#c: victor zsasz

[frosty-the-killer-doll]

personally, i think marquis and zsasz explored each other's bodies

[ihavenosoul12]

Victor Zsasz in this fit I think he'd slay

[glorifiiedgore]

           Choke  me  like  you  hate  me,  but  you  l o v e  me                                   Low-key  wanna  date  me  when  you  fuck  me            Touch  me  with  the  lights  off  and  my  chains  on                                   Baby,  I'm  not  the  right  one  you  should  wait  on

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 18 (Body Modification)

Victor Zsasz x Reader (NSFW)

(1,152 Words)

Summary: Zsasz makes his mark

Warnings/Tags: 18+, female reader (I got self indulgent sorry LMAO), knifeplay, bloodplay, scarification, penetrative sex, love confessions (yeah, I got REALLY self indulgent), aftercare, fluff (SLAYYY)

Notes: God, I love him. I got SO self indulgent with this one bc I’ve been having a shitty week. All my mutuals should’ve seen this one coming LMAO anyway, enjoy the fic!!!

-

Victor Zsasz loves to make his mark. Most infamously known, are the vast array of tally marks that are carved into his skin. Every mark, a symbol of every life he’s ever taken; every light that’s been snuffed out. In his mind, the marks serve as mementos; being made in the moment as a reminder for a lifetime. It’s an act of permanence. It’s an act of devotion.

So to him, it only makes sense to mark you just as he marks himself.

Apprehension and anticipation linger all around you. You sit there, completely still. Your upper half is completely exposed to him, save for your bra, leaving every inch of your blank, unmarked flesh in his view. Your shirt is discarded, laying in a crumpled pile on the floor. The soft sound of Victor’s footsteps fill you ears, pacing slowly behind you. Suspense and excitement fill your stomach. A deep inhale makes its way into your chest when you feel the cold metal of his switchblade touch your skin.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” his voice is honest, firm, yet comforting. “This is gonna hurt…” you can feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, smoothing down your arm. “…A lot.”

“I appreciate you doing this Victor,” you turn to look at him. “But honestly, I’m a little scared.”

He stands over you. The blade, lightly trails along your chest, just below your collarbone, where you assume the mark will be made, your nerves spike, but you choose to swallow them down, knowing this is how Victor expresses love, in his own, sick way- not that you minded. He kneels, making his way down to your level. His hand guides you chin down to gaze into his dark eyes, filled with reassurance.

“I can promise you,” you feel his thumb gently rub over your cheek, “The pain won’t last long.”

His gaze is intense. Taking a deep breath in, you nod. “I trust you.”

He lets out a grin, tucking your hair behind you ear. He plants a soft kiss to your cheek where he was caressing over it. “Attagirl.”

Your heart flutters at his assurance. For someone so keen on sadism, getting off on the pain of others, Victor was being surprisingly comforting with you.

You can feel his body looming over you, feeling his head look over you to find the exact spot where he would mark you. He makes contact with your eyes, giving each other nodded approval to do it.

The metal is cold and exceedingly sharp. You can hardly feel it when he cuts you. The sensation almost feels pleasant as the blade glides through your flesh. You feel yourself bite back a shriek when he digs the knife deeper into your skin, making sure the cut will leave a lasting scar. Your breath hitches in your chest as he continues dragging the knife into you. Fresh crimson spills out from the cuts being left in the blade’s wake.

“God,” Victor lets out a soft growl, “I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now.”

He’s in awe of the blood trickling down your chest. It coats your chest, running down, nearly dripping down to your bra. You let out an abrupt whimper, unable to hold in the increasing pain.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Your bra strap slips past your shoulder. You feel Victor’s body directly behind you, almost in an hug. His hand smoothes your shoulder firmly, comforting.

“It’s okay,” He hushes you. “I know, I know.”

Those next few seconds, the pain is excruciating. You get up, turning around and steadying yourself on him, wanting nothing more to be enveloped in his embrace. Your eyes meet his, gazing at each other for just a second before crashing your lips together.

You feel yourself being carried over to the bed, feeling Victor’s hungry grasp taking off your already disarrayed bra. You suck in a harsh breath, feeling his tongue lick up the blood that dripped down your tits.

“You did so well,” Victor praises as he devours your bloodied flesh, slowly trailing downward, “I’m proud of you, taking that like a champ.”

“Oh god, V-Victor,” you whimper. You feel your pants being slipped off from under you. Your cunt aches, dripping with arousal as Victor thumbs your clit through your underwear. “I fucking need you.”

Victor gazes at you, carnally. His eyelids are hooded, lust swirling within his eyes. He pulls out a condom from his pocket, tearing the wrapper quickly with his teeth. He urgently slides the rubber onto his cock and eases himself inside you.

You can feel Victor’s body on top of yours, being careful to avoid the cut-up area of your chest. He positions himself, leaning on his shoulders to look at you. He rocks into you slowly, feeling your soaked cunt clench around his cock. As he picks up the pace, he presses his lips to yours feeling yourself moan into his mouth. His tongue feels heavenly and you feel yourself melting into him, letting out a hushed breath when he bites your lip, pulling away.

“You like that?” He asks breathlessly

“Y-yes,” you grunt out tenderly. “You feel fucking amazing.”

Victor chuckled, rolling his hips. You feel your cunt flutter around him as he continues to fuck you. You grip onto him tightly, nails sure to leave some marks on his back. He lets out an amorous groan, enjoying the way you hurt him.

“I love what you do to me,” Victor moans. His pace is rapid, hitting the deepest parts of you, making it hard to keep yourself quiet. You can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching, and judging by his pace- utterly frantic, so could Victor. “Your my girl, and I fucking love you.”

You’re taken aback by his abrupt confession, but honestly? You feel the same. Your hand drops down to your clit, rubbing it quickly, desperate for release. You cry out after he hits a particularly sensitive spot, once again slamming your mouth to his as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts himself deep into you, a guttural groan escaping his lips as his orgasm isn’t far behind yours.

When all is said and done, you’re completely fucked out, disheveled, and exhausted. The air grows thick, heavy around you as he crashes onto your uncut side.

“Thank you,” you breathe out. “You are so good to me.”

Victor smiles, pressing a loving kiss to your lips. He runs a hand through your hair, before holding out a hand, pulling you up. He turns around, grabbing some towels and antibiotics for the cut “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Hey Victor,” he looks over at you, head cocked curiously. “I love you too.”

You couldn’t wait for the cut to heal. The healed scar in the shape of a heart would soon be a testament to the love you have for one another.

[finniestoncrane]

can i request a nsfw alphabet for gotham victor zsasz please 🫡

NSFW Alphabet: Gotham!Zsasz x Reader

abso-fuckin-lutely you may 💖 sorry this took a bit longer to get out but it required a lot more thinking than usual lmao 👀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: a LOT

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Surprisingly sweet? If you're someone he really cares for, he puts a lot of importance on showing that. He's not going to get up and run away for sure, he's into displaying a bit of dominance by having you wrap yourself around him, head on his chest, so he can put his arm around your shoulder.

B = Body part (favourite part of theirs and their partner’s)

His favourites are his index fingers. Trigger fingers, they know exactly when to move and twitch to get the reaction he wanted. Also his eyes, he's so sure he can manipulate someone with one puppy dog look. In a partner, he likes their back. A blank canvas for him to work with.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

He loves playing around with cum, has definitely tasted his own, is very keen on tasting each partners to get to know them better. When cumming, he has a definite preference for seeing it spread over his partners body as opposed to cumming inside. Definitely enjoys marking you with his seed.

