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masquenoire · 2 years

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◎ 𝙻𝙴𝚃'𝚂 𝙳𝙾 𝙰 𝚆𝙴𝙸𝚁𝙳 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE.

Exactly what you’d expect a high-end businessman living in the lap of luxury to smell like. Roman never goes anywhere without applying good cologne first, generally preferring stronger, more ‘masculine’ aromas with undertones of citrus, salt and cedar. These scents he finds invigorating, their refreshing fragrances helping to cover up more unpleasant odours he might accrue by the end of the day. During nights he’s been very busy, you can expect a much more metallic edge consisting of blood, gunmetal, smoke and leather.

HOW THEY SLEEP. SLEEPING POSITION. SCHEDULE. ETC…

Below average given his level of activity and stress. Roman is a poor sleeper and is considered lucky to get a whole six hours in. He sleeps lightly on and off throughout the day, catnapping during quieter moments so he can power on through longer, more demanding periods at night without needing to rest. He rarely sleeps long enough to enter the REM stage unless adequately exhausted to which he’ll drop down on his bed and sleep dreamlessly until hours have passed. His sleeping position can range from on his back to tossing and turning like a rotisserie chicken, kicking off the covers and getting up to pull them back on when he gets too cold. In Roman’s mind, he always needs to be ‘ready’ for action somehow. The few times he does get proper sleep is while he’s locked up at Arkham, the medics needing to sedate him for the first few days to calm his rages and ensure he stays still long enough to recover from beatings at the hands of Batman (or whoever bested him). After this initial ‘cooling off’ period, Roman is calmer, even docile for a time but invariably his tolerance to being drugged increases, rendering long-term sedation as a poor way to manage him as a patient.

WHAT MUSIC THEY ENJOY.

Roman listened to a lot of music growing up, his parents favouring classical music and traditional opera while they were still alive. He neither loves nor hates it, finding it to provide a pleasant enough ambience while conducting business or simply having it playing in the background while working. He much prefers modern albums, whatever’s popular at the time with jazzy, upbeat tunes and lyrics. The more cheerful the song, the more entertaining (and ironic) he finds listening to it while subjecting an unfortunate victim to torture. He’ll whistle, hum and sing along to what’s playing over their screams, tutting at their refusal to sing along. So rude.

HOW MUCH TIME THEY SPEND GETTING READY EACH MORNING.

Moderate. Roman prides himself in his appearance and will spend as long as necessary grooming himself in the bathroom until satisfied with how he’s presented. He’ll change out of his bedclothes, selecting a clean suit to wear that day but not before taking a shower and seeing to his basic needs first. Brushing his teeth, clipping his nails, applying moisterizer and cologne to his skin can all add up depending on how meticulous he’s feeling that day but usually he’ll be dressed about 30-40 minutes upon waking.

FAVOURITE THING TO COLLECT.

Other than masks, Roman enjoys collecting as a hobby overall given his hedonistic impulses. Fine suits, silken ties, leather shoes, expensive alcohol and vintage bottle of wines are just a few of the things he’s collected over the years but one of the few things people aren’t usually aware of is his habit of collecting instruments of torture. Some of these objects appear quite normal if strangely out of place at times like pliers, drills, hammers and masking tape to more dubious objects like rope, saws and other items commonly used for restraining people. Very few other than those closest to Roman know of his most private collection, random items belonging to former victims and stashed away as gruesome trophies.

LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED.

Right-handed but proficient enough with his left to be considered ambidextrous.

FAVOURITE SPORT(S).

While not typically interested in sports, Roman does enjoy both watching (and participating) in boxing. It’s renowned as the most difficult and physically intensive of sports for good reason, requiring not only strength but excellent footwork, hand-to-eye coordination and a sense of balance to succeed. The raw physical aspect of sparring with an opponent combined with it’s inherently violent nature excites him far more than most conventional sports featuring teams he doesn’t care about playing ‘nicely‘ with their rivals.

FAVOURITE TOURISTY THING TO DO WHEN TRAVELLING.

Unlike his parents, Roman rarely ever visited anywhere outside of Gotham. Mr and Mrs. Sionis frequently left their child at home while they went holidaying alone, enjoying the fun and freedom doing so gave them while their social peers remained unaware that their child hadn’t gone along with them. At home, Roman was taken to various places such as theatres, museums, galleries and restaurants of fine dining but only to be flaunted before family acquaintances as a symbol of his parent’s social standing. As an adult, Roman would visit similar institutes but only to conduct business or to treat his lover.

FAVOURITE KIND OF WEATHER.

Calm, still weather that isn’t too hot or too cold suits him just fine. Roman doesn’t really care how the weather is on any given day but he dislikes rain if he has to be out in it. The sound of rain lashing against windows is one he does find soothing however, the steady beat of water pounding against glass providing atmospheric background noise over Gotham’s traffic and the sounds of people yelling outside on the streets.

WEIRD / OBSCURE FEAR THEY HAVE.

It’s not quite Scoptophobia but Roman feels decidedly uncomfortable when somebody stares at him for longer than is necessary. The feeling of being scrutinized was something he experienced far too often growing up, a feeling exacerbated further by his parents constantly judging him for his behaviour and looks while parading him before their high society friends at extravagant events. Roman hated having anybody look at him back then, having to pretend he didn’t for the sake of his parent’s social standing. Now that he’s a grown man Roman’s gotten a lot better at handling it, his facial features concealed behind the comforting embrace of his signature mask but every now and again, the sensation of being ‘stared at’ can be so intense he’ll turn paintings, photographs, magazines and even mirrors over just so he doesn’t feel like he’s being ‘observed’ so strongly. His henchmen aren’t aware of this habit; Roman knows it’s irrational so he never mentions anything other than his rule being never to stare at him too long. One punch is usually enough to convince those that didn’t listen the first time.

THE CARNIVAL / ARCADE GAME THEY ALWAYS WIN WITHOUT FAIL.

Roman considers himself above going to such places... but if he did, he’d be excellent at games that require accuracy and good hand-to-eye coordination. Shooting galleries, ring toss, bowling pin knockdown - games like these suit him best, though he’d much prefer shooting actual bullets over shooting baseballs and soft darts.

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Tagged By. @arkhampsychiatrist (Thank you very much Ciar! ♡)

Tagging. @caestusvulpes and whoever else would like to do it?

#( 💀 ♮ DASHBOARD DECEPTION ♮ | memes )#( 💀 ♮ UNMASKED MALICE ♮ | headcanons )#torture mention cw #torture mention tw #Nothing particularly graphic but it's there #Roman isn't a very nice man #This was a lot of fun to write though!#Perfect warm up before I go tackle those drafts #Helps a lot with fleshing out some smaller details of his past #tl;dr Mr and Mrs. Sionis were awful parents

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 6 months

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Every time I learn something new about Batman: War Games I lose my mind a little bit more cause just, just fuckin, look okay so here's the thing:

Stephanie Brown tries to implement a contingency plan of Bruce's just after he fires her from being Robin and because of that gets tortured to (almost) death and no one knows she survived.

THIS STORY RUNS IN THE NEWS:

So, you know, anyone who might be paying even half a fucking ounce of attention to news about ROBINS would definitely absolutely notice this!!!

And then very very soon afterwards Jason comes back and specifically targets Black Mask to ruin the criminal empire he tortured Stephanie to get

As a way to torment Bruce about the fact that he doesn't take care of the nastiest criminals and they continue killing people

And how Jason should have been the last to die

and SOMEHOW

these two things are in no way related and Jason has nothing to do with or say about Stephanie Brown, fellow Robin, fellow martyred soldier, fellow child dead due to Bruce related villains.

HOLY DEAD SIDEKICKS BATMAN, DO YOU COMPREHEND THE MAGNITUDE OF MISSED OPPORTUNITIES HERE????

please walk with me down a timeline in which:

Lost Days Jason at first just tries to go after the Joker and can't because who he's really mad at is Bruce.

Then he sees Who Really Killed Stephanie Brown and the utter horror of another Robin dying on Bruce's watch (not just dying, but tortured to death!) is what convinces him to try to straight up kill Bruce via car bomb

Roman Sionis is no longer merely a tool against Batman, but another figure to demand vengeance be brought upon, another attempt to give Bruce a chance to right his wrongs and do what needs to be done

The confrontation with him and the Joker being all the more tragic due to how obvious Bruce's answer would have to be once Jason knows Bruce isn't going to avenge Stephanie either

Does Jason, once he escapes the rubble after UtRH is over, kill Black Mask anyways? Does he decide to avenge her himself? Or does he think that she too would demand that of Bruce, and find his death by a different hand unsatisfactory?

If he doesn't kill Black Mask, then when Steph is back, I feel confident he approaches her, tries to reach out to the other dead Robin, almost certainly makes the offer now that he can ask her. Does she take him up on it, gaining an ally and slipping into a far darker role? Does she instead refuse, either appealing to forgiveness or far more interestingly refusing both vengeance and forgiveness? How would Jason handle a refusal, which I gut instinct feel is more likely?

If he does kill Black Mask, then when Steph is back Jason drops his corpse at her feet like a loving housecat with a dead lizard and she has to grapple with her feelings about having someone really and truly avenge her!!! Like how DO you react to someone who you have been warned is wildly dangerous and mentally unstable coming up to you and saying, "I'm glad you're back, like me. I'm sorry you're back, like me. I made sure you could rest knowing he was dead, because I know what it feels like."

Like no matter how each character reacted to this happening there would be so much high stakes emotional shit to explore with both of them!! Revenge I feel like is such a pivotal thing for both characters, they mirror each other in so so many ways, they could be really interesting together if DC would just fucking let them!!!

Jason had a criminal father who he missed and wanted to avenge. Stephanie had a criminal father who she wanted vengeance on.

Jason started off as a fairly gentle soul who progressively became more violent and more hopeless as he was exposed to genuine horrors during his time as Robin. Stephanie starts off violent, angry and rash and finds her own courage and hope through her time as a crime fighter despite of the horrors she's been through.

Jason went to Africa and died there after Bruce failed to save him. Stephanie was taken to Africa via a fake death in order to save her from Bruce and the vigilante lifestyle.

I just...

There's just...

There's SO MUCH HERE I am genuinely fucking confused as to how this is not all deliberate?? And it's all just left on the cutting room floor because for no reason apparent to me they all just decided Stephanie and Jason were not gonna interact!

AAGHHHH!

#jason todd #stephanie brown #dc comics #damian's tomfoolery

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recreationalfanfics · 11 months

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Yandere! Roman Sionis x Reader

Note: I have a huge crush on Roman Sionis (not the BoP version) so I wanted to try my hand at writing him <3 Also, I am going with the version where he can take the mask off.

Roman Sionis was a lot of things.

He was a trust fund kid who relied on daddy’s money all his life until he decided to take that money for himself.

He was a horrible business man so he turned into a mob boss, you know, as you do.

He was a whack job who had a sick and twisted obsession with you and was currently holding you captive.

But you honestly think that the worst part about him was that he was incredibly snarky and condescending. To you at least, his countless victims would most likely complain about his sadistic and brutal torture methods, but you doubt that you’d ever experience that for yourself. Mostly because Roman knew how to psychologically torture people in other ways.

“There we go, don’t you feel all pretty now?” He hummed, tilting his masked face and speaking in a way that made you know he was smirking.

The scene is tense for everyone. His gangsters stand behind the other tailors who are sobbing quietly as they sit on one knee, you can feel the uneasiness of the two tailors behind you as they silently pray and beg repentance for every sin they’ve committed, but what makes it worse is that all eyes are on you. You want to avoid speaking, one of Roman’s favorite pastimes is to find a way to misinterpret your words on purpose so he could have an excuse to kill someone, to guilt you into thinking that you were the one who condemned them to death despite him pulling the trigger. You feel your stomach churn, knowing that someone was going to die for Roman’s own amusement, and he knew it too.

