times.

For a moment you could at least forget what had even happened before.

[littleoddwriter]

Hurt | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

This is a purely self-indulgent (and kinda vent-y) Hurt/Comfort fic with my fave comic book Roman version (Red Hood and the Outlaws Rebirth). If anyone should end up reading this, I do hope you enjoy this! Also, uh, reader has BPD in this and the TW’s should say it all, so be cautious when reading, please!

summary; Red Hood makes a snide remark that leaves you overwhelmed with negative emotions. Roman ends up comforting you, after Red Hood inquires about your relationship with him. 

notes; TW // BPD episodes; Intrusive Thoughts; Self-Harm (implicit; punching oneself; also attempted self-harm); Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Blackmailing, and a non-con relationship (FALSE accusations); Red Hood handles reader a little roughly at one point; Daddy!Kink. Male!Reader; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Hugs; Sitting on one’s lap.

"Look, Roman, I don't mind your whole BDSM theme you've got going on. It fits you. But this seems to go a little far, even for you. I mean, this is breakfast, right?" Red Hood said, ever sounding so dry and sarcastic, sitting at the other end of the table opposite from you and Roman. You lowered your head in shame, as your face burned with it, your heart clenched painfully and your hands balled into fists, bunching the fabric of your pants, as you started trembling. Roman's arm tightened around your middle. You sat on his lap, as he fed you forks full of food alternating between you and himself. Having woken up feeling bad, this was routine for such mornings. It grounded you, made you feel a little calmer and had you feeling less like you wanted to rip your own skin off. "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing you," you whispered quietly, so only Roman could hear it. He squeezed you where he held you around your waist and spoke just as quietly, "Not at all, sweetheart." Black Mask encouraged you to lean back into him with a nudge. Your back rested against his chest and stomach, as your head was supported by his shoulder. Turning your head to the side, your nose pressed against his neck. The smell of his leather mask and perfume all too familiar and soothing to you. You inhaled, a quiet and content sigh left your lips, as you relaxed a little. "Now, now, Red. I don't see why this should be any of your business, hm? This is my home after all. I own everything and everyone in here. Therefore I can do as I please, wouldn't you agree?" Roman said finally, tilting his head a little, looking as inquiring as he sounded. "Sure, sure. Still, it's just... weird. No offense." A dry chuckle left Black Mask's mouth as he shook his head slightly and tightened his grip around you, sure to leave a bruise by now. That was that then. You knew Roman had plans for Red Hood, so he probably held himself back here because of it. Usually he would have shot the person uttering such things as soon as those words had left their mouth. You were glad he hasn't done it this time, as you didn't fancy having someone's blood on your hands. After a couple of minutes of charged silence, in which the three of you finished eating your breakfast, Roman squeezed your waist once more. You lifted your head and sat up properly. "I need to talk some business with Red, here. You can go and do whatever you like, as always, alright, baby?" You nodded and gave a quick, uncertain glance over to Red Hood before turning your head and leaning into Roman. Then you pressed your lips against the cold metal zipper of his mask, which he's closed back up seconds before. Black Mask hummed approvingly in the back of his throat and nudged his masked face against yours in mock of a kiss back. Then you leaned back again and slid off his lap. You waved good-bye and then left the room. As soon as you were alone, the crushing feelings from before came back in a rush. The shame, the guilt, the anxiety, the anger. It was so much. Too much. Promptly, you started trembling again. Your skin felt tight, you wanted to rip it off, scream, cry and disappear. You had embarrassed Roman. Red Hood probably couldn't take him seriously because of you. Just because you're so fucking pathetic that you needed to be sat on his lap and be fed. Fuck! Intrusive thoughts of hurting yourself came over you, such as the urge; and fuck, it was so strong. It hasn't been this strong in at least two weeks. A long time for you. You didn't want to do it, though. You didn't want to give in. Walking around the penthouse and trying to find something to do that would take your mind off things, the urge only became stronger. It loomed over you, suffocated you. It was so tempting. You just wanted to get rid of those feelings. You just wanted them gone so badly. Various images of how you could do it popped up, your mind's eye forced to take them in. It was an itch you desperately tried not to scratch. After an hour of having done skills and tried to get rid of the feelings through some exercise and such, you were still trembling with the urge and overwhelming tightness of the suffocating emotions. You figured that perhaps Roman was done with talking by then, so you went back to the dining room where you have left him. "Hey, Luke, is Roman still busy talking in there?" You asked one of the masked goons standing outside the door. Your voice sounded tight, restrained, and yet so very dull. All those emotions that still tried to claw their way out of you were held back by you by sheer force. "Yeah, he is. What d'ya need him for? I'm sure the boss doesn't mind if ya interrupt him if it's important." "Fuck," you muttered. "No, no thank you. I really don't wanna interrupt him," you then said louder, so Luke could hear you. He nodded and you turned to go back to your room. A while later, you were sitting in the hallway that housed Roman's family portrait. You sat on the floor in front of it, a sketch book in your lap and a pencil and eraser in your hands. Your ears twitched when an unfamiliar footfall came closer to you. When you looked up, you saw it was Red Hood. Immediately panic gripped on to your heart, squeezing it tightly, and surrounded your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Red Hood was looking from side to side before crouching down in front of you. "What are you doing here?" He asked, confusing you. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" "No, I meant here, as in, with Black Mask. Is he forcing you? Blackmailing you? Look, if he's got something on you, I can help you." Your face twisted with both confusion and anger. The panic hasn't subsided, but it made a little way for anger and hurt. "Excuse me? Do you- Who do you think you are? Why do you think you have any place to make such horrendous assumptions?" "He's a bad man and you know it. I'm sure you're not unaware to his 'business', right? It's not too far-fetched that he might have gotten a little too lonely and... y'know?" "What the fuck? Listen, Red, I don't give a fuck who you are or who you aren't. I don't give a fuck that you clearly don't know shit about what you're saying, so just leave me alone, will you?" Instead of leaving you alone, he gripped your arm and pulled it towards himself. "I'm not stupid, I've seen the bruises on you-" You snapped. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't know anything! Shut the fuck up!" You shouted, pulling your arm free from him, as he loosened his grip in surprise. Your vision was blurry and red, tears burned your eyes, you were in so much pain all over again. You had just managed to get rid of it. Not without visible bruises on your arms. The bruises Red Hood mistook for abuse marks from Black Mask. It made you feel sick. You took the pencil from the ground where it had fallen onto, after you had jumped up when you had pulled your arm free. Close to stabbing it in your arm, someone embraced you from behind, one arm went around your waist and held you tightly against their chest, pressing their body against your back; and gripped tightly on to your wrist of which hand you held the pencil with. The soothing and familiar smell of leather and his perfume hit you. Roman. You trembled with the panic, the overwhelming emotions and the urge to follow through with what you've almost had just a moment ago. "Ssshhhh, sweetheart, ssshhh," Roman cooed, shushing you quietly. A whimper left your lips as you let go of the pencil. The noise it made when it hit the floor was crushingly loud in your ears.   "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeated over and over again, whimpering and sniveling. Roman continued to shush you quietly, lowered your arm to your side and turned you around, so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and stroked over your back soothingly. "Leave now," he commanded Red Hood, whose quick footsteps you could hear fading away. "Oh, sweetheart, my darling boy. What did he say? What happened, huh?" Your sobs had died down by that point and while it took you a great amount of effort to be able to reply, you did. "He thought you were forcing me to be with you. That you were abusing me b-because of my-my bruises. I'm sorry. I've already embarrassed you at breakfast and now I did it again, I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry!" "Not at all, sweet boy. You haven't embarrassed me at all. Calm down, eh? It's alright. If anything, he was trying to get a rise out of me at breakfast. That's just how he is. I'll talk to him about this, later, hm? If I didn't have plans for him, he'd already be dead anyway." You nodded against his neck and the grip your hands had on his back tightened. As so very often, you couldn't possibly fathom why he put up with you at all, why he took his time to calm you down and reassure you. He could very well be the worst of the worst, like he was to so many other people; yet he seemed to have the patience and understanding of a Saint with you. It had your mind reeling. "Now, my sweet boy, I know you hate when I ask, but have you hurt yourself before this, today?" Roman asked eventually, his voice a gentle rumble. Once more, you nodded against his neck, inhaling sharply. "I'm sorry," you added quietly. "Why didn't you come to me, hm? I assume it was because of what happened at breakfast. Am I wrong?" "You're not, I'm sorry. I didn't want to interfere. And I didn't want to do it either, I tried not to, I promise. I did everything I could, but I just- broke." "Alright, sweetheart. It's okay. Though, am I remembering this incorrectly or have I really not told you that you could interrupt me and ask for help whenever?" "You've told me, I'm sorry, I know. I didn't want to... embarrass you any further, is all. I'm sorry, Daddy." He loosened his hold around your waist and leaned back, so he could look at you. Reluctantly, you faced him.  He let go of you with one arm completely and took ahold of your arm where you've injured yourself a few hours before. A big, blue and purplish bruise had formed already, taking up most of the space of your inner forearm. Ashamed, you averted your eyes. You should have just gotten him to help you. Then Black Mask lifted your arm to his face, as you felt the cold metal of his zipper press against the bruise. The pressure on it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable or truly painful in a way where you'd want it to stop. In actuality, the mock kiss made you feel warm inside. A small smile stole itself on your face.   You sighed as the warm leather of his mask gently pressed against your arm, as he turned his head to face you. "Will you promise me to get me the next time?" You could feel his jaw move against your arm as he talked, it tickled. "I promise," you whispered, in awe. He lowered your arm again and nudged his masked face against yours, the zipper pressing against your lips. You kissed it. Then again. And again. "I love you, Daddy. I'm really sorry about this whole mess, I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He sighed, "It's alright, sweetheart. I know you haven't done any of this on purpose." Then he let go of you entirely and bent down, picking up your sketchbook from the floor and looked it over. "You drew me," he stated, surprise clear in his voice. "Yeah, I needed to calm down after- well, you know. And I couldn't think of anything else to do, but sitting down and drawing." "And the best thing to draw was me as a child? Taking this horrendous portrait as reference no less. Although, you actually managed to make me look like a child." "Well, uh, I just thought I'd try myself on it, you know? Make it look less gloomy. Well. You. Not that I'd draw your fucking parents. They don't deserve it," you chuckled wryly by the end of it. "They really don't. It looks good, sweetheart. Will you finish it?" You looked at him in surprise, mouth a little slack. "I can try." "Good. I would like to hang it up, when you have." That surprised you even more. "Are you sure?" He just looked at you, and though his face - or rather, what was left of it - wasn't visible, you knew he was shooting you an incredulous look. "Right, okay. Sure, I will try my best, Roman!" "You always do, my boy." He gently placed the sketchbook back on the floor and put his arms around you once more. "Let's go for a walk then, eh? I feel like it might be good for you, after everything." Nodding, you smiled at him softly, leaning up to press another few kisses to the zipped up mouth of his mask. 