D = Dirty Secret (something they keep hidden)

He is lactose intolerant. But he drinks milkshakes and eats ice cream anyway. Just for the pain of it all, he supposes. Admitting to being unable to process dairy? Weak.

E = Experience (how experienced are they in bed)

Very well-versed in that area, and extremely knowledgeable on most kinks, specifically relating to BDSM for obvious reasons. He can dish it out or take it to, a very versatile switch. He might as well have an equal amount of little scars for his sexual partners as the amount of people he's killed. He's adorable, it's hard for people to resist him.

F = Favourite Position

Doggy style. Absolutely in command of you and able to bang it out as rough or gentle or fast or slow as he wants. But he has a thing for waiting until right at the edge of climax and then laying beside you for some classic mutual masturbation to finish things off. Maybe you're focused on yourselves, arms entwined, or maybe you're jerking each other off, either way he likes cumming at the same time as you and this is usually the easiest way to ensure that happens.

G = Goofy (are they serious in the moment?)

Are you kidding? Has he ever gone longer than five minutes without making some kind of cheeky little remark? You think that stops when he's fucking, or even trying to persuade someone to fuck? Absolutely not. He's definitely not afraid to be silly and giggly in the moment, it's all part of his adorable charm.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they?)

Smooth, like the rest of his body. Soft skin, warm to the touch. Definitely helps him look a lot bigger and more impressive, which is daunting actually (please see X...) but he looks so pretty and kissable all over.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Ok so intimacy is very important. Romance follows with that. He's not going to be overly flowery in his words or sentiment, but he will be gentle and thorough and make sure you feel desired, loved and fulfilled by the end of the sex.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

I genuinely think his brain is too focused on other things for it to even think about jerking off. There's pleasure to be had with another person, and he'd rather pursue that. However, mutual masturbation is something he is keen on. It's intimate and usually pretty quick so works if there's nowhere to lie his partner down and get on top of them, push them up against, bend them over etc.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ok so very obvious to start with, but S&M. He'll do a lot of BDSM, but letting you hurt him, and hurting himself, is his greatest weakness and his favourite pleasure. Body worship. He loves having you sit or stand in front of him while he kisses you all over and tells you exactly why he loves you. Especially if you have scars or imperfections, something for him to softly graze over as an appreciation of the story you tell. Uh, gun violence? Like hold a gun to his stupid head and tell him he better make you cum or you'll pull the trigger. It's not loaded, or is it? He won't say actually. At least the safety's on...you assume. Leather and PVC. Boots, gloves, skirts, trousers, tops, masks, fucking anything tight and smooth and shiny and black.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

In his bed, which seems super boring for someone like him, but he has nice sheets, the vibes are right, and it's safe and cosy. It's a controlled environment where he can take his mind off of everything else. And if he needs to leave you sleeping, he can feel safe that you're not in any danger. That and all his shit is there, what, he's going to carry around his various toys and tools in case the notion takes him in the back of a cab? He has guns to carry, his pockets, and holsters, are full.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Guns. I mean he's into a lot of stuff, but shooting with a high accuracy and aim turns him on. It's the skill level, the power and control, the damage and chaos and violence. He could never take a partner to a shooting range, or even see them holding a weapon. He'd lose his mind. Childhood crush on Annie Oakley? You bet.

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do)

There's not a lot on this list, but I think he would find it difficult letting you be the one who was hurt. He couldn't be a sadist with someone he loved. You can beat the absolute shit out of him, but his touch is always soft and delicate with you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

Ok so it's an intimate, time-consuming, drive you wild kind of activity? He's in, and he loves it. It's the whole "do the job right" thing again. You give him a task, he's going to complete that task in the most flamboyant way, with great expertise and pride in the work. He definitely has a preference for giving rather than receiving. Smother him, choke him, don't let him breathe while he's going at it. Getting head for him, he can take it or leave it. If you're going to suck his dick, you have to edge him and not let him finish. He's a sucker for punishment.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?

He can do both! Which is often a surprise to any potential sexual partners because he seems like a nasty little chihuahua of a man. But he's so soft and cute and absolutely has the ability, and often the desire, to be romantic and slow and fill all your sense up. If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing well.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex)

Ok so, as above, while he can do it fast and hot and rough, he would rather do it slow and sweet. BUT he has been known to bend someone over for a quick release while he's on the job. You ever been banged from behind while the person inside of you is trying to steady a sniper rifle? It really adds a lot of tension to the situation.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment?)

Absolutely he is. Music to his ears in fact. Zsasz is a freaky girl. He'll do whatever you want, especially if there's an element of pain or a risk of him getting a little bit (or a lot) hurt in the process. As long as none of the risks involve you, that's where he would draw the line. But risks that involve exposure, some exhibitionism, potentially being caught as he's being trailed by the police/enemies? He's frothing at the mouth.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Victor has the energy of a feral chihuahua. He's able to go for a very long time, and as long as you give him a minute to get 'prepared' he can go for another round for sure. And there's very little you have to do. He'll top the whole time, he'll do all the work, exert all the energy, and make sure you're well and truly fucked out.

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them?)

Absolutely. Mostly on himself, like impact play, whartenberg wheels, electrostimulation, clamps, bondage, you name it really! But as he doesn't want to hurt his precious loved one, unless they really really convinced him to, he will fuck you while holding a vibrator against whichever part of you makes you squirm the most.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's a full-time tease. Complete flirt, very aware of his charms and his looks and the power he has over people with those big brown eyes. And he will absolutely rile someone up to the point that they are begging him desperately, just to let them down. He knows all too well that the longer he keeps you hanging on, the better it'll be when he finally gives you what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Aw baby, he is a very vocal boy. Praise, snarky little comments, jokes, sarcasm, feral grunting? You've got it all with him. It depends what mood he's in and what you're doing. When he's being flirty, it's rude little comments that are always filled with innuendo. If you're jerking him off or giving him head, he's very conscious of praising you. If you're just going at it, 100% loud yelling and groaning.

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon)

He desperately wants to fuck you in his old childhood bedroom. Something about finally knowing that the room got to see some action. It would make his arc complete, I guess.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

He's thick, like good lord. Not way above average in length, about 6". Good luck managing to suck him off though because unless you can unhinge your jaw like a python because it's gonna be a tight squeeze.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

You'd think he'd get a lot of his adrenaline out during his murderous little escapades but that is his job. It's almost dull and repetitive to him, not that he doesn't find joy in the work, but his only release for the passion and pent up urges is definitely sex. And he's ready to pop off at a moment's notice.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I don't think he sleeps. I don't think he's 100% human. He's just going to lie there and stare at the ceiling until he feels the urge to go do something violent and mischievous, or something ridiculously soft like getting some cupcakes and having a solo picnic.

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

Hi I got more questions about the starburst duo!

1: what’s their favorite video games?

2: what is their favorite anime and/or cartoons?

3: Chris has a brotherly/uncle relationship with Kon-El/Conner, what’s Jake’s relationship like with Kon-el?

4: you know how in some movies and tv shows a pair of best friends would get into a fight and act like: “your not my best friend anymore!” And towards the end they get back together, has that happen before between the two of them?

5: what’s the rouge galley for the both of them?

Silly question :p

6: on a scale of 1-10, how likely are they gonna aim for the crotch against a dude villain/goon? Speaking of that what’s their reaction seeing that stuff in movies like how in the first kung fu panda movie Po got hit in the tenders?