“C’mon, give Daddy a twirl, yeah?” He hums.

Daddy.

You scrunch your nose in disgust. You absolutely hated it when he called himself that, it made you want to shrink into yourself, and rip your ears off so you’d never have to hear him say it again. He probably knew you hated it too, guessing by the way he chuckled at your incredibly obvious reaction, and it’s probably the only reason why he says it. Still, you do as he says because you have no choice and try to twirl for him enthusiastically. The last time you tried to be nonchalant about a gift as a form of subtle protest was when you were getting fitted for a ring, that resulted in one person losing their life and the employees getting all of their ring fingers cut off, and you know what Roman said to justify/blame it on you?

“You deserve only the best, sweetheart. If they can’t give it to you, then I don’t think they should be alive.”

Maybe in another life, where you were an equally depraved criminal, you would’ve found his words to be genuine and sweet. However, you knew that Roman Sionis was incapable of being genuine and sweet, and that this was another one of his mind games. A warning for future reference that if you wanna try and resist him, even in the most tiniest and insignificant ways, he will not stand for it.

“Absolutely stunning.” He praises, standing up to walk towards you.

You resist the urge to step away from him, no matter how strong it may be, because you know that’s another way to get someone killed. Instead you stand there, obediently like the good spouse you were, and don’t flinch when he brings a gloved hand to the diamond necklace around your neck.

“But you know me, I’m a sucker for you wearing anything expensive,” He says, almost in a tender tone as if there was some truth to his words, but you don’t think about that. Instead, you think about his next sentence:

“What do you think about it?”

You gulp and you look up at him, your eyes silently begging him not to do this to you. Not to make you have to stand outside the shop as you hear gunshots and crying, shamelessly throwing his arm around you with small droplets of blood decorating his nice white suit, and leaving you lying away from his body as your haunted by what you could have done differently even if you knew Roman wouldn’t have let you. His dark eyes stare back at you with nothing but a mischievous glee and you were on higher alert than ever.

“I love it!” You say, forcing your best smile and cheery tone.

He fidgets with your necklace between his fingers, his eyes now studying the way the diamond sparkles rather than your incredibly unconvincing expression, and he just says: “Yeah? That right?”

Still, you nod eagerly and continue to try and guess what he wants to hear: “Yeah, it looks really good on me, I think! I really like the style, a-and the material, and the uh-” You lose your train of thought as he slowly lets go of the diamond hanging from the sterling silver chain, letting it fall back down to your chest as he slowly starts to walk behind you, and the goosebumps start to rise on your skin. You didn’t like this, you didn’t like this at all, but you still tried your best to keep going, “the, um, the color is nice.”

“The color, hm?” He mumbles, his hands gently massaging your shoulders as he lowers his mouth (or where it’s supposed to be) next to your ear, “You sure about the color, sweet thing?”

You nod your head again, giving a shrill “mhm!” because your words are dying in your throat. You hated it when he got too close like this, it made you nervous, and you wanted him to get away from you. You wanted to push him off, to scream and run, but you also knew you couldn’t do that. His silence made the very blood in your veins run cold but set your mind on fire as you were trying to figure out how to salvage this already doomed moment.

“Really? Because you hate this color.” Roman states, his hands moving from your shoulders to your waist.

Someone’s sobs become a little louder than the rest and when Roman turns his head to look at them, you quickly turn around to face him again and put your hands on his chest. It does what you intended it to do because his eyes are back on you.

“I changed my mind!”

“Nah, I don’t think you did. If I recall, you absolutely hate this color because it reminds you of me.”

There’s an edge to his voice now, a petty “gotcha” kind of one. He wasn’t wrong, though, because he tried to give you something in the same horrendous color early on when he abducted you and you blew him off. Saying how you wouldn’t want something so gross and so…him. You gulp, realizing two things: 1. Roman had an excellent memory regarding you and 2. You just lied to his face.

And he hated it even more when you lied.

You stammer out apologies and excuses, anything that could help the situation but he steps away from you before taking out his concealed gun. One of the workers lets out a fearful cry and tries to back away but one his False Facers comes and grabs them by their shoulders, walking closer towards Roman despite the fearful protest of the poor innocent civilian. They were going to be the first one to die.

“I mean, c’mon, none of ya had the decency to look at how unhappy they were when they saw the color? None of you guys stopped to ask them what was wrong and fix it and put a smile on their precious little face?” He shakes his head as he loads his weapon. They beg for their lives as you try to plead with the devil himself.

“Roman, please, they probably didn’t want to go against you! Th-They knew that you knew best and I- I promise I love this color-”

You sound so pathetic, yipping at the big dog not to use his fangs, but you had no power here. No one did except for Roman Sionis, a man who never did anything other than to get more power for himself and to make others miserable, even the one he claimed to love the most.

Then it hits you.

Your body reacts faster than your mind as you take the fleeting opportunity to have one hand grab his mask and the other to grab his tie. Not even Roman was aware of what was happening as he tensed up the moment he felt your lips against his. You gripped the mask tightly in your free hand as you kept a strong hold on his tie, even pulling him closer towards you as if you were trying to chain him to you. As if forcing yourself to do this usually romantic and loving act is enough to break his need for blood. And it does.

Once Roman understands what’s going on, he drops his gun and cups your face with his hands as he kisses you back. Tilting his head to the side to deepen it and his body relaxes. You might not see it but you cloud your mind completely. His eyes stay open for a while as he sees one beautiful tear stream down your cheek before they go half lidded and he surrenders himself to this bliss.

You’re making his heart do the thing again. You did it to him the first time he met you, then you did it the second time, then so on and so forth, and here you go doing it again to him. You wonder why he’s so addicted to you, don’t worry, he does too. He wonders why he bothers with such an ungrateful little brat who doesn’t appreciate his gestures and only pays attention to the crimson that stains his hands, why he bothers with someone who sleeps on the farthest part of their bed as if Roman was some horrible monster they didn’t want to touch, but it’s times like this that he remembers why. It’s because you were the only one who could make him feel this way, who could give him a taste of what love felt like, but also made him feel so powerful when you did stuff like this as a last resort.He pulls away for air, your lips chase after him despite being out of breath as well to try and buy a little more time, but he’s just gonna tease you later and ask if he was just that damn good of a kisser.

Roman stares at you again, this time really looking at you, and his hands still cup your face gently. His pants softly under his breath as one thumb from his hand gently caresses your cheek. You stare at him with hopeful eyes and while he does love keeping you at the bottom of his heel and remind you whose in charge…he figures that this time it wouldn’t hurt to let you have your way.

“On second thought, boys,” He starts and he loves the way you edge closer to him unintentionally, “...Let ‘em go, they can be off the hook. This time.”

You let out a breath of relief but then shyly hand Roman back his mask, your hand letting go of his tie and wrapping your arm around his. As he puts on his mask, he relishes in the feeling of you resting your head on his shoulder and being more affectionate with him. Maybe you were so relieved that you managed to get through to him or maybe you were just exhausted with everything that went down but you fall asleep on his shoulder during the ride home and when he’s done admiring the sight, he gently puts his head on top of yours.

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stupid-sloot-headcanons · 6 months

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Also speaking of Black Mask, he won't torture his Darling and he won't hit them unless he's giving them a spanking or smack during rougher sex. His form of punishment or cruelty with them is either sexual, or he tortures people they care about. If they tried to run off, the first time he gives them a warning. The second time, they've betrayed him. And even if he loves them, nobody crosses Roman Sionis. He's finding two people they care about, bringing them to the penthouse, and forcing them to pick which one he beats the living shit out of. And once he finishes, he has Darling apologize to the one who got beaten. After all, if they hadn't tried to fuck him over, then their friend wouldn't be bleeding like this.

As rough as he can get when he's all riled up during sex, he takes such good care of his Darling afterwards. They get pampered and treated like a queen, he guides them to take a bath, he brings in a masseuse to work on them in his penthouse, and he praises them for being so good to him. He loves the masochistic ones but he also loves the crybabies who try so SO hard to not break down when he gets a little too "excited".

#.dc #.arkhamverse #.arkham knight #.black mask #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #.myshit #yandere dc #yandere arkhamverse #yandere arkham knight #yandere black mask

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gilverrwrites · 11 days

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Morning After

Black Mask/Reader, 1.5K words

Request Info || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

AN: This is a slightly updated repost of a fic I wrote in 2016. This is the only time I've ever written Roman with a removable mask.

You overhear a discussion not meant for your ears, the morning after hooking up with Roman Sionis. Rating: 18+

CWs: Swearing, graphic mentions of torture & death, death threats, mentions of sex, suggestions of drinking, manipulation, (mild) blood.

Please remember: You can do anything you set your mind to.

“I always knew we couldn’t trust that bastard. Call Tupeng, send him down to that backstabbing bastard home and make him pay for ever crossing me.” “Y-yes Boss, but what would you like ‘em to do to ‘em.” “Burn him, skin him, skin his whole damn family for all I care, just make it hurt. Make that pig regret ever squealing on us.”

Your hand clasped over your mouth but not before a startled gasp escaped your lips. What had you gotten yourself into? When you’d gone home with Roman Sionis for the night, you knew he was dangerous. Truthfully it was exhilarating to know you were in bed with someone so influential, so wicked, but you were suddenly realising that being close to his world was maybe a little more then you could handle.

When silence fell from the other side of the door you knew you were trouble. They’d heard you, they must of. Hastily, you scurried across the room to the window, hoping to make some kind of escape, the view from the window reminding you that you were on the third floor. Panicked, you began to search for a hiding place, only to be stopped dead in your tracks as the bedroom door was wrenched open.

What you saw next nearly shook you to the core. You’d recognise Romans white suit pants anywhere, you knew the way his muscles flexed beneath his tight black shirt, and even the white tie was familiar. It was the chiseled black skull that sat over his face that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You! You’re Black Mask!?” You stutter, attempting to get a grip on yourself. You’d heard rumours about this man, you’d seen his hard wooden face on the news, but you never actually thought you’d be standing face to face with him. More importantly, you never thought you’d wake up one morning to discover you’d slept with one of Gotham’s most notorious felons. The very idea of it simultaneously terrified and excited you in ways you knew were wrong.

Roman seemingly takes no mind to your realisation as he closes the door behind him and begins to focus on rolling down the sleeves of his shirt.

“Oh god. I knew you were… But THIS! This is… oh my god.” You wrapped your arms around your chest. The cotton of the shirt you’d stolen from him to sleep in now acted like a morbid comfort blanket.

Fastening the last button on the cuff of his dress shirt, Roman finally looked up at you.

“Exactly how long where you listening to that conversation?” His tone was abrasive, the mask did little to muffle out any of his anger and suddenly you remembered what was going on.

“I-I- only the end. I swear. I don’t even know who you were talking about. I promise.” You stammer. “I woke up and you weren’t here so, so I got up to look for you and as I reached the door, I heard you talking outside. That’s it. I-I didn’t mean to listen, I promise.”

The gangster didn’t say anything for what seemed like forever, he just stared, the subtle rise and fall of his chest being the only sign that he wasn’t a statue. You had no way of knowing what he was thinking.

“I believe you, Sweetheart.” He finally spoke up. His voice much calmer this time, the petname soothing you slightly. “I do.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, finally willing yourself to stop shaking.

“But,” he continued as he walked across the wooden chair situated in the corner of the bed. Suddenly, you remembered the loaded gun holster he’d left there last night, and your heart skipped a beat. With one hand he scooped up the leather holders and with the other he gestures for you to approach. “You’ve already heard what happens to snitches. How do I know you won’t go straight to the heat with this information? How do I know you won’t rat me out if the feds start asking questions? I don’t wanna see that good-looking face of yours get all cut up.”

By the time you were standing beside him you’d begun to shake again, even more so when he handed you the holster. Unsure what to do with it you held it at arms lengths, eyeing it warily. When Roman turned his back to you and stretched out his arms you figure that he wanted you to put him it on him. Cautiously you began to thread the straps over his arms.

