#roman sionis fanfiction

[stardancerluv]

Hiiiii! I really want to read all your Roman Sionis fics (I got into him recently and I love your writing for him!) but I’m a little overwhelmed cause you have so many overlapping series. Do you have a complete master list by any chance?

Wow…I don’t even know what to say but thank you! But yay…Roman is amazing! Ty so much!

Still love and adore him!

(The moment..I saw and had to start a fanfic over…anyhow!)

Here is the proper order.

Part one

Part two

Part three

PS…

⭐️⭐️A Night Out, Club 44…

timeline wise goes before

Gotham Lockdown 2020…⭐️⭐️

I was inspired after seeing The Batman ‘22

Part Four

And…well this is just miscellaneous Roman Sionis fics!

Hope this helps..and please..please read a d share your thoughts I would love to hear them! Thank you again! 💐💐💐

#ewan mcgregor #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis imagine #birds of prey #bop #masterlist

[bi-bard]

Ask Me Why So Many Fade, but I'm Still Here - Roman Sionis Imagine (Birds of Prey)

Title: Ask Me Why So Many Fade, but I'm Still Here

Pairing: Roman Sionis X Reader

Based On: Karma

Word Count: 1,222 words

Warning(s): violence, mention of criminal activity

Summary: Roman never seemed to comprehend that you can only push someone so close to the edge before they snap. Play with your food, you give it a chance to bite back.

Author's Note: *whispering* Hey, hey... did you catch that Hannibal reference in the summary? Did you like it?

MIDNIGHTS - TAYLOR SWIFT WRITING CHALLENGE

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Gotham was a city almost constantly on the verge of collapse.

A city crumbling to its very core meant that you had to take careful, calculated steps to avoid falling off the edge.

A delicate game.

I had spent my entire life learning exactly how to survive in Gotham City. Not just survive but thrive.

I played the game well.

The biggest obstacle in my game was one man. Roman Sionis.

He was ambitious. I admired that. That's why I gave him a second chance when his first deal almost sent my profits into the shitter.

His second deal didn't do much better.

All it did was make my blood boil and my mind race with possibilities.

I went to see Roman in his club.

It was... an interesting place.

Not a place where I liked to spend my time.

I walked up to the table Roman was sitting at with some group of people. I didn't know or recognize any of them. But I didn't really care to. I tapped the table.

"Roman," I grinned.

"(Y/n)," he cheered. "Pleasure to see you! Sit, drink!"

"Actually, I'm here to talk," I replied. "Can we go somewhere quiet?"

"Oh, you can discuss anything out here."

"Roman," I said sternly. "Quiet?"

"Fine, fine."

He managed to pull himself out of the booth. We walked toward the back of the building to a secluded room. I looked around as Roman shut the door.

It was what one would expect from a room in Roman's club. Red walls, low lighting, kind of strange artwork. I almost rolled my eyes at it. I wondered how much money he had wasted on a room like this.

"What did we need to discuss," he asked, walking by me. He went to grab us each a drink.

"Our deal," I explained. "You screwed me over, Roman."

"Oh, please, I'm sure it's fine," he waved me off. "I gave you a good deal."

"Bullshit," I snapped. "The only reason I'm still standing is because I saved myself. You tried to ruin me."

"Quite the accusation-"

"After two bad deals, you expect something different," I raised an eyebrow. "Roman, you are going to screw yourself over if you continue making deals like that."

He glared at me.

"I'm trying to be helpful. Understanding. I've been in this city a long time."

No response.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm expecting my money back. If you don't pay, then-"

Roman cut me off by pulling out a gun and aiming it at my head. I closed my eyes for a moment. Roman wouldn't shoot me himself. He would despise the mess.

"If you've been here for so long, then you can understand the danger of threatening someone like me on their own turf."

I sighed before pushing the gun away. "I wasn't threatening you."

He glared at me.

"Good luck, Roman," I said. "I hope you end up okay."

"Get out of my club."

I smiled at him before turning around and heading out.

The next few weeks were quiet.

I was rebuilding.

I was researching and working and making plans. It was like resetting the foundation. Making everything stronger. Leaving less room for rotten deals to make it in and make an impact if they somehow did.

It was very beneficial.

I made some amazing moves for myself and my group.

But, of course, no period of peace could last forever.

"(Y/n)!"

I sighed at the sound of Roman's voice. I handed the clipboard in my hands over to the man I had been talking to before turning my attention to Roman.

"Roman," I said, walking over to meet him in the middle of the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My club just got ambushed," he snapped. "The whole place is trashed. Most of my men are missing. I was lucky that I was out on a job when it happened, they have no idea where I am."

"Why should this concern me," I asked.

"I need resources to get out of Gotham for a little bit," he explained. "Regroup, get my men back, get my money back."

I sighed. "Roman... why would I help you?"