(Cracks Fingers while grinning wildly)

Back for more I see, my friend? Very well then…

1) In no particular order, they’d like (in spite of Dick and Lois having some second thoughts in allowing them for playing M Rated titles)

Mortal Kombat

Blitz The League

Cuphead

Dark Souls

Asura’s Wrath,

and perhaps their all time favorite,

The Rockband series (out of them, The Beatles Rockband being their top one. Chris can do both Vocals and Bass while Jake does Drums and Harmonies)

2) Dragon Ball…basically all of Dragon Ball. Whether it’s The OG, Kai, GT, or the upcoming Daima, they’ll be lined up in their best shirts that are either patterned after Piccolo’s outfit or have the Z Fighters on it with their snacks by their side on the couch and engage with an all night marathon of episodes and films. Their favorite character is unanimously Son Gohan

3) Those two get along as good friends though from Jake hears about Conner courtesy of his Uncle Tim and ‘Aunite’ Cassie, whenever Conner inevitably screws up with trying to win a girlfriend off the streets with his egotistical charms and attitude, Jake gleefully takes the chance for snarking about that screw up, much to Conner’s conniption.

Aside from that though, the two make it a sworn oath on working together for making sure Chris is safe and secure from the threats even he’s too great to handle, whether externally or especially his own internal ones including tendencies of low self esteem and fears of abandonment. Conner and Jake are there for him no matter what

4) Much to even their own surprise, not exactly. Yes, there have been moments the two have gone separately from each other before reuniting in full but the thing is, they never had said to each other that they’re no longer friends. They’re never actively taking pot shots or any sort of bad mouth each other even during their lowest points in their friendship.

In fact, it’s because of their close friendship, it’s how they’re able to communicate the message of “Hey Man, I really like to hang out with you but I don’t if it’s the right time right now. Maybe a little later? Still love ya as a friend btw” with little to no words whether it’s face to face or via phone texts. They have mutual respect and understanding of those moments and take their time.

Once they have a chance though, like say in the middle of a crisis or few, they’ll rush to each other’s aid and make up for it once it’s all said and done. Even in a hypothetical Civil War between all the superheroes which has the two in opposite sides would have a similar pattern between them.

5) I once answered this in a earlier ask but I feel like it’s the perfect time for a sort of expansion to that list. Some names here would be old classics while maybe one or two would be OCs of mine for villains.

General Dru Zod (Chris’ birth father and somewhat arch nemesis due to his….very tough love approach to put it very very mildly think of their relationship akin to say Omni Man and Invincible)

Mr Victor Zsasz (Jake’s own Gotham based arch enemy due to a particular case involving street orphans and urchins forcibly fighting a gladiator style tournament to the death and Jake facing Zsasz face to face at the climax of said case, a duel involving a rather brutal beat down since Jake’s powers were shut down briefly that includes a sharp blade and that old damned crowbar)

The Gordanians (Since Jake’s mother is Kory aka Starfire, it should be pretty self explanatory and easy to understand his dislike for these particular aliens)

Deathstroke the Terminator (Similar enough reason to the Gordanians only in this case it’s via what he done to Dick throughout the years as a Titan, whether it includes the forced apprenticeship or other misdeeds)

The Court of Owls (not only due to both Mar’i and Jake being offsprings of the ‘Gray Son’ but they also can sense Chris somehow being a unique sort that distinguishes him from the other Kryptonians (I.e. his unique physiology courtesy of his birth in the Phantom Zone and being a host for the Nightwing entity) that they can claim for themselves, an evolutionary step in their arsenal of Talons)

Cinderblock (The big dumb concrete lug frequently challenges Chris and Jake for a challenge in Bludhaven’s streets which they’re all too happy to take. He’s fun for them to take on)

Xa Du, The Phantom King (As the main ruler of the Phantom Zone himself, he naturally sees Chris as an obstacle to his own path of universal domination)

(And time for some OCs I have in mind)

NKVDemon (an ex-Spetznaz and apprentice of the KGBeast though his goals and methods are far more grand and widespread in comparison than his mercenary teacher’s. While not a cyborg like KGBeast or enhanced like Deathstroke, he’s dangerously intelligent, at peak human condition and utterly ruthless to the core)

Lion Master (a constantly bullied street orphan who ran to join a traveling circus where became the apprentice of an old kindly lion tamer, it all truly went downhill during one performance at Ivy Town when due to a simple mistake on his part, the kid ended up causing the old tamer’s unfortunate demise in front of the crowds, leading to him being kicked out of the circus he called home and the lions ordered in being out down. Not willing to see the felines he can call his friends meet their ends, the orphan frees the four big cats. Now with nothing left to lose and returning to the streets once more, the old tanner’s apprentice turns to a life of petty crime with his four kings of the jungle by his side and at his beckon command; competing his transformation into the Lion Master. Has a beef yet also somewhat a bond with Skybird due to their own connections to the circus yet Skybird and Nightwing ‘Phantom’ always foil his crimes)

La Llorona (‘The Weeping Woman’ herself; the Duo once encountered her during a vacation their families were taking in Mexico. A one time antagonist who they actually were able to communicate with in order to help her find peace with them but certainly a memorable one)

The monkeys and undead guardians of El Dorado (Ling story incredibly short, Time Travel shenanigans had Chris and Jake land in the a time lopping ancient city of gold with these monkeys and zombified warriors attacking the intruders almost every step of their way within their adventure to escape)

Vla-Bol (A Kryptonian juvenile delinquent who led an equivalent of a street gang doing all sorts of petty crimes and ruled their city streets/Hallways with an iron fist. At first, The Kryptonian High Coucil had Vla drafted into basically boot camp under the command of an ancestor of a certain Kryptonian General, Grand Admiral Gro-Zod. Unfortunately for Vla, despite or maybe because of taking the Admiral’s teachings and philosophy to heart, he went on committing plenty of bad conduct and failed to hold back his fury during war time as a Private. For this misconduct, Vla-Bol was banished to the Phantom Zone at the age of only 14 years, swearing vengeance on the House of Zod for this indignity. It just centuries later and once he finally is able to leave the Zone and find planet Earth, there happens on being a descendent of the old Admiral, Lor Zod aka Chris. Vla-Bol is an utter show off and Grade A jerk who flaunts his powers without any hesitation or second thought. Powers that are surprisingly deviant from standard Kryptonian ones as while yes he can fly, lift extremely heavy objects and exhibit super human speeds, for one he relies on Moonlight to fuel them. Also, in place of heat vision and x ray vision, Vla-Bol instead can make copies of himself composed of shadows and summon dark energy from the Zone itself, capable of leveling entire city blocks at the palm of his hands)

(*Phew* I think that should do it lol)

6) Chris: 3, Clark taught him well enough to not resort to dirty tricks in fighting his opponents

Jake: 10, Being raised in Bludhaven by Nightwing and having Red Hood as an Uncle….it’s pretty obvious he would fight dirty like they can lol

As for their reactions, both of them would giggling at those moments.

Okey Dokey, I’m pretty sure that’s a plenty for my answers, Anon

If there’s any suggestions to add or constructive criticisms, please Reblog/Reply. It’ll be very appreciated ;-)

[howl-fantasies]

A/N - I'm not very active but I'm alive guys, sorry about that, I have a lot to deal with right now but I should be able to write long posts again soon.

Thank you all to follow me and like my nonsense ♥️ also, thank you for your requests, I saw them and will work on it as soon as I can 💐 have a wonderful day/night and take care, you deserve it.