“Well? Are you gonna answer me?” Roman prompted, shrugging his shoulders to make the holster sit a little more comfortably. You’d been so focused on the guns dangling in your hands that you’d forgotten he’d asked you anything. “I can’t have you wondering around when you know that kind information. Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not, I would never tell, I swear to you I won’t tell anyone. I promise and I would never break a promise.” You repeat the words under your breath as you step around him, your fingers brush against his chest as you reach to clasp the holster together at the front, only to discover that there is not clasp. You scrunch you nose up in confusion before a warm hand clasp around your chin and direct your face upwards.

A sense of dread fills in your chest as your stand directly in front of the famed Black Mask. The faint smell of polish fills your nose. He seems completely inhuman to you. You hear the stifled sound of him humming beneath the mask as his hand works across your chin, stoking your cheek before his fingers began to run through your hair.

You like the feel of his fingers, the way they move against your skin. Last night you’d been surprised to discover how soft they were, even as they’d dominantly explored every inch of your body. Memories of the night before ran through your head and sent a shiver down your spine. You’d be lying if you said last night wasn’t one of the greatest nights of your life, and before all this you’d considered leaving him your phone number. Now there was a voice in your head that keeps telling you what an idiot you are for ever falling into bed with this criminal. On the other hand, there was an undeniable attraction that made you weak at the knees, regardless of who he was or what he’d done. Besides, you’d already figured that Roman was involved with some dodgy stuff. His menacing attitude and ferociousness had been a big factor in what had attracted you to him in the first place.

Nervously, you looked up at him, wanting to make eye contact, only to be met with those unseemly shadowed out eye sockets. You sucked in a breath when you felt his free hand slide around your waist, roughly pulling you against his chest. You tasted the wood of the mask before you knew it was coming. The smell of would polish stinging your nose as he pressed the cold hard lips of the mask against yours. Briefly, you were taken back by this action, before you let go and kissed back, ignoring the swelling from last night’s kissing, you pecking the solid surface before pulling back.

Roman’s chest rumbled slightly, you heard an amused scoff come from beneath the mask before he untangled his hand from your hair to push the mask away from his face and resting it in the top of his head. Your lips twitch into a small smile when you can finally see his deep brown eyes. You notice a predatory glint, as he smirks back at you, before pressing his lips against yours. You the taste of last night’s alcohol was gone, but you welcomed the smoky wood flavours that filled your mouth. Gingerly, you rubbed his chest and he replied by be nipping at your bottom lip before, drawing blood and eliciting a quiet moan from you.

All too soon he pulled away, a look of self-satisfaction plastered across his face. Lifting one hand to your mouth, he wiped a small drop of blood onto his thumb before pressing it between your parted lips. Catching the hit, you dated your tongue out to lick up the coppery liquid. Once your tongue was back inside your mouth, he removed his thumb and replaced it with his knuckles. Gently pressing them against you bottom lip, and watching you expectantly. Less confidently you puckered your lips, lightly kissing each point, knowing this was considered a sign of respect or appreciation.

Once you’d kissed each knuckle, he pulled back his hand, releasing you from his hold and stepping back to retrieve his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He pulled the fabric on with ease then strutted across the room. Bewildered by the sudden change of event you simply stood and watched as he pulled the door open before turning to you.

“Catch you later, Doll—lock the door behind me, yeah?” He grinned, shooting you a sly wink before pulling the mask back down. With that he exited, closing the door behind him.

#black mask x reader #roman sionis x reader #black mak #roman sionis #gilverrwrites #black mask imagine #roman sionis imagine #scheduled post

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like-rain-or-confetti · 1 year

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Top 5

Scientist/engineer unknowingly answers a job wanted ad to build a super weapon or whatever, and rather than be scared off once they are told what the machine is, they just keep building because $200 is $200

Two hundred is two hundred

So it turns out getting certain people to build a machine that will be used in their downfall is actually easier than the rogue thought. After all... two hundred dollars is two hundred dollars.

The Riddler: "I just told you that I want you to build me a machine that will rob half the city of necessary resources and you're...going to do it? Just like that?" He looked at you skeptically. "Make it six hundred and I'll have it done in a week." You countered. That was nothing but the Riddler was still perplexed. Sure the lowest of the low stayed in Gotham but surely it couldn't be this easy. "Actually no, give me two thousand and within two weeks I will have two built of each half of Gotham if you desire and you're buying my silence. No questions asked." "Done!" The Riddler said quickly and you grinned.

Scarecrow: "So you want me to double this toxin stuff for two hundred dollars?" You scrutinised the recipe for Gotham's torment. You nodded with a shrug. "Sure. I'm going to need to do it in my off time though, you know, so there's no questions." "Very well." Scarecrow said. He didn't remark on your willingness. He was very aware of the power an extra two hundred dollars could have, especially on the likes of those in Gotham. He decided to not question further in case you'd change your mind.

Two-Face: You inspected the guns. "Yeah, the installments are possible. They shouldn't be difficult at all actually. I can do it for two hundred." He nodded "Deal." "Just don't tell me what you plan to use them for yeah?" "Perfect." His replied, his voice lower. "So you want scopes, thermal and laser?" You said as you took note of the adjustments. "You got it." His gravelly voice spoke again. You nodded. "Alright, I'll have these by the end of the week." "If you tell anyone, I'll find out." He warned. "Tell them what? A guy came in asking for his gun to be altered and paid me for it? That's hardly illegal here. I don't know what you're doing with it. Keep it that way."

Black Mask: "So you basically want a torture device? A big one." You eyed the paper in your hands. "Yup." You couldn't see his face behind the mask but his voice made it apparent that he took pleasure in the thought. Two hundred was definitely not enough but considering Roman freaking Sionis was the one who was asking, you were lucky he was offering anything nevermind asking. "Okay. You got it. Do you want it by a specific date? Obviously I'll be keeping this project rather discreet to be sure of no wandering eyes. "I want it by the end of the month." Roman replied. "Keep your mouth shut and I won't use you as a tester before being rid of you." You nodded, fearful. "Understood."

Mad Hatter: It was rather unexpected that he didn't have to hypnotise you. Something he was prepared to do if you refused his offer. "So to be clear, you want ten of these devices?" "Yes! Yes! I'll handle the rest from there" Jervis smiled at the idea of the hats he'd make. They were only testers but Jervis nearly trembled with the excitement. You nodded. "Alright. I should have these done by the end of the month." You replied. "Thank you kindly for your services." Jervis smiled.

#request #batman #batman villains #batman scenarios #the riddler #two face #scarecrow #black mask #mad hatter #edward nygma #jonathan crane #harvey dent #roman sionis #jervis tetch

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gothamstodd · 11 months

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would it make me famous if I break down in the press? (3697 words) by gothamstodd Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Characters: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Roman Sionis, Barbara Gordon Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Torture, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Kinda, he's trying, pathetic bruce wayne, the fact that that's not a tag smh, Complicated Relationships, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Hurt Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Public Torture, black mask being a cop out villian for hurt jason stories, Bad Things Happen Bingo, pov: bruce, third person but from his perspective Series: Part 3 of bad things happen bingo Summary: Bruce gets word from Barbara that there's a live video of Red Hood circling the internet, but it's not shaky footage captured by an awed citizen, it's a well-produced video of Black Mask torturing his son. bthb prompt "public torture" requested by @verytiredtrashcan - thanks!!

"A weight settles in Bruce’s gut like a stone, unrelenting and dreadful. Jason’s head is dropping forward, blood dripping from his mouth in a sluggish stream into his lap. He isn’t given much time to recover before the butt of a gun is swung hard into his cheekbone. His head whips to the side with it, but he doesn’t make a sound, chin lolling back to its position dropped against his chest. Bruce doesn’t have the volume on, but he sees Black Mask turn back toward the camera, laughter open-mouthed and cruel.

'Take a good look, Crime Alley.' Bruce reads his lips. Mask reaches around and grasps Jason by his hair, dragging his head back to show off a bloodied and swollen face to the camera, domino off kilter and expression blank, 'This is your hero?'"

#bad things happen bingo #bthb #jason todd #jason todd whump #hurt jason todd #prompt: public torture #public torture #blood #dc comics #dcu

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thatthirdtriplet · 2 months

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Relationship:

Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Characters:

Jason Todd Tim Drake Roman Sionis

Additional Tags:

Whomp Jason Todd is Red Hood Tim Drake is Red Robin hurt Tim Drake hurt Jason Todd hurt No Comfort angst kidnapping hostage Situations torture electric Shock Torture made to watch unhappy Ending Jason Todd Needs A Hug Tim Drake Needs a Hug Tim Drake Whomp Jason Todd Whump Febuwhump Protective Jason Todd

Summary:

Jason stared at his brother with wide eyes. Tim, noticing this, mouthed, “it’s okay,” as if that would make Jason feel any better. It was not okay. Tim was being tortured because of Jason—because Black Mask hated Jason.

[...]

Jason could only watch as Tim’s body tensed before his entire body started trembling with spasms. But he didn’t scream—he didn’t whimper, he didn’t even breathe.

Febuwhump 2024 - Alt. Prompt 1, Human Shield

#tim drake #jason todd #roman sionis #'Cause you all try to keep me down

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years

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Love Potion - Roman Sionis X GN Reader

Title: Love Potion

Roman Sionis X GN Reader

Part 1 (Could be read alone)

Additional Characters: F/N, (OC) Fergus, (OC) Beth, (OC) Claire, (OC) Charles, (OC) Sosha, Victor Zsasz, Mr. Morganson (Mentioned), and Mr. Koil (Mentioned)

WC: 2,380

Warnings: Not as good as the first fic, Roman, slightly suggestive, blink-and-you-miss-it mention of torture/death, alcohol, and slightly ooc Roman

It has been a couple weeks since you went to the Black Mask with your friends. Here you were, sipping a Love Potion cocktail, in the same booth with your friends. They were all slightly shocked that you even suggested going out to the club in the first place, but after your meeting with the Roman Sionis, they got the picture. You're not one for the spotlight, and being around other people makes you nervous. But, the idea of seeing Roman made the nervousness worth it.

You, this time around, bought your own outfit a week prior to asking your friends to come with you. You wore a black suit, paired with the same black, heeled boots. The jacket was tight and showed off your figure nicely which you liked. Underneath, you wore an elegant sheer black blouse featuring a dramatic bow-tie neckline and cuffed long sleeves, with a plain black spaghetti-strap top under that. You felt confident in the outfit, and when you walked into the club, unlike last time, you didn't feel too uneasy.

Looking around the club, you tried to spy as to where Roman was. But, you found him, sitting at a booth, not too far away. He was wearing a black suit with gold details, and instead of his glasses, he had on black eyeliner. Which pleasantly surprised you. He was talking with two men at the booth, his eyes were harsh as he looked at the men, a deep frown on his face. Whatever they were talking about, Roman was not happy about it. He huffed, raking a gloved hand through his hair.

You wondered what his hair felt like if you ran your fingers through it. Would it be as soft as it looked?

"You are smitten, Y/N." F/N teased from beside you, nudging your side.

Blushing, you quickly looked away, taking a quick sip of your drink. "I am?" You asked softly.

F/N nodded, smiling. "Yes, you are." They whispered. "He's quite the charmer."

You bit your lip, "He is." You agreed.

"We know you only wanted to come to see him, right?" Sosha spoke and you just shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

"Well, I'm glad we came," Claire smiled, and the others agreed, nodding.

Looking back to where Roman was, you frowned slightly, he was gone. And so were the two men.

The night went on quite nicely, you had almost finished your drink. You hung back at the booth with Sosha while F/N, Fergus, Charles, Beth, and Claire went to the bar for more drinks. Sosha turned to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"I'm heading to the bathroom, don't have too much fun without me." She spoke before sliding out of the booth and towards the bathrooms.

You sighed, feeling a bit nervous now that you were alone. You sat there, listening to the music, sipping your drink.