[littleoddwriter]

F#ck You, Don’t Leave Me | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

"17 and 18. I need you + I can't do this anymore: roman x reader, reader is suffering from a meltdown (it could be a build up thing, it could be triggered by something, you can choose) and choice words are thrown, they get into an argument sorta thing but roman doesn't notice at first and thinks reader is just being bitchy but then roman looks at reader and sees the signs that this is more than a petty fight (18. I can't do this anymore, I'll let you decide what "this" is like relationship, life, everything) so roman helps calm reader down by being soothing (soft but in a roman way, I know you can keep him in character because you're brilliant) and then reader is like "I need you, don't leave me" (17) sorta thing, so more hurt/comfort idk I just know you'd do this sorta writing justice because I know you get how I feel" @theamazingspideymerc​

summary; You have a meltdown/an episode and a misunderstanding, which morphed into a fight between you and Roman. It gets resolved in the end, though.

notes; TW // Meltdown/Episode (I based this off my really bad BPD Episodes, so, idk); Yelling/Fighting; Rough Handling (shortly mentioned because Roman grabs your wrists a little too tightly); Abandonment Issues (I hope those were all possible triggers). Male!Reader; Light Daddy!Kink (Roman’s usual pet names for reader); Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Pettiness; Misunderstanding.

You felt it bubbling up time and time again over the past week. Every time you pushed it down. Every time you tried to ignore it. Every time you suppressed it until you were completely numb.

But then, something happened - you couldn't even remember what - and you exploded. You started shouting, screaming, throwing things, punching and kicking. You cried, tears burned tracks into your reddened cheeks. Your vision was blurry and red.

Roman ran over to you, when he started registering the commotion coming from the bedroom. When he saw you like this, he stopped in his tracks for a moment, confused, unsure.

"Would you fucking stop already? Fuck! What the fuck is wrong with you?" He yelled at you, trying to be heard by you and agitated by your behaviour.

"Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! Fucking go!" You shouted right back.

It lit a fire in him.

No one fucking talked to him like that, let alone yelled at him.

In quick strides he came right up to you, getting in your face. With a little too much force, he gripped onto your wrists, just like Victor usually did with him, when he was so enraged.

"Fucking look at me, you little asshole!" He snarled.

Breathing heavily, you did. You didn't say anything, just stared at him with so much hurt and anger in your eyes.

"Listen you little fuck. No one fucking talks to me like that. No one. You hear me? I don't give a fucking fuck that you're my boyfriend. You do not talk to me like that. 'Kay?"

Tears welled up again, burning your eyes once more.

Sometimes you didn't understand why you were even in a relationship with him. Sometimes you didn't understand why he kept you around. Sometimes you didn't understand why something like this hasn't happened earlier.

On the other hand you were confused. What have you said to him? You couldn't remember. You didn't even notice that he was in the room until he was right in your face.

"I-I'm sorry," you said anyway.

What were you even apologising for?

"Good. Clean your shit up, will you? Fucking hell," he rasped, letting go of your wrists and turning his back to you.

Hurt and confused, you stood there, silent tears falling and trying to suppress the sobs that wanted to get out of you so badly.

Fuck you, you asshole! You thought.

Despite your anger and frustration, you did as you were told and cleaned up the mess you've made. All the while, you were still fuming. Tears steadily streamed down your face, quiet snivels left you here and there, when you couldn't hold them back any longer.