----------- 1 New Message -------------

Jim Gordon

Your little lovers quarrel has to stop, Y/N.

--

Y/N

?

--

Jim Gordon

Stop sending Zsasz decapitated heads.

--

Y/N

Not like I'm admitting anything, but why in hell involving yourself in our epistolary relationship?

--

Jim Gordon

Because the post office is giving your lethal gifts to us since your little presents drench the box with BLOOD.

--

Y/N

Post offices nowadays don't respect the privacy of their customer anymore, what a shame.

--

Jim Gordon

They do what they have to do with a bloody head put inside of a box, in the middle of dozen cactus, Y/N!

...

Stop acting like a sicko brat and, I don't know, talk with your usband. Btw who are those victims of yours?!

--

Y/N

Or what, gonna spank me Jimminy? I'm the top here, not the other way around.

...

Dunno, some dudes sent in front of my door and trying to talk to me.

--

Jim Gordon

Creep. I'm not touching you, not even for a million dollars.

...

Did they attack you? Threatened you? Was it legitimate defense?

--

Y/N

You wouldn't even have the chance to approach me dude, I would cut your hands in a sec.

...

They threatened me, yes.

--

Jim Gordon

How?

--

Y/N

Opened their ugly mouth with "Victor asked us to say..." and I shot.

--

Jim Gordon

...

Are you fucking kidding me?! How in hell was it threatening?!

--

Y/N

Well they said "Victor" , that name alone is a threat.

--

Jim Gordon

...

Not like I can disagree with that one... Look, talk to the man, like grown up adults for once. No shooting, no decapitated heads, no rocket launcher and no C-4. Just WORDS.

--

Y/N

Sounds boring AF.

--

Jim Gordon

Sounds safe AF.

--

Y/N

Did you really used AF?

--

Jim Gordon

Sue me.

--

Y/N

...

Ok, you won. I'll talk to the creep.

--

Jim Gordon

You will now? Without blades or poison or fists, just with words?

--

Y/N

Yeah, yeah. Pretty sure I can fuck his brain up with a few good triggers and help him to throw himself through a window. Or down a bridge.

--

Jim Gordon

You're the worst.

--

Y/N

Well since I'm a scorned woman, yes. Yes I am.

--

Jim Gordon

Just stop sending him bloody presents, for the rest, I don't care anymore.

--

Y/N

Roger.

----------- End of message ----------

.

.

----------- 1 New Message ----------

Jim Gordon

Buy some ear plugs and keep it with you anytime. May saves your life.

--

Victor Zsasz

Ok?

--

Jim Gordon

And don't listen to your wife, for once.

--

Victor Zsasz

She wants to talk, was it your initiative?

--

Jim Gordon

My mistake, indeed. Whatever she says to you, just don't listen.

--

Victor Zsasz

Does she want to mentally torture me and make me throw myself through a window?

--

Jim Gordon

Happy to see you know your wife.

--

Victor Zsasz

That's my Y/N! Can't wait to be roasted. Thx for whatever you said to her.

...

Gotta go, have to look my best for my funerals!

-------- End of message ------

[jonathancrane-scarecrows]

Characters I Rp As:

Jonathan Crane/ Scarecrow (Gotham, Batman Begins)

Jerry Dandridge ( Fright Night)

Francis Munch (Mr. Right)

Victor Zsasz ( Birds of Prey)

Danny Torrance (Doctor Sleep)

Jack Edward's OC Incubus

Jace Jones OC Werewolf

Dimitri Spade OC Siren

Pierce Werewolf OC

Dracula ( Dracula Untold)

Geralt (Witcher)

Corinthian ( Sandman)

Hannibal Lector ( Hannibal)

Eric Northman ( Trueblood)

Archived ( Can still be asked for)

Mickey Milkovitch C Shameless)

Axel Zsasz oc ( Twin Au )

Bruce Wayne ( Gotham, Batman Begins)

Godzilla ( Human forms)

Gavin Reed (DBH)

Yennefer( Witcher)

Rose the Hat ( Doctor Sleep)

Scarlett OC Sucubus

Charlie Manx ( NOS4A2)

Massimo Torricelli ( 365 days)

Black Canary( Birds Of Prey)

Ellen Ripley Xenomorph hybrid ( Alien: Resurrection)

Anita Quinn Ex Assasin OC

Alice Summers OC

Jennifer (Jennifer's Body)

[bionaxe]

do you love me? | navigation

↪ ava | she/her | 18 | i like gaming and writing :]

thanks for checking out my blog!! im so bad at using tumblr but everyone here seems really nice. expect to see a lot of my jumbled thoughts on characters.

my dms / inbox is always open!! i love chatting and im v friendly (i think 💀) so feel free to send a message! down to b friends / mutuals

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anon names: 💀

this is a yandere blog, which means that i will be writing potentially triggering content. please keep that in mind.

requests : 4

do you? do you? | characters

all original posts at this time will b batman only. here are some characters i write for !! bolded ones r faves

batman (bruce wayne) : arkhamverse, btas, nolanverse, the long halloween, the batman 2022

catwoman (selina kyle) : arkhamverse, btas, the batman 2022

clayface (matthew hagen) : btas

harley quinn (harleen quinzel) : arkhamverse, btas

mr. freeze (victor fries) : arkhamverse, btas

poison ivy (pamela isley) : arkhamverse, btas

riddler (edward nygma) : arkhamverse, btas, the batman 2022

scarecrow (jonathan crane) : arkhamverse, nolanverse, btas

two face (harvey dent) : arkhamverse, btas, nolanverse, the long halloween

victor zsasz : arkhamverse

say it. | what i will & wont write

what i wont write ::

explicit sexual content

incest

pedophilia

dead readers

pregnant readers

yandere readers

will add on if needed...

what i will write :: (italicized are favorites)

romantic & platonic

suggestive content (again nothing super explicit)

headcanons / imagines / short stories / songfics

angst

gore / dark content

soulmates

unique reader traits

child readers (platonic)

alternate universes

pretty much anything not listed in what i wont write!!

aw, i love you too! | masterlist

catwoman (selina kyle) ::

yandere alphabet A, C, W (arkhamverse)

scarecrow (jonathan crane) ::

thoughts #1 (nolanverse)

scarecrow w/ darling who has philophobia (nolanverse)

knight scarecrow thoughts (arkhamverse)

two face (harvey dent) ::

thoughts #1 (arkhamverse)

headcanons (nolanverse)

riddler (edward nygma) ::

thoughts #1 (arkhamverse)

riddler with afraid darling (arkhamverse)

yandere alphabet A, B, D, E, X (arkhamverse)

[intruality-overlord]

Au idea/ramble

I’m having one of those times where I am hyper fixated on two things at once and I have no idea how much these fandoms overlap if at all BUT it’s making me want to smash these two things together in an AU so I present my idea of a Gotham/Danganronpa AU where the characters of Gotham are put in a killing game, probably a copycat killing game, and to make it more interesting they can keep their memories ….most of them. It would make sense not too cause that just gives them more motive to kill each other so— oh also this would have Gobblepot in it cause I’m obsessed but also Nygmobblepot drama because I just have to and for some reason I had the idea to put Victor Zsasz and Lucius Fox together? Maybe not together but there’s some type of feelings. In the situation I just felt it made sense for some reason— I have like a general idea of the plot if anyone wants to hear me ramble further but it’s not a solid outline yet. Gotham fans will probably be more interesting since I’m using those characters with the danganronpa format but maybe I can work in some Danganronpa character cameos.