"You came back..."

At the sound of his voice, you looked up, finding Roman standing beside you.

"I did." You spoke softly.

"Did you come by yourself?" He asked, before sitting across from you.

You shook your head, "No, my friends are over there." You pointed to the bar, where you could see them all laughing.

Roman's eyes followed your finger, "They're having a good time."

You nodded, "Yeah, they are."

His gaze lingered on yours for a moment, before he stood up, offering you his gloved hand.

"Well, they can't have all the fun, now can they?" He asked, giving you a charming smile.

You took his hand, biting your lip as he once again led you to the dance floor, and again changing the music to a more slow one. As he pulled you close, you felt butterflies in your stomach, and your heart raced. He took your hand that was already in his and held it in the air beside you two, and with his other, he wrapped it around your waist. You slowly slid your hand up onto his shoulder, loving the feeling of the fabric of his suit against your skin.

|<>| |<>| |<>|

"What made you come back?" He asked slowly, staring into your eyes.

You bit your lip, "I... I couldn't stay away." You admitted, looking down.

Roman smirked, leaning in and placing his cheek against yours. You could feel his stubble tickle your cheek.

"Good." His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers through you.

You hesitantly leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. You felt his arm that was wrapped around you, pulling you closer. You closed your eyes, enjoying the closeness.

"You like it here, don't you?" He whispered into your ear.

You nodded, "It's nice." You murmured back, tilting your head to look up at him.

His lips curved into a smile, and he kissed your forehead.

"I'm glad." He spoke softly.

"Are you?" You questioned, tilting your head.

"I am." He confirmed.

He moved his hand from your waist, and slid them slowly up your back, pulling you in tighter. You could feel his breath against your face, and the heat radiating off of him. He was intoxicating. Looking at you up and down, Roman sighed breathly.

"You look amazing," Roman spoke softly with half-lidded eyes, wetting his bottom lip.

You blushed, "Thank you."

"Your friends won't notice you're gone, will they?" He asked and you turned to look at your friends, who were still at the bar, laughing.

"No, probably not for a while." You answered.

Roman chuckled, "Then, let's go." Roman spoke, and he led you away from the dance floor.

Following him into an elevator, you noticed he was still holding your hand. Roman pushed the third-floor button, and the doors shut.

"Where are we going?" You asked curiously.

"To my penthouse," Roman replied, his voice low.

You blinked, "Oh, okay." Becoming a bit more nervous.

The elevator opened, and Roman stepped out. You looked around in awe, the walls were a nice dark cream color, and a way in front of you was a long table, and around the room were masks and humanoid statues of various kinds. Roman pulled you along beside him, giving you a little tour of the masks and art around the room.

"Here is a shrunken head I got on my most recent trip. It's just so ew, but he has a little haircut." He spoke, causing you to giggle lightly.

You just loved his personality.

Continuing the tour, arm placed around your waist securely, he brought you over to his plethora of statues.

"These are some of my acupuncture models," Roman spoke, pointing at them.

"Interesting." You spoke before looking over at the statue of Roman himself.

You were incredibly impressed by the workmanship of the piece. The detail was amazing, and it was a full-sized statue. Roman had a small smile on his face, and you felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

"It's incredible..." You muttered and Roman nodded.

"I'm glad you think so." He replied, his tone gentle.

He walked you into the living area, and there you saw a large red couch. Roman went over to the couch, sitting down and pulling you down beside him. Turning towards you, he placed his arm across the back of the couch, his gloved hand playing with the strands of your hair.

"So, tell me, Y/N," Roman spoke softly, his eyes staring into yours. "About yourself..."

You blushed, "I'm uhm... I went to college for art, got my MFA a few years ago, and I like to read." You told him, and he nodded, a smirk growing on his face.

"Art, you say?" Roman questioned, his voice low and husky.

You nodded, "Yeah, I love to paint." You admitted.

Leaning in closer, Roman couldn't look away from you. "I so happen to have a blank wall that needs a little something," Roman spoke, his breath hot against your skin.

You swallowed thickly, your pulse racing as Roman continued to stare into your eyes.

"An art piece from you would be lovely," Roman whispered.

You felt your heart skip a beat, "Are you sure?" You questioned, your voice a bit shaky.

"One hundred percent," Roman stated simply, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"Why me?" You asked, your voice coming out more breathy than you expected.

Roman chuckled, "Because, I want you to be mine."

"Yours?" You asked, confused.

You've only met him twice, but you felt something when you looked at him. You felt like he was the only person who understood you, or maybe he was the only one who wanted to understand you. You weren't sure. All you knew was that you wanted to spend more time with him, and if he wanted to see you, then you'd do whatever it took to make that happen.

"Yes, Y/N. Mine." Roman stated firmly.

This was all happening so fast, but you couldn't pull away. You were completely caught up in him, in his presence.

"I don’t understand" You spoke, speechless, and Roman smirked, his thumb moving to your chin, tilting your head up.

"It’s simple, I can’t stop thinking about you, and I want to know everything about you," Roman spoke, his eyes darkening.

You bit your lip, "Okay."

"And I want you to know everything about me," Roman added.

You nodded, "I'd like that."

Roman leaned in, nose brushing against yours. He smelled faintly of cologne and his natural musk, but also something else, something sweet and inviting. Roman placed his hand behind your neck, pulling you closer, and you tilted your head up, looking into his deep, green eyes.

"I really like you, Y/N," Roman spoke, his voice low and seductive.

"I like you too." You replied, leaning in closer.

Roman was just about to close the remaining gap when the man with bleached blonde buzzed hair came in.

"I... Uh... Sorry, boss, but uh Mr. Morganson and Mr. Koil are downstairs."

You pulled back, completely embarrassed and Roman sighed frustratedly, closing his eyes he breathed out an angry sigh.

"Fine, fine," he growled, opening his eyes and looking at you. "I have to get to some business, darling. I'll take you back to your friends." He spoke and your eyes widened slightly.

You forgot about them.

Helping you up off the couch, Roman walked you over to the elevator, pausing at the man.

"Take the back stairs, keep them company while I'm gone." He seethed and the man nodded and quickly headed down to the back stairs.

Once the elevator door opened, the two of you walked in. Roman pressed the button for the first floor and you looked up at him. He was standing there, hands on his hips, his jaw clenched tightly. You took a step towards him, and he sighed, turning to face you.

"I'm sorry," He spoke softly.

You shook your head, "It's alright."

"It isn't." He spoke, and you frowned.

You were slightly disappointed. You really wanted to kiss him. Biting your lip, you eyed the number three turn into a two. You have time.

Taking a deep breath, it was either now or never. "Roman?"

Roman turned to you as you softly placed a hand on his cheek, his eyes widened slightly, his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. Roman leaned in and gently kissed you, his lips soft against yours. You brought your hand up, wrapping it around his neck and gently tugging on his hair. It was as soft as you thought it would be.

He broke off the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes locked on yours.

"Will I see you again?" He asked, grabbing your hand, and bringing it up to his lips before kissing it softly.

"Maybe," You answered softly.

He smirked, "Good."

The elevator doors opened and Roman led you back to your table where all your friends sat. F/N immediately turned, eyes widening a smirk on their face.

"There you are! We've been looking for you." They exclaimed.

"Sorry," You apologized, rubbing your arm, embarrassed.

F/N was still smiling at you, "We were wondering what happened to you." She spoke, looking between you and Roman.

"I have to get back to business, you all have a good night," Roman spoke to your group before turning to you.

"I'll see you later, my darling." He spoke, bringing his hand up to brush his finger against your bottom lip.

You smiled at him, "I hope so."

He winked, and turned away from you, walking off back towards the elevator. You watched him leave, feeling a strange sense of disappointment.

"So, did you enjoy yourself?" Sosha teased, as you sat down.

You nodded, "Yeah, I guess so." You answered.

F/N and Fergus both laughed, "Well? What happened?" F/N asked.

You shrugged, "Nothing much, we danced and he gave me a tour of his penthouse."

F/N's eyes grew wide, "You didn't?" She asked, looking shocked.

You nodded, "Yes, he showed me his masks and acupuncture models."

F/N smirked, nudging you, "That's not the only tour you got. I saw the way he was looking at you."

You blushed, "What look?"

F/N rolled her eyes, "You know exactly what look I mean."

You just sighed, crossing your arms, face red in embarrassment.

"Nothing happened, if that's what you're alluding to." You spoke, trying to play it cool.

"You know he's a player, right?" Claire asked, sipping her drink. "I've seen it. He loves the attention."

"I didn't seem like it when he was just with me. You spoke, your thoughts becoming conflicted.

Before you or your friends could say anything else, you got a tap on the shoulder. Looking up beside you stood the almost awkward man with the buzzed hair.

"The boss said to give this to you." He spoke, handing you a small note before rushing off.

"What does it say?" Fergus asked and you shrugged, flipping it over.

"It's from Roman." You spoke, silently reading the note to yourself.

'Thank you for spending time with me, love. I will be waiting for you. -R. '

Your heart skipped a beat, "Well, it seems I just can’t stay away.” A smirk on your face and a glint in your eyes.

#roman sionis #cute #fluff #roman sionis x gn reader #roman sionis x y/n #roman sionis x you #gn reader #flirting #slight ooc #dc universe #part 2 #black mask #black mask imagine #black mask club #oc friends

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40-years-of-robin-ii · 1 year

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✨✨DAY THREE!✨✨

Check out the amazing works and de sure to leave kudos and comments for our lovely, awesome participants! 🎁🎉

1. Discovered for a_posteriori [Fic - Gift, Explicit, Major Character Death]

Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Eddie Bloomberg/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Rose Wilson, Roman Sionis/Jason Todd

Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Civilian Jason Todd, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Unrequited Lust, Trans Jason Todd, American Regency, Alternate Universe - Regency, Regency Romance, Hurt Jason Todd, Angst with a Happy Ending, Transphobia, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Roman Sionis Dies, Jason Todd Lives, Opium, Navajo Roy Harper

Summary: Jason finds himself planted right in the middle of the country side at a boarding school at the end of the 1810's. With a plethora of people to meet and subjects in which to fall in love with, Jason faces a dilemma of identity.

2. We all need some loving for safelycapricious [Fic - Gift, Mature, Creator Chose Not To Warn, No Archive Warnings Apply]

Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Jason Todd, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Jason Todd, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Natasha Romanov (Marvel)Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Damian Wayne is Robin, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, sweats and hoodies are a super hero best friend, very comfy, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Summary: Jason and Gotham don't always mix, luckily he's got two people he can rely on after all is said and done.

3. In Virtue for itsmeyaboi_redacted1 [Fic - Gift, Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death]

Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Tags: Implied/Referenced Torture, Blood and Injury, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Good Sibling Dick Grayson

Summary: ‘For a long moment Dick just stands there, gun pointed at what’s left of the Joker’s face, chest heaving, soot-blackened features twisted with fury.’For the prompt ‘Red Hood succeeds in killing the Joker, although he did not expect Nightwing to be such a team player.’

4. Today in Space Adventures for CaptainDeadShips [Fic - Gift, Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply]

Relationships: Roy Harper & Koriand’r & Jason Todd

Tags: Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Minor Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Angst, Arguing, Friendship, Space Pirates, Outer Space, Mutant Trafficking, Missions Gone Wrong, Tim Drake is a Menace, Brothers, Collars, Restraints, Aliens, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Mentioned Lian Harper, Off-World

Summary: An Off World Investigation goes horribly wrong when Starfire crashes into a moon.

5. in the presence of absolute evil when you only have a juice box in your arsenal for the_grande_dame [Fic - Gift, Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply]

Relationships: Batfamily Members & Jason Todd

Tags: All-Blades (DCU), Humor, Chemical Soup - Freeform, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain are The Batgirls, juice boxes as weapons, Batfamily (DCU)

Summary: Soon-to-be-publicly-resurrected Jason Todd has a trick (glowing copper blades that are on fire and do his crime lord intimidation for him) up his sleeve. Also, isn't it a little too strong to call a wannabe Black Mask "absolute evil"?