When you were done, you went to the bathroom and washed your face with cold water. You stood there for a few minutes, hunched over the sink and wondering just what the fuck happened there. Was this how it was going to end?

No, it couldn't possibly be. It was just a fucking argument. A misunderstanding. But the way he reacted to you left you unsure. You didn't want him to leave you, but you also didn't want to stay with someone who would yell at you - and possibly hurt you - instead of trying to calm you, when you had an episode like that.

Your wrists still throbbed a little because of the tight hold Roman had on them; and so did your heart due to the words he'd said.

The rest of the day, you couldn't help but either ignore or snap at him, whenever he tried to talk to you as if nothing had happened.

You were so fucking hurt.

At night, you went to bed with him as you always did. Instead of cuddling into him, though, you turned your back to him, quietly shedding tears.

The next day, you continued to treat him like that. You knew you were being immature and an asshole; and that you should just open your damn mouth and talk to him about this, but you couldn't make yourself do it. You couldn't gather the courage to do it. You were afraid that if you brought it up, he would really leave you.

What use was putting it off then?

Later that day, you sat on one of the chaise longue's, reading a book.

After a little while, you faintly registered Roman's familiar footfall coming closer. You didn't look up, didn't visibly or audibly acknowledge his presence. He let out a frustrated little noise. Then he sat down next to you. You forced yourself to shift away a little, despite your entire body and mind yelling at you to lean into him.

"Fuck. You know I'm not good at this fucking sentimental shit. But I received your message. Loud and clear, 'kay?" Roman started, a hint of... desperation? - frustration? - in his otherwise raspy, harsh and yet somewhat soft voice.

You kept quiet and turned to the next page of your book.

"Would you at least fucking listen to - or even just look at me?"

With that, you lowered the book, gently placing it on your lap and looked at him with an inquiring gaze.

He nodded in acknowledgment and thanks.

"Right. So, I- Fuck. 'Kay. I realise that you aren't just being petty since yesterday. I guess what happened there was more than just some senseless words thrown around. Am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong," you whispered.

"Will you tell me what the fuck exactly is happening here, right now? Because if you'd rather break up with me, then you better just fucking do it. Don't fucking play me like that."

"I- I don't know. I just can't do this anymore, Roman."

"You can't do what anymore?"

"Having everyone fucking stomp on me, for example. Having people react so fucking badly to me when I have episodes like that. Having someone spit in my face and tell me that they don't even fucking care that I'm their boyfriend. Just to name a few things."

"Y/N, I didn't mean any of that."

"Yeah, right," you huffed.

"Oh, come on! I wasn't the only one saying some shit there. Don't act like a fucking angel."

"Right, right. What the fuck did I exactly say? 'Cause I honestly can't remember. I didn't even know you were there until you gripped my wrists so tightly and were right in my damn face."

"You didn't?"

"No, I fucking didn't!"

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

"What?"

"I thought- well, it sounded like you were yelling it at me. You were shouting 'Fuck you' repeatedly and told me to 'fucking go'."

"I wasn't talking to you. I'm sorry, no, I- fuck. I wasn't talking to anyone in particular. It just happens when I get like that."

"Right. Shit, baby, this is a mess."

He put a hand on your thigh and squeezed it. You put your own hand over his on your leg, intertwining your fingers.

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault, fuck, I'm sorry," you whimpered.

You felt so fucking guilty. All of this just because you misunderstood each other so badly.

"We're both at fault, I'd say. And you know I'm usually not one to admit to being guilty."

A wry smile forced itself on your face, before you were overcome by the crippling anxiety that you tried to suppress since the fight. You had been so scared that he would leave you.

"I need you, Roman. I need you like air, I- Please don't ever leave me. Please!"

Roman put his arms around you and pulled you flush against his chest, nuzzling your hair.

"Ssshhh, no. I'm not leaving you, baby. You're my little prince after all, hm?" He murmured, shushing you softly.

You nodded against his chest, shifting a little, so that you could wrap your own arms around his middle.

"I'm just so sorry. I've been an asshole instead of just talking to you. I was just so scared that when I- that when I brought it up, you would tell me to fuck off. I'm sorry."

Roman kept shushing you, rocking you back and forth gently.

"It's okay, sweet boy. It's alright. We're alright, 'kay? No break-up. Nothing. Just a stupid misunderstanding. It's over now, 'kay?"

"Okay," you whispered hoarsely.

You pulled back a little and looked up at him. He was smiling at you, tears shone in his eyes. You were taken aback by the sight.

Then he leaned towards you and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted right into it. You had missed it. It has been roughly twenty-four hours since the fight, which was way too fucking long to go without physical affection from Roman.

"You mean so much to me, my little prince," Roman murmured against your lips.

It was the closest thing to a love confession you would ever get from him.