The characters I’m planning to use are: Jim, Harvey, Oswald, Lee, Barbara, Butch, Zsasz, Selena, Bruce, Alfred, Tabitha, Lucius, Ed, Hugo Strange, Fish, and Ivy. So pretty good mix I think? For maximum angst? Not sure the mastermind could be. Maybe Sofia. Probably Sofia. Don’t know why she’d do this but, well, she’s more unhinged than Oswald and her father and didn’t bat at eye at endangering children so who else would unless I bring back Junko from the dead— okay now that I say that that’s exactly the dumb shit that would happen in both franchises. If not Sofia or Junko it could be Tsumugi and idk maybe it’s a random international season of Danganronpa. Jeremiah is another option but would he really be a copycat? Nah. And Jerome? Smarter than he looks but not smart enough to keep them trapped longer than a week. The mastermind might not be important cause I haven’t even decided if they’re going to escape or not :3

Imagine the angst tho you got fucking Jim and Bruce and all their most important people stuck in a killing game with Gothams rogue gallery like come on. All the tension cause the villains wouldn’t hesitate to kill but you’re in an enclosed space with Gothams greatest detective that’s gotta be a little intimidating especially as time goes on and the trials happen and Jim keeps finding the blackened…

Where the Gobblepot aspect comes in is I think Jim would just fucking glue himself to Oswald for three, eventually four, reasons. A) stop him from killing anyone. B) protect him from everyone else cause most of them have motive to kill Oswald, C) if he’s always with Oswald if someone tries to kill him Oswald would immediately be suspected so Oswald wouldn’t be dumb enough to try it, and D) he starts actually trusting him. Trust [romantic]. Bonus other reason Jim is making sure Oswald has an alibi all the time so no one can pin a murder on him cause that would be so easy to do.

Now the Lucius and Victor thing hear me out hear me out. Everyone likes Lucius. No one has beaf with that guy, including Victor. Lucius is also a kind understand smarties as we know from How The Riddler Got His Name AND I KNOW WHAT YOURE THINKING Edward and Lucius make more sense then, right? Well I thought about it. And I decided I don’t want Ed to be happy— kidding. Or am I? No I just love a good aro headcanon cbkgzjtdlydi but back to Zsasz. Since Zsasz if like the most likely to kill someone everything thinks for obvious reasons, they all avoid him. Zsasz also is not an idiot so in reality he’s not going to kill anybody. Lucius knows this. So Lucius being the kind person he is I imagine would check up on Zsasz (whomst isolated himself) and Zsasz would get really fond of him I think. Basically I like Zsasz better than Edward so Victor gets the boyfriend.

I’m just a sucker for some good angst and Whump so this AU seems like the perfect playground don’t you think?

[mogai-headcanons]

Jim Gordon from Gotham is a bisexual man!

He’s partners with Harvey, an mspec man who doesn’t really care about gender as a concept or in regards to his attraction!

Bruce Wayne is a biromantic acespec transfeminine genderqueer boy with PTSD!

Alfred Pennyworth is a cishet ally!

Oswald Cobblepot is a flamboric canonically gay transmasculine nonbinary genderqueer man with BPD, and he’s in a relationship with Edward, in an alterous relationship with Zsasz, and best friends with Ivy!

Edward Nygma is an autistic plural nebularomantic bisexual trans man with OCD, BPD, NPD, and dermatillomania, and he’s in a relationship with Oswald!

One of Edward’s headmates is Ed, an autistic bi straight man who’s dating Kristen!

The other is Riddler, a flamboric queer faggy bi gay man who uses he/him and she/her pronouns and is alterously dating Lucius!

Barbara Kean is a flamboric femme polyamorous greyromantic canonically bisexual woman with PTSD and a cluster B disorder, and she’s in a relationship with Lee and another with Tabitha!

Seliina Kyle is an aroace maverique with ASPD who uses they/them, it/its, she/her, and he/him pronouns!

Fish Mooney is a flamboric transfeminine cupiospec strayt pan lesbian!

Butch Gilzean is bisexual and questioning his gender!

Lee Thompkins is a cupiosexual bi lesbian who’s in a relationship with Barbara!

Lucius Fox is an unlabeled queer man who’s in an alterous relationship with the riddler!

Tabitha Galavan is a canonically bisexual genderqueer woman who’s dating Barbara!

Jervis Tetch is a mad straight biromantic gay man with BPD, OCD, and schizophrenia who’s in a relationship with Jonathan!

Ivy Pepper is a xenine sapphic bi lesbian who’s best friends with Oswald!

Jerome Valeska is a pan gay nonbinary person with PTSD and schizophrenia!

His brother Jeremiah Valeska is a transfeminine gay man with PTSD and a cluster C disorder!

Kristen Kringle is a neurodivergent biromantic demisexual woman who’s dating Ed!

Victor Zsasz is a hypoempathetic polyamorous pansexual queer agender man who’s in an alterous relationship with Oswald!

Jonathan Crane is a trans gay man with AVPD and PTSD who is dating Jervis!

Bridgit Pike is a disabled transfeminine butch!

Victor Fries is a hypoempathetic bi/mspec straight agender man!

Martin is a disabled autistic genderqueer boy who’s being raised by Oswald, Edward, and Zsasz!

dni link

[edward-lygma-ballz]

THE BATMAN MOVIE TIER LIST PART 2

2006- Batman Begins: Gosh this movie is so good if I'm not being biased this is objectively the best movie in the dark knight trilogy. One thing I will say is I wish Scarecrow had more scenes in the movie but I absolutely love the one scene where he does spray Falcone but I wish I could've seen more. This was peak Christian Bale looks wise and I realized this last night when I was watching the movie. The Ra's Al Ghul plot twist was actually surprising the first time I watched this movie. Alfred was peak overall just amazing. VICTOR ZSASZ MENTION!?! Side note we need more live action Victor Zsasz. I would have to say this movie is S tier.

2008- The Dark Knight: HEATH LEDGER WAS EMACULATE. I do agree that he's just a film bros wet dream for the joker BUT I still love it. This move produced multiple iconic memes just overall so freaking good. If you want my biased opinion this is they best movie in the dark knight trilogy. I can quote most of the Jokers lines by heart and I once watched this movie 3 times in one day. The two downfalls of this movie are Rachel and Two-face. (Refer to meme in pt1) Harvy himself is fine but Two-Face just ain't it chief yknow. And I know Rachel's thing is that she's not like scared of criminals and not scared to stand up for what's right but something that really gives me the ick is when in the penthouse scene during jokers schpeel she just stands and and says "alright, that's enough." Or something like that. Idk it's just like did you really think that was going to stop this insane man?? This movie is A tier as well.

2012- The Dark Knight Rises: If mid was a movie it would be this one. While I absolutely love Bane in this movie I can't stand Catwoman (which is really weird for me cause I usually love her, and I've tried loving her but I just can't.) It's not like a horrible movie it's just not fantabulous. C tier.

2016- Batman Versus Superman: I saw it when I came out in theaters then never watched it again. It was okay??? Idk not much input, I was more interested in the origins of the other members of the Justice League tbh. C tier.

2016- The Killing Joke: Did not like the first 30 minutes. This was the first time I'd ever seen an animated movie based on a comic and don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't to see batman and Barbara Gordon make out w/ implied sex on a rooftop. The first 30mins aren't in the original comic at all. Last half of the movie sticks to the source material almost entirely and it was executed greatly. A tier.