#Jason Todd #40 Years of Jason Todd #40th Anniversary of Jason Todd #exchange #day three

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thegreatwicked · 1 year

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Shadows of Deception Chapter One

The Great Wicked

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

Notes: Yes, I do know Roman Sionis is a bad guy. No, I do not care. Yes, I am absolutely simping over Evan McGreggors portrayal. Setting is not quite the Birds of Prey universe but Roman is definitely a criminal but not quite a sadistic crime lord like he is in the comics. Doni favor one shots? Yes I do, but this would be perhaps the longest one shot in history so it will be a chaptered story. Let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters.

Final Note: This story is not meant for minors, you alone are responsible for what you consume on the internet. Minors DNI. I do not consent to having my work translated or posted elsewhere but please feel free to reblog.

Shackles by Steven Rodriguez

The night was supposed to start with a slinky dress that hadn’t seen a night out in months, some overpriced drinks that could be made for cheaper at home and end what she had hoped to be a memorable, hot and very irresponsible one night stand with the first gorgeous stranger she clicked with. She wasn’t looking for Mr. Right, just Mr. Tonight. The worst she expected was a bad DJ, a disappointing romp in the sack and a hangover. Instead it ended with gunshots, the smell of sulfur, threats of torture and several dead bodies at her feet.

It wasn’t like she’d snuck beyond the door for ‘employees only’ because she was looking for some fun. Hardly, she was just trying to disappear from a creep who thought he was hotter than he was. He’d followed her from one end of the bar to the other insisting on buying her drinks. She turned him down each time and she wasn’t subtle or polite about it. No vague “I’m waiting on friends” or “I’m not really thirsty” she told him to his face multiple times that she’d rather die of thirst than to take any drink he offered, but it didn’t deter him at all. He was the type of guy who was a few years older than he let on, wore cologne to hide the fact that he was too lazy to shower before going out and probably couldn’t find the clitoris with both hands and a map. There wasn’t a suit nice enough to cover the cringe nor was there enough liquor in the universe.

Wherever she went, he had followed. If she were on the dance floor somehow he found her, hiding in the bathroom? He was right outside. She had been dying for a smoke but there was no way in hell she was going outside where he could corner her. And he’d made it only too clear on what he’d been interested in when she decided to ditch him for good. Sure, she shouldn’t have been there but she just wanted to lose the guy. The back of the house seemed as good an option as any.

The door didn’t have a lock, it was a simple handle and it only took her a split second to slip past it. A quick but maybe not the best decision but she didn’t have a ton of options. Rejecting a man was dangerous at the best of times and she was alone in a club in a wealthy part of town where a cosmo cost nearly twenty dollars. But a man where it hurts; his dick or his wallet and no telling what these types would do.

The door had no windows so she couldn’t tell if he was right behind her but she instead decided on rounding a corner just in case he stuck his head in. Maybe it would have been better if she’d just kneed him in the crotch and run like hell. The closest corner to duck behind was at the end of a fairly long hall leading to a storage area. Her high heels clutched firmly in her hand as she ran barefoot down the corridor to avoid making any noise. It worked a little too well, unfortunately and not in any way that benefited her in the long run.

Several seconds of silence passed as she glanced back down the hall sticking out as little as possible with only the sound of her slightly hurried breathing. No sign of the guy, several seconds turned into a few minutes of dead silence but something about it was wrong, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and as soon as she turned around, the reason became clear. That horrible cold sensation ran down her back and settled in the pit of her stomach.

Shit.

Whatever she walked in on, she wasn't meant to see, and the three men there were just as surprised to see her. Two guys looked like laborers and their expressions went from shock to anger very quickly. One pulled out a box cutter, the other reached for a length of pipe. The last one to turn and face her set off every internal alarm she had, everything about him was bad.

From his ill fitted suit to his greasy slicked back hair to the hand gun in his waistband.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

He shook his head as he stepped towards her, he couldn’t pull off a sympathetic look if his life depended on it. Shame, because hers did.

“Bad timing lady…”

“You’re telling me.” Her voice was hardly a whisper and the words hadn’t left her lips when she dropped her shoes and turned to bolt back the way she came. Shouts followed her, and the sound of heavy boots and shoes on the ground echoed loudly.

She had no idea where she was and in her panic, the simple hall back to the club's main floor had been erased from her memory. She took several turns hoping to run into anyone but also dreading running into anyone, she had no idea if those men were the only ones who would be after her.

The sound of shoes faded and she chanced a look back but saw no one, her furious heartbeat hammered in her chest. She was alone.

Maybe they’d gotten scared and run off, afraid of being discovered while pursuing her.

Time to go home.

It would have been a great idea if she hadn’t turned another corner and walked into a solid mass of man. Rough hands grabbed at her arms and pulled her back down the hall. She shrieked and flailed, kicking her legs out, not knowing or seeing all that well what she was aiming for. Panic flooded her chest as her fight or flight kicked into overdrive.

A hand quickly clamped over her mouth as she was dragged back down the corridor kicking and trying to break the iron grip on her arms. Not that she thought anyone could honestly hear her, the music was muffled from the main dance floor which gave her little chance of being heard.

The guy in the suit was waiting for her, and he looked pissed. He leaned against a table with plastic bags of powder spread on it and a briefcase of cash in plain view. She was no narcotics cop but she knew drugs when she saw them.

She flew like a rag doll against a wall with such force that knocked the wind right out of her. Her lungs clawed for air trying to catch up with what had just happened. As quickly as she scrambled back into a sitting position and managed to get a breath in, he was standing there.

One thumb tucked into his pocket looking down at her like a disappointed parent. He was the type of guy who liked looking down on people but was probably too low on the totem pole to get to do it too often. He wore gold jewelry and not in a tasteful way, gold rings, gold watch, gold chain necklace. From a distance he could have just been a guy in a bad suit, up close he looked like an extra from the movie the Goodfellas or a Mr. T reject.

His smile was very off putting because it wasn’t a real smile. “Should have stuck to the dance floor.” There was only one door that she could reach and it was an emergency exit. The way she had come in was blocked by the two men. He watched her eyes flicker to the emergency exit and shook his head and actually gave an audible tsk, tsk, tsk. When the exit wasn’t an option she frantically searched the room for something, anything. “You know, if a sign says employees only, maybe you should stay on the other side of the door it’s on.”

He probably thought he had the upper hand, thought she was too scared to do anything or try anything, she was scared shitless but not enough to do nothing. The two men behind him chuckled and he turned to nod to them. She had seen the gun on his waistband, and before she realized exactly what she was doing, her arm shot out and miraculously found purchase with the cold steel of the grip. She jerked her hand back, the gun went off and an odd sense of disassociation came over her.

The room smelled like sulfur and the barrel was smoking and in an instant she had somehow managed to fire off three shots. The suit monkey in front of her was on his back clutching his side, blood flowing from where she had just shot him, looking up at her in disbelief.

His accomplices couldn’t be of much help, one bullet struck one man in the leg just below the knee, the other in the hip.

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

Fight had turned to flight and as quickly as she could, she made a dash for the way she’d come in and again, ran into another hard body.

This guy was different. He wasn’t like the other men, a grip of steel shot out and grabbed the gun that had still been clutched in her hand, aiming towards the ceiling away from any potential targets. Another shot went off before it was wrenched from her hand, she yelped. Another arm wrapped itself over her chest, keeping her from getting away.

“What in the fuck is this?” The voice was angry and dangerous and when he called out to someone else she realized he wasn’t alone. “Take this.” His other arm now free of the gun kept her caged against his body and she had even less room to maneuver. “For fucks sake, stop struggling already!” He tossed her to the ground into a corner, her head smacking against the cinderblock wall.

“Looks like quite the party back here.” Another voice, and something mechanical sounding, the gun. “Well, she won’t be winning any marksman competitions anytime soon but three out of four isn’t bad.” It must have been the little birdies and stars dancing around her head but there was an air of lightheartedness to his voice and she couldn’t tell if it was comforting or concerning. Things either weren’t as bad as they seemed or they were far worse.

“Jesus Christ, look at this mess…” The first man sounded less angry now and more likely he was inconvenienced, like he was running late to a meeting. “What’s going on here, Jimmy?”

Jimmy, the guy she shot? Yeah, he looked like a Jimmy, he was bleeding out but despite that, he didn’t look even remotely concerned until the guy in the suit spoke to him and only then he looked up at him with a look of fear in his eyes. Like his greatest nightmare had stepped out of his subconscious. He tried to choke out words but nothing short of a garbled response was audible.

“Uh, boss?”

“What is it, Zsasz?” Zsasz? What the hell kind of name was that? Sounded like a cult leader.

“We’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

“What could possibly be worse than-“ he stopped dead and his body stilled in a concerning way. The man he’d called Zsasz, who she could finally see properly now was standing next to the table holding up a white bag. “Fuck!”

“Looks like Cobblepots branding. Picking up some side work, Jimmy?” Zsasz looked at Jimmy with pure disgust and tossed a bag to his boss, he caught it easily and examined the packet. His brow furrowed in anger and the corner of his lips turned into a snarl.

“Cobblepot?” He growled, his voice now sounding positively feral. She had no idea who these men were or what exactly was going on but she knew the name Cobblepot. Everyone knew that name. Oswald Cobblepot, drug dealer, arms supplier, owner of the Iceberg Lounge, overall a well known name in Gotham, not a man to cross. Suddenly her presence wasn’t the biggest issue in the room but the situation had gotten even more dangerous.

He stalked over to her and held the bag's contents in his gloved hand and looked down at her. Several tense moments passed, his face gave little away in terms of what he was thinking. Maybe he was trying to decide if it was more trouble to kill her, pay her to be quiet or count on fear to keep her silent. Maybe he was trying to decide where to dump her body.

“Know what this is?”

Yeah, it was probably drugs but she couldn't be more specific and she didn't want to give the impression that she knew more than she did, so she shook her head.

“No.” Something about how he spoke and looked at her gave her the impression that he preferred words to gestures. She shouldn’t have been concerned with it but now that she could see him better it was hard to ignore. He was gorgeous. Eccentric but gorgeous. Black pinstripe suit with silver accents that were giving her hard core Liberace vibes. Dark hair styled perfectly, not slicked back like the suit monkey and he was wearing rose tinted glasses. The look worked for him but the irritated look on his face was kind of spoiling the whole thing for her.

He looked to Zsasz and then back to her. She was probably much prettier when she wasn’t terrified. She reminded him of a cornered mouse. “What’s your name?” His tone was flat and uninterested.

“Belladonna Black.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking but it was difficult.

“Why are you in the back of my club?” A terrible weight dropped in her stomach and the cold feeling raced up her back.The kind you get when your body is trying to tell you that you’re in deep shit. His club? This was Roman Sionis. He was usually in the tabloids, known for having a volatile temper and little patience and extravagant tastes, now the suit and glasses made sense.

It took a minute for her lips to form words, suddenly dealing with a creepy guy wasn’t so bad compared to this. “I was trying to lose a guy in the club, I just ducked back here long enough to ditch him.”

He didn’t seem very impressed with her reasoning but he also didn’t seem like he didn’t believe her. “And it looks like you walked in on something that you weren’t supposed to see. Well, that’s unfortunate… Maybe you should have found a bouncer instead.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

“Boss?” Zsasz held out a smartphone to Roman, he looked at the phone and watched carefully, the audio was loud enough for her to recognize her own voice and the sounds of running and struggle.

Zsasz watched her with an expression that said he definitely had a plan to kill her and dispose of the body or knew the right drug to give her to make her forget this while night had happened, he was just waiting on word and that he didn’t particularly care which one happened. Zsasz was one of the most intimidating men she’d ever seen, if his stone cold sociopathic expression didn’t do it, the dozens of scars across his arms and chest as well as neck did. He had scars like most men had tattoos. His gaze was icy, suggesting that the workings of his mind were very pragmatic and matter of fact. Meanwhile Roman seemed to be having a debate in his head. He handed the phone back to Zsasz and shoved his hands in his pockets and with a tilt of his head he studied her.