"We're partners. We work together."

"Every deal I have made with you has almost screwed me over. I was simply smart enough to know how to save my own ass. You have cost me a lot, Roman."

"Oh, come on-"

"And when I came to get my money, you thought it was a good idea to pull a gun on me."

He rolled his eyes.

"Tell me, Romie," I grinned at the glare I received for the nickname. "Are your men missing or did they resign?"

"What?"

"I just heard that they may have gotten a better opportunity. Better pay. A boss that can truly think through every consequence of their actions."

He didn't respond.

I stepped forward, leaning in so I could whisper in his ear, "Look around you, Romie."

He quickly did a circle, staring at the faces of the men around us.

I stepped back again. "I guess it really wasn't that hard to convince people that your leadership was... flawed."

"You son of bitch-"

"Language, Romie!"

He paused.

"Search him."

One person stepped forward and got all of Roman's weapons.

"It wasn't that difficult. I didn't have to do much convincing. Apparently, deals you've made haven't benefitted any of the men working with you."

I held out my hand to one of the men, quietly asking for the bat in his hand. He gave it to me. I admired it for a moment. The look on Roman's face was enough to tell me that he was realizing the situation he was in.

"I grew up in this city," I explained. "I saw it through so many transformations. I understand the beating heart of this city."

I stepped forward, tapping the bat against Roman's chest.

"I could've helped you," I continued. "I could've kept you from drowning. Protected you and taught you. You could've been part of Gotham's elite. If had just been smart enough to not screw me over."

His jaw clenched.

"But, hey, can't change the past," I shrugged as took a few steps back. "So, I just watched. You screwed yourself, Romie. That's how you ended up here. I need you to know that. I'm not saying I'm a god or the devil... I'm merely the one you're going to face on judgment day."

One of the men kicked the back of Roman's knee, causing him to fall to the ground in front of me.

I used the end of the bat to tilt his chin up. "Beg."

"For what," he asked. "Your forgiveness?"

"Oh, no... you lost any chance of that a long, long time ago," I shook my head.

I stepped back and twirled the bat in my hand before preparing to swing. I let it gently touch Roman's temple as I lined up my shot.

"I want you to beg for mercy," I instructed. "If you're lucky, I'll just kill you... if you aren't, well... don't wanna spoil the fun."

He stared at me silently.

"Your choice," I shrugged.

"(Y/n), wait-"

"Nighty-night, Romie."

I brought my arms up before taking a swing at him.

And I smiled.

Never had there been a more satisfying sound.

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Author's Note: Villain!readers are so much fun!!

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#roman sionis imagine #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis x reader #fanfiction #imagine #x reader #birds of prey imagine #birds of prey fanfiction #birds of prey x reader #dc imagine #dc fanfiction #dc x reader #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor x reader

[dragon2d]

Nighttime Support

Pairing: Victor Zsasz x Roman Sionis (can be read as romantic or platonic)

This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @ronaldrx since it was his stories that motivated me to write. Please check him out, he is an incredible writer and artist.

Summary: Roman has a stressful day and does not know how to ask for help but he tries anyway and Victor does his best to comfort him

TW for swearing and description of a panic attack (Idk if i should tw this so just in case)

Victor released a deep breath as he stepped into his dingy, rat-infested, cheap apartment. What a day this had been. 

He has been working for Roman for roughly two years and the man still drove him insane. He and Roman are not partners by any meaning of the word. Sure they fooled around a couple of times and shared a few pillow talk conversations, but Roman always acted as if nothing happened so Victor did the same. But even so, Zsasz could not stand it when Roman would not allow Victor to help him.

As he went to his bedroom window to decompress and have a few smokes, Victor recounted the events of his day. 

—Flashback—

The morning started the way it always did: Victor woke Roman up and collected Roman’s plans and appointments for the day from other employees while he waited for Roman to emerge from his room. During breakfast, they planned how the day would go, making small talk between topics. Then they were off to meetings for the Black Mask Club, collecting money and killing whatever person pissed off Roman most recently. Throughout all of this, Roman seemed to be growing more and more agitated but he did not say or do anything that would prompt Zsasz to worry about the other man.

Roughly around 6 PM, the men finally had a break so they returned to Roman's apartment to decompress. Roman curled up on a sofa in the room that they considered their “living room” and began staring off into outer space instead of following his usual habit of scrolling through trending news articles.

After a solid 15 minutes of Roman sitting in silence passed, Victor grew antsy, began playing with his switchblade, and decided to check in with him. 

“Hey Boss, is there anything you need me to take care of?” 

That seemed to bring Roman back into reality. 

“Fuck, what?”, He did not hear what Victor asked, he just knew that he was being spoken to. He also knew that if Victor did not stop playing with his knife, he would lose it– the noise was driving him up a wall. 