2018- The Lego Batman Movie: OH GOSH this movie is really good. I can watch it with kids when I babysit and we can both enjoy it. Witty remarks, Robin is absolutely adorable, REFRENCES BATMAN (1989) MULTIPLE TIMES!!! Joker isn't a complete dick to Harley. PEAK JOKER DESIGN!! No bad remarks. S teir.

2021- The Long Halloween Pt1 and Pt2: Loved these movies. Wished they made Sofia Falcone look more like Carmine like they did in the comic but her character was still great. I also wish they would've kept the catwoman suit the same as in the comic. Was very easy to sit through almost 3 hrs of movies. Harvy Dent was portrayed amazingly. Once again nothing bad to say about these movies. A tier.

2022- The Batman: I LOVE LOVE LOVE INCEL RIDDLER AMD BATMAN!! I love paul dano in general but God he was so good even though he only had like 15min of screentime throughout the 3hr movie. Zoë Kravitz fucking killed it as Catwoman. Can't forget #daddyoz literally amazing. "what's black and blue and dead all, over? yyyoOOUUU." Bussin soundtrack, got me back into Nirvana tbh. I love the casting for Carmine, wait no I take that back. I love the casting for the whole movie, it was absolutely spectacular 👌. S tier

Anyway that's all guys, if you want to hear my rankings for other movies just ask and I can put them all into a big post. I can put this into picture format if yall want to see it but I'm too lazy to do it rn.

[telltalebatman]

7 from the grumpy prompts for pinnguin pls c:

this is set in a very convoluted arkhamverse au that exists only in my heart, basically what if the events of my bat game were also a part of the rocksteady arkham series canon. what if rocksteady pengy was MY pengy lmao

7. “I can never say ‘no’ to you, can I?”

Penguin's men paid her a visit when she was visiting her cousin in Blüdhaven.

Or rather: they kidnapped her from her cousin's home, in the middle of the day. By no means was that her first rodeo; she knew what to expect the moment she opened the front door and looked at their faces. One of them - barely out of boyhood - she even recognized; Richter, they called him. A nice kid; good with computers. Used to be a part of the Riddler's crew - until Nygma grew jealous of Richter's intellectual potential and tried to get him killed.

As they pulled out a sack to put over her head, Charlie only sighed.

"Just a moment, boys," she said, turning around. "Annie," she called out to her cousin. "Don't worry. Don't tell Nightwing. Okay," she added, turning back to face the men outside. "Proceed."

By all means, they were cautious with her; gentle, even. Probably way gentler than they'd be had she not been known as their boss's flame.

Finally - after a lengthy, bumpy ride - she was lead out of the car, sat in a chair, and had the sack pulled off her head cautiously, as to not disturb her hair; and as she blinked a few times, her eyes trying to adjust to the bright light - Penguin, her beloved, patted her on the shoulder gently.

"Good to see you, darling," he said softly. "Now, I... Probably should apologize."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "You should. I mean, really, Oswald? You could've just texted me. Or did your phone explode again?" she added, rolling her eyes angrily; to be fair, his phone exploding wasn't even his fault. Black Mask had Riddler program Oswald's phone to explode after receiving a text from her; and it did - except one thing Mask and Riddler failed to anticipate was the phone not being held by the Penguin as the text arrived. "Annie's son wanted to play Minecraft with me."

"And have you snatched away by that glowstick twerp? Na-ah-ah," Oswald said, shaking his head. "Not a chance."

"Right, 'cause Nightwing's known to torture his suspects," she said, rolling her eyes again. "Worst he can do is talk my ears off."

can he though? i'm used to men who never shut up. case in point: a certain bird-loving arms dealer.

"I know you're mad," he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head with his hand; and Charlie pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and looked away. Yeah - she was mad. Not about the kidnapping - that was expected. But the very reason she even was in Blüdhaven to begin with - was because she needed a breath of fresh air. After knowing Oswald for years, after sticking with him through thick and thin, after getting herself locked up in the Arkham City for him, getting kidnapped by the Joker, by Black Mask, by Victor Zsasz, by Riddler, by Bane, by Two Face, and countless other individuals who wanted to either get under Penguin's skin, or get to him, or any combination of the two, she thought she knows him. She thought they have built their relationship on honesty, on loyalty, on trust... Up until she found out that for the past months, Oswald - her beloved, the man for whom she dived headfirst into the unknown, the one for whom she risked it all - had been working with Thomas fucking Elliott. A man who hadn't just try to kill her - but literally eat her still beating heart too. He tried - and failed - to marry her mother; he tried to drive both Charlie and Eleanor insane. Hell hath no fury like an incel scorned; and Thomas was a shining example. "Charlie..."

"What?" she said, avoiding Oswald's apologetic gaze. "I'm all fucking ears, Oz."

"I've been selling him faulty weapons," Oswald said pleadingly; and Charlie had to stop herself from looking at him in disbelief. "All rigged to explode."

"Yeah?" she said, finally looking at him; and he looked back at her, and he looked a bit like a kicked puppy in the rain. "Funny how it's been six months of you two working together and nothing had exploded in his face yet."

"That's because I had to earn his trust first," Oswald said in a low, pleading whisper; suddenly, he got down on his knees, put his hands on her knees, and looked up at her; and her heart broke a little as she saw the shadows under his eyes, and his slightly sunken cheeks. "But it's going to happen any time now. The bastard's going down."

"Yeah, right," she said with a doubtful scowl. "Did you really have me kidnapped just to tell me this?"

The corners of Oswald's lips twitched slightly; and she wanted to yell and strangle him, as she instantly knew that he knows she has already mostly forgiven him. How could she not? She wasn't the only one who had risked everything for the two of them to work; back when he was sent to the Arkham City, the crime that cemented his sentence was him covering up for her killing a man in self-defense. Being in a relationship with someone normal and not a fellow criminal was always a risk; because the allure of having a normal life was always there. He had worked hard on earning her devotion; and as years had passed - she had made peace with the fact that he was the only one for her.

But then again - it did piss her off a bit that he knew that.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I wanted to look you in the eye too. Also, I... I have a favor to ask."

ah. there it fucking is.

"No," she replied immediately; hear him out, her heart sang. "No dice."

"Come on, luv," he said pleadingly. "Please?"

"No," she repeated; the walls of her defiance were already crumbling. "Forget it. I'm done being your bait. No."

In the end - after many rounds of pleading and negotiating - she did hear him out; and she did agree to his - somewhat ludicrous - plan of using her as a bait and a negotiator for Poison Ivy. And she did allow him to kiss her, even though she kept her arms crossed and her lips pursed; but as he kissed her, and his hands caressed her - one thing lead to another, and before she knew it, they were both naked.

"I can never say no to you," she breathed out with a gasp as his lips explored her neck. "Damn you, Oswald. Damn you and your words."

"I love you too, darling," he whispered back, his breath hot against her skin. "Quiet now. Wouldn't want my boys to hear us."

you owe me much more than a quick fuck, oz. this is gonna cost you at least three chocolate soufflés... my love.

[zooterchet]

How to Develop My “Arch”

An “arch”, is any writer’s guide, teaching you how to write a medium (not a genre, a political aim), for law in courts, the space between observation, and rules, the components and rules combined between observation and rules, a secondary state wherein the external and the rules are stripped from view of argument.