“Well, look at that Angel? Looks like you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing could be more innocent.” His emphasis on the word innocent suggested he believed in the concept about as much as unicorns.

“Kill the feed.” Zsasz nodded and tapped away at the phone. “Don’t move.” He warned in a low growl then turned and walked back to Jimmy and his two men. He didn’t walk, no he stalked towards them placing a leather Italian shoe on Jimmy’s bleeding side. Jimmy half groaned, half yelped loudly, she suddenly felt kind of bad for him. “Dealing for Cobblepot in my own club…” He ran a hand through his hair before holding his hand out to Zsasz, and Zsasz gave him the gun back. “I warned you, Jimmy.” She watched as he racked a round into the chamber and fired three shots in rapid succession. Jimmy stopped moving. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out, Jimmy.” He then fired two shots into each of the men at the door and once more he handed the gun back to Zsasz. “Make the call.”

“What about her?” She was pale, eyes transfixed on the scene before her, somehow unable to move, too in shock to speak.

“Oh,” Now he sounded like someone had told him he couldn’t leave the table until his dinner was done. Like an annoyed teenager. She didn’t scream which was probably the only reason she too didn’t have a bullet in her head, or because he used them all on Jimmy and his friends. He looked around and shrugged before stepping forward taking off his rose tinted glasses. He looked her up and down now. His gaze leisurely and predatory at the same time, it gave her chills.

It seemed like he was making a mental list of pros and cons, he paced back and forth for a minute. Zsasz kept looking at her like a guard dog waiting to be let off his leash. She didn’t need to be told that the only thing holding him back from turning her into confetti was the word from Roman. “Fuck!” He groaned, “These decisions are always easier when they’re ugly…” He complained to Zsasz. Was that a compliment?

His hand again, found its way combing through his hair making a mess of the styled locks before straightening his suit collar then he finally turned to look at her.

“Clean up crew is on the way, three or four?”

“Three’s plenty. Four's a crowd.” She let out a breath in relief. It seemed like he didn’t plan on killing her. Not yet anyway. “It’s your lucky night, Angel.”

His entire demeanor changed as flashed a smile that under normal circumstances would make her swoon. It was shocking, this sudden 180 he pulled. Jesus, if not for the dead bodies and the fact that she’d just seen him shoot three people she just might be falling under his spell.

Zsasz leaned in as Roman muttered something to him. Then Zsasz nodded and walked away quickly, leaving the two of them alone. Roman offered a leather clad hand to help her up, she hesitated at first but eventually took his hand and got to her feet.

“Zsasz is going to take you home and you’re going to behave for him. You’re going to keep that pretty mouth shut about what you saw here tonight, you’re not going to say a word to anyone. Not even your cat, understand, Angel?”

“You’re letting me go?”

“For now.” He paused, “Don't misread the situation here, you’ve been a naughty girl, sneaking around here. And I should put a bullet in your head and dump you into Gotham Bay,” he uttered the last sentence with considerable venom. She shrunk back slightly but couldn’t go far as Roman was still holding onto her hand. “But I’m feeling generous tonight, as without you here I might not have found out about this disloyal employee.” He leaned in closer now, barely a breath away. “ If you speak a word of this to anyone I’ll have Zsasz string you up and slice that pretty face of yours off like a discount Halloween mask. Understand?” She nodded shakily, “Say the words, Angel.”

“I understand.”

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“Yes.” She wished her voice hadn’t come off so weak sounding but it felt like she was walking on a glass bridge that could shatter at any minute with the wrong step.

“Good girl.”

People should have warning signs around their necks, warning the public of their idiotic behavior. Belladonna’s would read ‘Do not allow to ingest tequila.’ Vodka left her feeling light and floaty, gin reminded her of seltzer water; annoyingly bland. And rum of course brought out her inner stripper, like it did for most women, everyone has a drink that does that to them. Tequila was the one that left her feeling like she’d gone five rounds in a boxing ring. Laying in her bed, with sunlight streaming through her window, she groaned and pulled the pillow over her head and immediately regretted it. The back of her head was throbbing, odd, Tequila usually left her with an all over headache, not one specific spot. Her hand threaded through her hair to ease the ache and froze when it found a considerable lump on the back of her head, she shot up in bed, sunlight be damned and felt that cold feeling again. She didn’t drink last night.

Then last night drifted into her memory, the smell of sulfur and blood, the sound of gunshots, and the feeling of being trapped. Black leather gloves. Roman Sionis. She felt like throwing up.

Then she did. Barely made it to the trashcan in time.

Her apartment was blissfully empty and nothing seemed out of place. The cold water she guzzled did little to get rid of the taste of bile in her mouth, so the first order was brushing her teeth and then maybe some more panic.

She hadn’t had anything to drink last night but she still felt hungover, could a traumatic experience do that? A quick google search suggested it wasn’t impossible and that if she felt sick then to treat it as such, but a quick inventory of her medicine cabinet found that she was seriously lacking in aspirin. If she wasn’t drunk last night, she had every intention of drinking herself stupid tonight.

But she didn’t want to leave her apartment, not after what happened. She found herself pacing her living room for the better part of the morning, uncertain of what to do. She remembered Roman's warning.

“If you speak a word of this to anyone I’ll have Zsasz string you up and slice that pretty face of yours off like a discount Halloween mask.”

On the bright side, she didn’t have a cat. She wondered why she didn’t just do what most women her age did; stay in, drink wine and watch violent slashers. Her stomach churned, maybe not a slasher, but she didn’t like romcoms, right, so documentaries it was. The urge to throw up wasn’t far behind, but there was nothing to throw up.

A quick check of her phone saw the time creeping up close to eleven, she remembered Zsasz dropping her off at her apartment around three but she wasn’t sure how long the whole thing behind the club had taken. Had she only been asleep eight hours? Could that be right? Her phone had no text messages or missed calls and the date told her it was only Saturday, so it wasn't like she’d slept all day. Christ.

Her head was pounding. There was a bodega a block away from her place, she could run in, grab some aspirin, bagels and something to drink and be good until Monday when she had work. The guy who ran the bodega was a nice old guy who she was fairly certain only spoke Korean, either way, all her past interactions suggested that he wasn’t likely to start chatting with her over hangover remedies. She nodded slowly to herself. Yeah, that was it, she’d grab some things and be done with it and get home. No harm, no foul.

Yeah, she could do this.

She grabbed her purse and slipped on some ripped jeans, a Gotham City Rogues t-shirt and some old sneakers. Throwing her hair into a messy bun and grabbing her cropped leather jacket, she didn't mean to look like she was going to start a girl rock revolution but figured she’d blend in and be just another face in the Saturday crowd. She locked her door behind her and tried to stay focused on getting to the bodega and back again without incident.

It was all fine and well until she hit the street, then the sounds of the city hit her like finding out she left the volume turned up on her headphones. She jumped as a taxi rushed past her like some kind of tourist, cringe. Then she remembered her headphones were actually in her jacket pocket, she wasn’t planning on listening to any music, but just to use them to drown out the ambient noise that she usually loved.

It was a quick brisk walk over to the shop oddly called Ernies, even though the guy who owned it was Korean, or Vietnamese, she wasn’t sure. But today was not the day to find out. Belladonna had been, at one point comfortable enough in this city to walk barefoot in it but now, every movement startled her, every car backfiring sounded like a gunshot and every person casually looking her way put her on edge. Several times she could have sworn she saw Roman Sionis or Zsasz watching her but they always turned out to be just some wall street guy in a suit or some random buff guy in a wifebeater. They smiled and winked at her which she never returned on a good day, but it was oddly comforting this time, as she didn’t think Zsasz and Roman to be the smiling and winking type.

The familiar bell over the door was comforting and as soon as she stepped into the bodega it felt like she stepped into a hug. There was a hot bar that always had hot dogs and asian finger foods that she never tried before and the smell of the foods made her briefly forget why she had come in, in the first place. It was only when she reached up to scratch her head that she remembered the aspirin.

Fifteen minutes later she had a basket with a few drinks, aspirin, fresh bagels, and a bag of m&ms. She decided to pass on the bottle of wine.

She jumped when someone spoke over her shoulder, and she tried not to panic when she saw two police officers.

“Man, I love these things!”

“What the hell are they?”

“They’re called bao, like a steamed bun with beef and onions inside. I could eat a hundred of them!”

They weren’t talking to her, just talking around her, but the information and her current situation gave her the push to try something new. She asked for two of them while the cops behind her continued on with their conversation about what awas superior foreign food or good old fashioned american hot dogs.

The guy who ran the shop gave her his usual wordless smile and she left with her two reusable bags. No conversation, no questions, no comments, and she was a ten minute walk from the safety of her apartment.

The sounds of the traffic had died down enough or she had calmed herself to the degree that they didn’t startle her anymore. She was herself again within the span of that short walk. She’d even reached into one of her bags for the fresh hot bao she’d just purchased, its smell calling to her empty stomach. It didn’t last two minutes, she hadn’t eaten since dinner last night before she went out and she was suddenly wishing she’d bout a dozen of them.

It was savory and hot and hit a spot she didn’t know she’d had, and by the time she got to her building she was even smiling.

Her door was still locked as she had left it but her sense of relief vaporized in an instant when on her coffee table she saw something that made her stomach turn. Something that hadn’t been there.

A pair of black high heels. The ones she’d been wearing last night and the headless stem of a rose.

Everyday her assistant had asked her if she ‘had a case of the Mondays’ all week, usually a harsh look was enough for Daisy, her assistant to move onto other things. But sure enough the young woman had asked her in some fashion or other everyday if she was having a bad day and it was an unfair question. She hadn’t been having a bad day, she had been having a bad week.

Spring fashion week was coming up and this was the calm before the storm. In a matter of two weeks her studio would be a madhouse of activity with agents, models, designers, and other photographers all jockeying for the best work. Personally, she hated fashion week.

She didn’t pick up a camera with the intent of taking pretty photos of rail thin models wearing expensive dresses that didn’t conform to her sense of fashion in the slightest. She’d picked up a camera because she preferred shooting objects instead of people.

And her preferred type of photography was going out of style, not too many people shot actual wet film, everything was digital. Her favorite pastime was going the way of the dinosaurs, which made her a bit old school. Or so everyone who’d ever set foot in her apartment ever told her, not too many people had their own personal darkroom.

Maybe a few hours in her darkroom this weekend would settle her down, calm her mind. It sounded like a nice and easy weekend in, and she needed nice and easy after the week she’d had.

The studio was a mess, the vanity had product all over it, the mirror covered with smudges, clothes and props strewn about. The last of the crew had left and it was just Belladonna and Daisy.

It was nice to finally have some quiet after the storm that had swept through. She busied herself with turning off lights and moving furniture back to where she preferred it while Daisy tidied up the vanities and bathroom. Some models were thoughtful and didn’t leave the place a mess, others, well, not so much.

It became apparent that Daisy had been talking to her when a hand waved over her face and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and looked at a startled Daisy, usually their evenings were filled with idle chatter but tonight she knew she wasn’t an active participant.

“Sorry, what?”

Daisy blinked, “What's got you wound up so tight?”

“Just a long day.”

“More like a long week.” Daisy muttered, “What’s going on with you? You’ve been out of it all week, it’s weird really. I’ve never seen you so… robotic.” Belladonna shook her head and shrugged. “Does this have anything to do with what happened last Friday?”

Her blood ran cold. She hadn’t said anything to Daisy about what happened, hell she didn’t even tell her she’d been out. “What do you mean?”

“The voicemail you got from Jackson?”

Jackson! Relief flooded her, and she made a mental note to cut Daisy some slack the next time she asked her if she was having a case of the Mondays. She slumped down onto the couch and groaned internally, truth be told she’s forgotten about her ex’s phone call. The thing that had prompted her to go out in the first place.

“I’m busting my ass working fifty hours a week on a good week, getting further and further away from any thought of him and then I hear he’s engaged and I’m jealous.” She released a deep held breath, “Why am I jealous?”

Her and Jacks had been steady for two years and then an on again and off again thing for over a year and their chemistry was amazing but in their last year together something always came up. In the end he would never choose her and they’d break up for a bit and then get back together. The final straw was another canceled date. She just wanted a straight answer from him about what was going to happen between them. Daisy gave her a comforting look.

“How about we go out and have some fun at a club? Grab some drinks and maybe flirt with some cute guys?”

The thought made her feel sick. She shook her head as nonchalantly as she could manage. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure? It’s Friday night in Gotham, anything can happen.”

Don’t I know it?

“No, I think I’m going to go home and binge watch Lucifer.” Daisy didn’t seem convinced, “Seriously, I am perfectly happy spending time alone.”

“Do you want me to stay and help you finish?”

“No, go enjoy your weekend while you can. We’ve got about two weeks until hell week. Go have fun.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll have a lemon drop in your honor.” She chuckled and nodded, the gesture was sweet. Daisy was a nice girl but she was a younger girl than Belladonna, almost ten years younger. Still in that clubbing, lemon drop drinking phase. She remembered those days. “See you Monday.”

Daisy gave her one final wave and went about finishing up in the studio. With Daisy gone she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She had forgotten about Jackson.

She wasn’t even sure if she missed him so much as she missed having someone in her life that she was comfortable with.

She grabbed her jacket and purse before locking up the studio and setting the panel alarm.

It was a bit late for the subway and she didn’t see any taxis so maybe walking a few blocks would help clear her head. She hadn’t gone far before she realized someone was following her.

When a hand reached out behind her she shrieked and spun in her heels.

“Belladonna Black?” Her eyes were wide in fear and as they met the disinterested faces of two men in off the rack suits and two badges made a quick appearance. “Detectives Ramirez and Craven with the GCPD, we’ve got a few questions for you.”

Chapter Two

#roman sionis smut #romansionisfanfiction #smut #fake relationship #fanfiction is life #original character #close proximity #slightly toxic #I’m the bad guy #slight power imbalance #medium burn romance #Roman Sionis original female character #18+ content #18+ only #shadows of deception #Roman Sionis toxic love fangirl club

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masquenoire · 9 months

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It's a rare day that Roman isn't storming around, threatening his men while yelling his head off or taking the scalpel to some unfortunate locked up in his torture chamber. No, Roman Sionis is resting in bed, Rocco laying across his chest and Dante pinning his legs to the mattress.

#💀 || musings #Hello my dudes it is sinday #Except Roman isn't in the mood at all LMAO #He's taking a lazy day with just his doggos #You try and get up when two massive rottweilers are sitting on you #Big dumb murder puppies <3 #I still don't feel great but I baked some cherry muffins so there's that

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ao3feed-jaytim · 1 year

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Keep the Evenings Long Crack and Break and Part Ways

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/47174698 by AgentCoop This thing between them? It’s a mistake. It’s a stupid fucking mistake, and Jason knows it, and Tim knows it, and still. Still. Tim winds up chasing him down to half his safehouses across town, sometimes in the dead of night, sometimes in the ache of early morning, always with his stupid puppy dog eyes, and his stupid fucking mouth. Always ready to make Jason forget all the reasons why what they were doing is going to end in tragedy of epic proportions. *** AKA Jason gets himself kidnapped by Black Mask's thugs, drugged, and set on the boy he loves. And Tim's not going down without a fight. Words: 2486, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Red Hood - Fandom Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Roman Sionis, Roy Harper Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protective Tim Drake, Protective Jason Todd, Lazarus Pit Mad Jason Todd, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Kidnapping, there are some cute parts too, probably far and few between, it's going to be rough, Whump, Aftermath of Torture, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Everyone Needs A Hug, everyone gets one too, eventually read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/47174698

#IFTTT #Ao3feed #Jaytim #DC

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iriswords · 1 year

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Febuwhump Day 26 - Forced to choose

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: torture, mentions of pit madness, mentions of child trafficking and child prostitution as well as adult trafficking and prostitution, implied fear of sexual assault, watching a loved one being tortured, implied child sexual assault

Fandom: Batman

Words: 4166

“Familial love,” Mask said to himself. “Such a nice thing to play with. I will never get tired of it.”

In a few days, he would be rid of the most important of the Bats. There would still be a few left to take care of, including the terrifying Black Bat, but Mask’s shoulders would be lifted from a hefty burden just by taking down these five Bats. But first, he got to have some fun.

It took five henchmen to pin Batman to the floor and effectively handcuff him. Several dozens lay unconscious on the floor, but Mask had expected the Bats’ skills and had hired nearly sixty henchmen, taking care to mention that no injury sustained during the job would be a source of financial compensation. Paying henchmen to get their injuries treated was one sure way to lose money, and Mask had only made the mistake twice before adding a new clause to his contracts. And if henchmen protested, he had no qualms about killing them.

Mask watched contentedly as his men dragged Batman out of the room and reported his attention to the three other vigilantes struggling against his men. Red Robin and Robin were already cuffed, but Nightwing was posing more problems, even though no less than six men restrained him. One thing Mask had learned and his men never listened to was that Nightwing, despite his cheer, was a strong and slippery bastard, skilled enough to take Batman in a fight if so he wished. But Mask had anticipated all those struggles, and the vigilantes could not escape him now. Not if they wanted their brother to survive.

Mask turned to the Red Hood, who was tied to a chair next to him. He was still unconscious, blood slowly rolling down his temple from the wound that had gotten him captured. He was blissfully ignorant of the half-dozen guns aimed at him. His brothers, who had foolishly come to rescue him and fallen into Mask’s trap, were less so. It had been stupidly easy to get them to surrender once he had threatened to blow out the Red Hood’s brain in front of them.

“Familial love,” he said to himself. “Such a nice thing to play with. I will never get tired of it.”

“Wakey, wakey, birdie,” said a voice, and Jason’s breath caught in his chest, his lungs seizing with panic. The last person who had called him ‘birdie’ had been the Joker. That was not the Joker’s voice, but Jason knew that was no proof.

Jason woke to icy water being thrown at him. He flinched back instinctively and slammed his head against a hard surface.

Spluttering and dreading what he would see, Jason opened his eyes. The light accentuated the throbbing in his skull, but Jason didn’t care about the pain. In front of him stood a man wearing a familiar mask. Jason’s lips pulled into a snarl as he took in his long-time enemy. He tried to take a step forward, but iron cuffed encased his wrists and ankles and kept him chained to the wall.

“I’m honored you’ve decided to join us,” commented Mask.

“Fuck you,” replied Jason and took in the rest of the room. Beyond Mask, similarly chained, stood Batman. His cowl had been taken off, but the domino he wore underneath was still on and covered his eyes. Nevertheless, the rest of his face was tight with anger. Jason wasn’t certain if Mask was its only recipient or if Jason, too, had messed up.

Mask took a step forward, and Jason’s body tensed in anticipation. Roman Sionis was a dangerous and vindictive man. Jason had been very careful not to let himself be caught by him until now; he knew what the man would do to him.

Sionis’s long fingers curled under Jason’s chin and forced him to look up. Fear coiled tight in Jason’s stomach. He knew Mask well, knew of his crimes and his traffic. As a child, when he lived in the streets, he was terrified of being caught by one of Sionis’s men. He has been aware of what happened to children, and what kind of work they were forced to do. Since coming back to Gotham as the Red Hood, Jason had done his best to eradicate the man’s operations and save children from his clutches. He had thought himself relatively safe from the man. The leer in Mask’s eyes told Jason otherwise, and old panic clogged his throat.

The rattle of chains made Mask turn his gaze away from Jason. A second later, he dropped his hand from Jason’s chin, and Jason exhaled shakily. Only then did he notice the source of the noise. To his left, on the far end of the wall, Nightwing strained against his chains, his features twisted by protective wrath. In between Jason and Dick stood Damian and Tim, also bound.

They had been captured. Jason first, and Mask had used him as bait. Whatever happened from now on would be Jason’s fault. For all of his bravado and rebuttal, Jason did not want to see his family be hurt, much less because of him. The Pit had long since faded to the back of his mind, barely present, and all the murder urges it had caused him had disappeared along with it.

“Is there something wrong?” Mask asked a gagged Nightwing. Amusement played on his lips. “It is so good to see you all chained like that, at my utter mercy.” Mercy Jason knew he would not have. Not for anyone, but certainly not for them. “You have been a thorn in my side for too long.” He turned back to Jason and fisted his hand in Jason’s hair. “You, especially. Always countering my plans and dismantling my operations. You call yourself a crime lord but you let your stupid morals rule you, Hood. When will you understand that traffic pays well? That whores pay well?”

Jason tried not to let his fear show. Past and present mixed in his head, but he could not let that get the best of him.

“People are not yours to dispose of,” he snarled. “Especially not kids.”

Sionis’s hand dropped to the back of Jason’s neck. His face was inches away from Jason’s now, and Jason had never been more grateful for his domino mask and how it hid his eyes.

“But kids are so much more pliant. So innocent. They think that if they do what you ask of them, you’ll stop.” Jason could not breathe. He had been like that, too, once. Before the cold reality of the world settled in and he learned not to trust anyone. Thankfully, by the time he had found himself in the streets, he already knew to count on no one else than himself. He did not dare imagine where he would be today if he had been one of those innocent and pliant kids back then.

Mask straightened up abruptly. “But I didn’t bring you here to discuss morals with you. As I was saying, you have all been a spectacular thorn in my side, and it is high time I get rid of you. But first, I need compensation for all the bother you’ve caused me, for all the men you cost me, and all the times you put me in Blackgate. All the injuries you gave me. You vigilantes think yourselves untouchable.” Jason resisted the urge to snort. If vigilantes thought themselves untouchable, villains such as Mask thought themselves gods on earth. “Time for payment has come.”

Mask turned his attention to Batman. Something in Jason loosened. “We don’t have all that much time. I would greatly have enjoyed torturing all of you one by one, keeping you as pets for months on end, until you are begging me to kill you, but I cannot afford this kind of time.” He walked up to Batman. “I will torture one of them only.” Jason’s chest clenched painfully. Something bad was about to come out of Sionis’s mouth, he could feel it.

“And you will choose who.”

And you will choose who.

Bruce’s heart stopped in his chest. Mask’s words rang over and over again in his ears.

Now he understood why he was alone on one wall while his children had all been put on the opposite one. Fear choked him. Mask was asking him to choose which one of his children would be tortured. Bruce could not do this.

“Me,” he said, his voice as firm as he could make it.

Mask burst into laughter. “Nice try, Batsy, but you’re not an option.” He stepped aside and gestured at the four boys chained to the wall. Bruce’s boys. “I want you to choose one of them.” When Bruce stayed silent, his mind struggling to find a way out of this, Sionis added, “Come on, it can’t be that difficult. Just choose which one you love the least.”

Jason made a sound at the back of his throat. He had clearly been shaken by Sionis’s closeness to him earlier and he was still shaking faintly.

Bruce could even less make a choice, now. He could not let any of his sons believe he didn’t love them. It was false, oh so false. He loved them all so much it burned him alive every time he thought them in danger and smothered any other emotion when he knew them happy. Bruce knew he had flaws. He knew he had efforts to make and that he could do and be better. But never would he consciously let any of his children believe he didn’t love them or loved them less than their siblings.

Sionis moved over to Jason again, and Bruce’s second son tensed up. With the domino still on his face, Bruce could not see his eyes, but he could easily imagine the fear swirling in them. Jason’s eyes had always been the part of his body that betrayed his emotions the most. His face was second. Bruce had always believed it was because his heart was too big and too good to hide its true intentions.