In other words, the amicus curae is impossible, the consultation from historian, the undergraduate in education, the parole officer, and the master’s in history, the concreted abstract, is the same, with the remand upon state to prevent past disaster researched through class taken as 500, undergraduate, and TA’s program, introductory, the shift to repeal upon common worker in reformed.

You can draw these from “arches”, in my background, as an example, a resource economics (commodities, anti-Italian), world history (Catholic Crusades, pre-law ACLU anti-Saddamist), and creative writing (clerk, insurance issues, sales upon register).

Batman (MI-6 orphan), Green Arrow (MI-6 affair with President), Hellblazer (drug dealer butler Anglican), Arthur (King of Nine Kingdoms, Ireland, Britain, France), Joker (Friend to Clan Ally, the Jew, INTERPOL/KGB), Mordred/Starscream (Pierre the Coward, British Spy in the Third Crusade), Captain Blackbeard/Mad Hatter/Superman/Joker (Self-Scribe, Edward Thatch, lying journalist), Cobra Trooper (C-17, John Charlie), Puck (Williams Theater House, Globe Theatre, Research Writer), Hollywood/Film Freak/Maltese Falcon (John Markham, Jehovah's Witnesses, Theater Spy), Robin Hood (Ares Gypsy, Lairdship, the Morguesmaster), Wolverine (James Hewlett O'Neill Logan, Ace Comics Writer, Minnesota, KIA, Korean War, sperm stolen to Marie Paradis, grandmother), Victor Zsasz (Combat Magazine, Marie Paradis, Research Theory, New England), Raoul Silva (Self, Class Election Prank, Republican, Heterosexual Class Council Candidate, Nazi, pro-Tory).

Each one of those, has an easy Wikipedia reference of related characters, to place in any space, through information given to barred defense attorney, with actual written character removed, hence the “carpentry”, the brace, upon the “arch”, the masonry, obscured, to defeat the Freemasons, who demand deliberate lines, against cops and journalists and empowered women, as doctors and spies and internationalists, interchangeable.

[honeysidesarchived]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part ii.

word count: 9.2k

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

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.

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

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

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

Roman did not like sharing his things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want to what?”

“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—stairs, my darling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roman?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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

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

But there was only one man he wanted to see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just saying.”

“Well just say you’ll do it.”

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

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

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

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

The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.

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

“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.

“The surest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it chocolate?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—pass with flying colors.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did not notice.”

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think he is boring.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

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

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

“My man, is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You see? That is already too much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Varya.”

“Surely you do not mean to.”

“V,” he snapped.

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Varya replied.

“No,” Roman insisted.

“Romy, there’s a guest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These things take patience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asked flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”

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

“I do not think so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman sighed, quite pleased.

Back to normal.

[howl-fantasies]

Very special talent

A/N - So! Since I'm back from the dead, let's work here on this lovely request sent by @flaysthings : "Is there anyway you can do another Oswald x assassin/hitwoman reader?? Yet more in the romantic side? You can do whatever you want, but can the reader be the more dominant one? It doesn't have to be smut, but reader is just more in control 😅"

In this OS, the reader is not in relationship with Victor. She’s Oswald’s trusted hitwoman and work alongside Zsasz from time to time, but that’s it. I didn’t wrote smut here, I was on a fluff spree but kept the reader being the more dominant one, Oswald being the cute simp and dork we all know and like ❤

I hope you’ll like it :). 

Warning : bad words, mention of violence, torture, Gotham - yeah it’s a warning in a way 🤷‍♀️ - English mistakes, it’s not my first language, I’m working on it. 

Word count : 2,505

“Excuse me, come again?” Asked the standing woman, her bored tone betrayed nothing of her surprise if she had any. Seated just in front of her on a crate in the back of Fish’s ex club, Penguin sighed with his face in his hands. 

His shoulders were pretty tensed and she could clearly see his growing distress, just looking at how he rubbed his hands on his forehead. 

“I said, Fish escaped! Pay more attention Y/N! Victor called this morning to inform me. And since Butch didn’t come to work today, I suppose he was the one who broke her free!” He snapped, only to see her blink, not bothered the slightest by his terrible mood. 

He was truly amazed by her capacity to stay calm when he yelled, threaten or break everything around him. Like she always did, she just stay silent and wait for him to collect himself, her eyes now looking absentmindedly at something on his left, indicating she was somewhere in her beautifully complex mind, maybe analysing what he told her and how to act knowing Fish Mooney would probably be somewhere, plotting something against him. 

She had to blink a few times when Oswald’s fingers snapped a few centimeters away from her face and focused on him again. “Happy to see you back, my dear. Care to share what took you away from our current major crisis?” Asked Cobblepot harshly, not really liking to be the only one to panic right now. She couldn’t help herself and chuckled a bit seeing his frustration taking the best of him. 

“Relax, Oswald. The mean Fish isn’t behind you pointing a gun on the back of your head”, She chuckled again and didn’t resist the need to tease the little man in front of her who jolted like the thunder had just stroke him and glared at her, seeming ready to behead her with a broken glass bottle. 

“Relax? RELAX? Are you losing it Y/N?!” He asked, making a disbelieving face, like he was at this very moment questioning her sanity. “HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO RELAX WHEN FISH IS PLANNING TO KILL ME WITH ONE OF MY CLOSEST GOON, WOMAN?!” He yelled so loud she could see the walls shake. 

Y/N sighed deeply and suddenly put her hands on his shoulders to stop his ranting and furious movements. “Enough.” She demanded in a very cold voice, which surprised him so much he froze. Never before the woman talked to him like this. 

She also rarely touched him. His astonishment reached another level though, when he felt her hands move from his shoulders to both of his cheeks, holding his face so she was able to look him straight in the eyes.

“Oswald.” She spoke in a commanding tone. He only gulped, too shocked to answer and not really sure about what to say or how to act with the woman’s face now very close to his. His blue eyes, couldn’t help but note the intensity of the e/c one pinning him on his spot. 

“I said, relax.” She continued. “Fish doesn’t have any ally in town right now. She can’t do anything for the moment. And since she’s an intelligent woman, she will try to flee far away from the city to wait until things cool down.” She slowly nodded, as an encouragement for him to do the same. Which he did. She had a point. 

“Now Butch, said the woman, isn’t really a problem. Victor told me a bit about how he conditioned his mind last time. Since he’s good at what he does, I think Butch would still be obliged to obey you. So you’ll just have to order him to do something conflicting, like killing that bitch, and he would be struggling between his loyalty to you and her. He would be literally unable to do anything. Isn’t it great?” She beamed. 

This piece of information made him frown a bit. “I don’t know if I should be glad or highly disturb by the fact that Victor and you talked about torture as if you were chatting about the weather...” He muttered, making her shrug a bit. 

“Well just be grateful I could stomach it and learnt a possibly valuable thing”, She sighed, slowly moving away from him and making him regret the warmth of her hands and the comforting effect they had on him. 

He would never tell the hitwoman, but her cool-tempered personality always helped him to calm down and focus his sharp mind on the next steps of their survival instead of throwing the china all around the room. Yes, THEIR survival. 

He would never tell her that too, but he she was one of the few he could really trust to have his back, maybe the closest he had to a friend with Ed and sometimes Jim. 

Even if Y/N and Oswald’s official collaboration started a few months ago when Carmine Falcone asked her to be his personal body guard, assassin or whatever he wanted, they already met and had the occasion to work together, her being the Godfather’s emissary to collect informations about Maroni, Fish and Nikolaï from him. 