“Will it be this one?” asked Sionis. Amusement played on his lips. Bruce let him talk; the more time he took before starting the torture, the more chances there were that someone would come for them before any of Bruce’s sons could be hurt. Sionis looked at Jason contemplatively. “No, probably not. Mr. Hood here is the prodigal son, after all, isn’t he? Or perhaps he isn’t anymore. You’ve had fallouts, if I’m not mistaken.” Sionis leaned towards Jason, who could not suppress his shudder. Bruce strained against his bindings but he could not win against relentless iron. “Does daddy still love you after all the things you’ve done, birdie? We all know Batman’s morals are dead set, while yours are freer. Have you atoned for the wrong you’ve done, or is today the day you pay for your deeds?”

Bruce saw the waver in Jason’s expression, and he knew his son believed Sionis’s words. He longed to drown Mask’s vile words under his screams, to yell at his son how much he loved him.

It didn’t matter what Jason had done in the past. He had apologized a thousand times, and Bruce knew how much the Pit had twisted his mind in those hard months.

Bruce kept his mouth shut, despite the burning of his tongue and his chest. Sionis was unpredictable, and Bruce did not want to risk his son’s safety. He could make sure Jason knew he was loved later; right now, Bruce had to make sure he stayed alive and as unharmed as possible.

Tim did not flinch when Mask stopped a foot away from him and observed him with calculating eyes. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tim could see Jason shaking.

Tim watched as Mask moved onto him. He was not scared of Mask himself. The man, like many villains in Gotham, was an egotistical idiot. He would make a mistake sooner or later, and the rest of the family would come and rescue them. Still, Tim was scared of what the villain would do. He did not want to be tortured, but he would take it over any of his brothers being hurt. But Sionis’s henchmen had gagged him, and he could not offer himself up for torture.

“Will it be this one?” asked Mask. “A genius, but everyone knows geniuses are the most annoying. They’re know-it-alls, always displaying their knowledge and thinking themselves above everyone else. Tell me, birdie, how much patience have you used up in Batman? How long until he gets rid of you anyway?” Tim kept his face neutral even as the words reopened barely-healed wounds. The man was observant, Tim could give him that. Or perhaps he just knew them all that well. “Do you think you are that useful that he will keep you around forever? That you are so smart that he will forgive all your flaws?”

No, Tim didn’t think that. He had never been meant to be anything else than a placeholder until Batman stopped trying to get himself killed or until another, more suitable Robin showed up. Most days, he did not understand how he was still here. His insecurities were wounds that started to heal when Jason came back into the family, before Damian had arrived in Gotham. Then, Bruce died, and no one believed Tim when he said he was still alive.

Being fired from Robin, by the original Robin with that, brutally reopened all of Tim’s wounds. Now, Mask was doing his best to carve them out again, hatching at them until Tim broke.

He knew he was the logical choice. Jason truly was the prodigal son, and Bruce would never voluntarily expose him to such harm. Damian was the youngest, and Tim would never want him to be chosen for torture if there was another option. Dick was the first, he was Bruce’s original sidekick, he was Nightwing. Tim was just… Tim. Sure, he was smart. Sure, he did his job well and he had recovered Bruce from the timeline. But Bruce didn’t owe him anything and Tim was easily replaceable.

No matter how much it hurt, he hoped Bruce would choose him over his brothers.

“Or will it be this one?” asked Mask as he stopped in front of Damian, whose face was set in his trademark scowl. He did not shrink under Mask’s gaze, and Bruce knew Sionis was nothing compared to Ra’s. Still, Bruce hated to see his youngest son—so young that baby fat still clung lovingly to his face and that his hands were tiny enough to be engulfed in Bruce’s—towered by a villain such as Black Mask.

Bruce watched with tears in his eyes as Mask moved onto Damian. He was glad that his domino hid them. Tim’s expression had given nothing as Mask prodded at his insecurities. His poker face was, as always, perfect, and Bruce could not tell whether Sionis’s words had hit their mark or not. He knew Tim battled with his place in the family. But had he managed to shield his mind from Mask? If any of them was capable of it, it was certainly him.

“I know I wouldn’t want him as a child,” continued Mask. “So angry and violent. So snippy, so arrogant. You must be a pain to deal with every day, kid. Let’s hope for your sake that Batsy over there has patience, but we all know it isn’t his forte. You’re young, but if you’re annoying enough, he may very well choose you. Does his love for your brothers overrule his love for you? Are you lovable enough that he won’t want to hurt you?”

Damian muttered something behind his gag. From habit, Bruce knew his son had said something derogatory in Arabic. But he also knew Mask’s words had gotten to Damian, and more tears pooled in his eyes. He loved them all equally, and Bruce was aware his children knew that. At this moment, however, Mask was toying with their mind, and their insecurities flared up.

The worst part was that Bruce would have to choose. He would have to make one of them think that what Mask had said was right, that the son he chose was the one he loved the least.

“Or will it be the Golden Boy?” asked Mask, settling in front of Dick, whose body strained against the chains. Tense as a wire and fury carved into his expression, Dick looked dangerous. More than that, he looked lethal. Bruce noted with satisfaction how Mask stayed a careful foot and a half away from Nightwing.

“You were only the first draft, after all. A tryout to see what would work and what would fail. And look! As soon as you stopped being Robin, Batman replaced you. You were never meant to last, it seems. Why wouldn’t he choose you?”

Bruce clenched his eyes shut. He remembered the many arguments he had gotten into with Dick about Bruce’s love for his son. He knew how hurt Dick had been when Bruce told him Robin was over and then when Bruce told him Jason was Robin. Mask had the uncanny ability to see past all their shields and dig out their most intimate insecurities.

Mask turned to Bruce. “So? Which one will it be?”

Bruce could not do this. He could not choose one of his sons to be tortured. He could not choose the one he loved most because he loved them all equally and he didn’t want to see any of them hurt.

Bruce knew already he would not pick Damian. He was too young and his body too fragile for the violence Bruce knew Mask was capable of. It would be so easy to kill him or injure him permanently.

It did not make his choice easier.

But he had chosen nonetheless.

“Nightwing,” said Batman, and Damian exhaled in relief he did not want to feel. He would never admit it, but Mask’s words had hit closer to home than he liked. Everything the man had said echoed Damian’s own insecurities. And his father had not confirmed them.

If Richard showed a reaction, Damian did not catch it. Mask cackled in delight at Batman’s resigned words and moved towards Nightwing. Damian’s muscles clenched instinctively. He knew what came next, and he hated himself for being relieved he wasn’t going to be the one subjected to it.

Damian did not want to watch his brother being tortured. He didn’t want to have to hear his cries and know his pain. He wanted his brother safe and sound. Still, selfishly, even after everything Richard had given him, Damian could not stifle the relief coursing through his veins.

He would not be tortured today.

Hurt washed over the relief before long. He knew, rationally, that Mask’s words had been a mere mind game. That they were not true and that they were simply aimed to hurt. But Mask had hit all his brothers’ insecurities, and Dick had not escaped the psychological dissection. Dick had been struggling with his place in the family for a long time. He knew his family loved him, but their love languages were so different from his, so much more subtle, that he often doubted the reality of their love.

Dick’s mind went blank for a second when Batman said his name. Relief came as the first wave. He would have chosen himself over his brothers a thousand times over. Had he not been gagged, he would have begged Bruce to choose him.

And now Bruce had chosen him. Had it been a tactical decision? Dick was the eldest, after all, and though Jason was strongest, all of them had seen how affected he was by Mask. Dick was the most logical choice. But his mind could not stop wondering if Bruce’s choice had been an answer to Mask's question. Which one of them do you love the least? Was Dick the answer?

Despite all his doubts, Dick held his head high as Mask approached him. He would not let his fear and hurt show; that was the least he could do for his family. Mask called for his henchmen, and several men soon rolled in a complete torture panoply. Mask contemplated from his position next to Dick.

“I can’t quite make a choice,” he said conversationally, and Dick wished villains would speak less and act more because he was growing incredibly tired of their constant monologuing. (Though it at least had the merit of buying them precious time.)

“Batsy,” Mask called out. “Burns or electricity?”

Bruce did not answer immediately, and Dick knew he was considering the most tactical choice. Both would hurt, but which one was most likely to cause lasting damage? Which was most likely to hinder Dick’s performance on the field?

“Electricity,” Bruce answered eventually. Dick did not miss the slight waver of his voice, and he felt guilty for the warmth it spurred in Dick’s chest. Maybe he had truly been a tactical choice.

Mask uncaringly tore through Nightwing’s suit to expose his chest, and Dick resisted the urge to growl. It would have been useless since he was gagged, but he really would appreciate it if villains were more careful with vigilantes’ suits.

Once Dick’s chest was exposed enough for Mask’s tastes, he put electrodes on it. Dick’s heart hammered in his chest. Soon, it would be going wild.

At last, Mask yanked the gag out of Dick’s mouth with a twisted smile. “I want to hear your screams, birdie,” he whispered, and Dick could not help the shudder than ran through him.

Mask turned on the device, and Dick threw his head back as fire tore through his nerves. He clenched his teeth hard not to scream, but he could not blink back the tears streaming down his cheeks.

The electricity stopped in a matter of seconds. Dick’s tongue tasted like metal, and his limbs still twitched weakly. He knew the reprieve would not last, and his only comfort was that Mask would not draw out the torture for as long as he could and would not kill him yet.

Electricity seared through him again. Dick stopped thinking.

On the third time, he could not hold back his scream. On the fourth, black spots dotted his vision. After the fifth, his head lolled limply against his chest. His nerves were alight with pain.

“Broken bone or stab wound?” asked Mask

Bruce’s wrists would be raw by the time they got out of there, but he could not care less. He watched in utter helplessness as Mask patted Dick’s cheek mockingly before turning to Bruce again. A wide, wild smile broke his face in two. Bruce wanted to punch it off.

Bruce’s breath stuttered in his chest. He was sick and tired of Mask’s games.

“Do I get to choose the emplacement?” asked Bruce. He could not make a tactical decision without knowing what it would entail, and the least he could do for Dick was spare him the risk of permanent injuries as much as possible.

Mask pondered on Bruce’s question. “I’ll give you a choice between two options,” he decided finally.

It was not as good as what Bruce wanted, but it was something. Mask did not want to kill Dick yet. He would make the torture last as long as possible before killing him, and that excluded wounds that led to a quick death.

“Stab wound,” Bruce answered. Broken bones led to too many risks of healing badly, and Dick would be devastated if a bone healed wrong and stopped him from keeping his work as a vigilante.

Mask’s fingers trailed over the knives laid out on the rolling table his henchmen had brought in. They finally settled on a small dagger, and Bruce exhaled in relief.

“Leg or abdomen?”

The answer was no difficulty. “Abdomen,” Bruce replied and tried to ignore the way his heart shattered when Mask violently stabbed Dick, and his son cried out in pain. Blood immediately welled up from the wound and rolled down Dick’s suit-clad legs, pooling on the already-dirty floor.

Bruce expected Mask to turn back to him. Instead, the villain aimed at Dick again and buried the dagger in his shoulder. Dick screamed brokenly and crumpled. His right shoulder snapped out of its socket under the sudden pressure. Mask laughed and turned away, the dagger still embedded in Dick’s other shoulder.

The room’s door slammed open at this instant, and a dark figure lunged inside. Black Bat took Mask down before any of them could react. When she straightened up, the villain unconscious at her feet, her eyes gleamed with unrestrained fury. Spoiler strolled in a second later, and together they detached the five other vigilantes from the binds.

As soon as he was free, Bruce rushed to Dick’s side. His son barely held on to consciousness, his eyes half-lidded and hazy with pain. He smiled up at Bruce. “I’m glad it’s over.”

@febuwhump

#my writing #creative writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday26 #dc #batman #batfam #hurt dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #hurt batfamily

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