Contrary to the three of them, she always was polite with him, really was interested in his answer when she asked him how he was feeling, being a double...triple...quadruple? agent and even a few times offered him her help if he needed it. 

When he asked her if Carmine was the reason why she was so “kind” - as much as one could ever be in a city like good old Gotham -, she grinned sadistically before laughing, pretty hard at that.

He took offense, he remembered, but she explained him her generosity wasn’t because of Falcone. In fact, she talked about three reasons she had to act like she did with him. 

First, she knew what game he was playing with the main underworld’s protagonists, and thought he played it remarkably well knowing the constant poor hand he seemed to have. 

Second, because she saw the pure intelligence he tried to hide behind his weak reactions and persona. “Don’t get me wrong, without the element of surprise, you would be dead in a fight.” She said. “I know it but more importantly, you’re clever enough to know it too, Mr Cobblepot, I respect you greatly for that. And since you’re aware surprise is one of your best weapons, you always find a way to create one with this brilliant mind of yours, it’s a very special talent you have here.” 

If he was a flustered mess after her praise, he definitely created a very new shade of red when came her final reason : “I don’t know why and can’t really explain it but I seem to have a soft spot for you, my dear.” He wasn’t able to articulate an intelligible word for a long time after her absolutely illogical last explanation. 

Oswald wasn’t stupid, he knew pretty well good looking women like this one wouldn’t really want to flirt with him. He wasn’t strikingly beautiful, didn’t have tons of money to woo them with, like he suspected Carmine did with that Liza girl at first, before investigating her case, and didn’t have that much power at this time. So hearing someone as Y/N saying she had a soft spot for him confused him beyond measure.

Fingers snapped in front of his face brought him back to present. “Welcome back boss, care to share what took you far away from our major crisis?” She mocked with a mischievous grin when she saw him paying attention again. Oswald perfectly felt his cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment as well as his ears and his neck. 

He had to clear his throat once to be sure his voice wouldn’t fail him and make him more ridiculous in front of the woman, who spoke again. “Someone was thinking about something inappropriate or are you simply catching a cold with your sorry ass seated on a poor crate in the back of your brand new HQ?” She teased, looming a bit and worsening his flustered state. 

“Dont use those foul words Y/N! it’s not ladylike!” He snapped, jumping on the scolding excuse to avoid having to explain where his thoughts drove him a minute ago. “But you have a point here, ma chère, I’m not going to stay prostrated here waiting for everything I work so hard to have to collapse because of Fish and Butch escape.” He said while gritting his teeth. 

In a second, he was on his feet, grabbing her hand  without even realizing it, and pull her out of the room until they reached the main office of the club. Now, he had to think and fast, to be able to secure his new position and ensure Fish ex men wouldn’t try to turn against him when they would hear Falcone lost her. 

He limped to the huge leather armchair and graciously sat on it, one of his hand curled in a fist under his chin while the fingers of the other rhythmically tapped on the polished wooden desk in front of him. 

Next to him, on his right, she was standing, waiting patiently for the inevitable to come : “Y/N.” He called, after ten good minutes, turning slowly to be able to look at her properly. 

She didn’t answer but was attentive, he could tell, judging by how her body slightly leaned towards him. “Go find all Fish’s ex allies, make sure they’ll stay loyal to me. I trust you to make an offer they can’t refuse.” He said with a cunning and vicious grin growing on his face. 

She mimicked him, her answer only being the clicking sound of the security of her gun being lifted and a little mocking reverence. As she was turning away, she had to stop when he spoke again. “And Y/N. I want regular updates of your progress on this task, don’t you dare missing a text or a call”, he threatened. 

His demand was a first. Oftentimes, he just ordered and knew she would obey and succeed. His sudden paranoia earned him a raised brow from her, then a sadistic grin and a low “Worrying for me boss? Aren’t you the cutest?” She couldn’t help but tease. 

Though, her jest didn’t make him blush and screech like an angry bird as it would usually do. Instead, Cobblepot piercing blue eyes found hers, their intensity surprising her. “It’s the two of us now, Y/N. Fish, Maroni, even Falcone, they are all waiting for a false move from us to annihilate us.” He said in a low tone. 

She nodded once. “I know, Oswald. But they’ll have to beat me first if they want to reach you. Even Falcone. I told you once, I perfectly know what throne you are aiming in this little game of yours, and I decided to join your side. 

“No threat from Maroni, no plot from Fish and no order from Falcone would make me change my mind. At this point, not even Zsasz’s conditioning could. I said I would protect and help you and I will. Until you or I die, which would be pretty difficult to achieve to be honest, I’ll follow you, so don’t worry too much.”

He didn’t move, or blush, or even talk for a long minute, but she could tell he had something more to add from the way his lips were moving. “Please, Y/N”, He finally spoke, his voice now weaker and his eyes glassier, “don’t do anything reckless.” He pleaded. 

“Don’t die on me and let me alone in this beautiful but cruel city, you’re one of my most precious friend and I can’t stand the mere idea of walking in the dark all alone.” He muttered, now looking at his hands. 

She was stunned. He absolutely took her off guard. If she usually couldn’t stand whiny, clingy and too emotional people, it never bothered her when it was Oswald. 

Y/N blinked a bit and finally sighed deeply, walking back to him, still watching his limbs like the dork she knew he was. 

The man nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt one of her warm hands on his left shoulder, the other stroking his right cheek. And he nearly died when he saw her lean towards his face until her lips touched his left cheek. 

He loudly gasped and by reflex, turned his head to be able to face the reason of his surprise, only for his nose to bump against hers and his eyes to open widely noticing the close proximity of their faces.

“Careful now Os, I don’t think you’re ready to take the next step here”, She purred a bit mockingly but with one of her rare soft smiles. He wasn’t, indeed. God, He wasn’t even able to describe what happened a second before and what was happening inside of his twisted head. 

Though, he was perfectly able to describe how his heart skipped a beat when she moved up a bit to be able to kiss the tip of his nose. “Maybe another day, uh? Got some potential foes to deal with” She teased again, slowly moving away from him but never breaking eye contact, enjoying how his entire face was now bright red way too much. 

“Wha-w-why d-did y-you do-...” He stuttered like an idiot, watching her turning the door handle. She threw him a last glance with the most mesmerizing shit-eating grin he had ever seen.

“Seems like you used your very special talent on me, brilliantly taking me by surprise.” She said, leaving the room and earing a “Who took who by surprise here Y/N?!” which made her chuckle. He was really too cute for his own good.

She only took a few steps outside before feeling her phone buzzing inside of her back pocket. 

-------------------- 1 New Message ------------------

Oswald

Conversation isn’t over, Y/N. 

...

Be careful outside. 

... 

Again don’t do anything reckless.

...

Call me if things go south. 

... 

Or Jim if I can’t answer. 

... 

But I will. 

... 

I’ll find a doctor. Just in case you’re injured. 

... 

Come back as soon as you finish. 

--

Y/N 

Aren’t you the most lovely gem? ❤

...

Should be back for your goodnight kiss. If not, morning kisses then. Take care 😘

------------ End of message -------

She chuckled imagining the poor man all flustered in his office, with his red face held between his hands, throwing all the proper insults he knew at her. Well, she always liked a good challenge. 

And Oswald Cobblepot oblivious and stubborn mind was one of the most appealing she ever face. Oh and how she planned to win this one, she thought as a crooked grin she couldn’t control bloomed on her face. He was just too adorable for his own good. 

--

A/N - I hope you liked it! Have a beautiful day/night my dear and take care 💐🥰