Victor repeated his question but this time his words seemed to blend together and Roman still could not decipher what he was being asked.

“For fuck’s sake, speak up!”

Victor sighed, “Do you need me to take care of anything?”, he asked for the third time, making sure to speak loudly and clearly enough for his boss to understand.

Okay, screw the noise the switchblade was making. Because now Victor’s voice was stabbing into Roman’s skull. 

“I don’t KNOW, okay?!”, Roman snapped, tucking his head into his knees. Everything was too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. His head was pounding, thousands of thoughts ricocheting off of each other and flying around his brain. He couldn't focus on anything and he could feel his heart about to jump out of his chest from how intensely it was beating.

Fortunately, Victor got the hint and shut up. He decided to give Roman some space so he went to the kitchen to get a drink and to try to figure out what was going on with Roman.

But unfortunately, one of Roman’s idiotic employees decided to talk to Roman at this very moment.

“Hey Boss, I was just supposed to let you know that the booze shipment-” but he was cut off as Roman determined that he could not hear anymore, pulled out his pistol, and shot the guy in his face.

“CAN EVERYTHING JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He yelled, his whole body shaking as his vision began to blur, tears falling before Roman even noticed he was crying. 

Victor rushed into the living room but Roman shoved past him, briskly walking into his bedroom. Victor followed him, but the door slammed into his face before he could get into the room. 

After what felt like an eternity of listening to Roman’s muffled ranting and destruction of his things, there was finally silence. Victor then heard footsteps approaching the door and watched as it opened to a clearly distressed Roman. The men stared at each other in silence for some time before Victor decided to speak.

“What can I do to help Boss?” He kept his voice soft and gentle to not scare away the other man.

“There’s nothing you can do. Just go home, it’s getting late.”

—Present—

Finishing his third cigarette, Victor decided that it was time to go to bed. He should be well-rested to deal with whatever may happen with Roman tomorrow.

As he was drifting off into sleep, he heard his door open. Now, Victor never locked his door because anyone who walked into a lion's den was practically asking to be killed. But tonight Zsasz was not in the mood so he just continued to try to sleep, reaching for the knife under his pillow just in case. He wasn't that worried about getting robbed, his most valuable things in the apartment were all kept on his person, and the intruder could take anything else. 

Sadly, this intruder was stupider than Victor imagined because they went straight for his bedroom door. 

“Zsasz?”

Now that was a shocker, this was no idiotic intruder.

“Boss? What are you doing here?”

“I- I just needed to be with someone” Roman admitted. He felt that he would regret what he said next, “I feel as though I can trust you and you can understand me.”

Victor sat up in his bed and tried to stay calm, so he would not scare off his already sensitive boss. He wanted to ask Roman so many things but the one he chose to verbalize was, “If you trust me and think I get you, then why don't you let me get close to you or help you?”

Roman sighed, he was not planning on getting into a deep conversation about his feelings but even so, he did not want to hurt Zsasz in any way.

“It’s just hard for me to do, kay? I have not had a person who I could confide in for so long now that I am just used to keeping to myself. Trusting people is very difficult for me and I have been scared of opening up to someone because what if they leave me or don't want to be near me afterward? And I'm sorry that I didn't talk to you but the truth is, I don't know what is happening with me sometimes so how can I ask for help when I don't even understand the situation?!” 

Victor could see that Roman was beginning to hyperventilate again so he simply got up from his bed, and wrapped his arms tightly around his Boss.

“I'm sorry it's just-” 

“Shhh, it's okay,” Victor reassured him, “I’m here for you and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, you are safe. You do not have to tell me anything tonight, just let me take care of you and we will talk in the morning, okay”

Roman nodded, taking a couple of deep breaths before pulling away from Victor and staring at him.

“How did I get so lucky with you, you treat me so well. I don't deserve you”

Zsasz simply looked down at the ground as his face heated up, he wasn't the best when dealing with compliments. 

Roman yawned, oblivious to the fact that he made Victor blush at his praise. “Well, I'm tired. Let's go to bed”

“You want to sleep here? Even I can admit it's gross”

“It's for one night, I'll survive. You know, Zsasz, you should move in with me. There's plenty of room and I think each other's company would be good for us.”

“Okay Boss, but let's talk about it more in the morning. You need your beauty rest.”

And so the two climbed into the twin-sized bed. Roman curled himself into a ball, pressing his face into Victor's chest and the other man embraced him and molded his body around Roman’s. 

“Goodnight, Roman”

“Goodnight, Victor”

“I hope you are updated on your rabies shots”

With the small joke and the quiet chuckles that followed, the pair drifted off into a peaceful sleep. 

#fanfic #fanfiction #Roman Sionis #Black Mask #Victor Zsasz #victor charles zsasz #vicroman #Mister Zsasz #Zsaszmask #zsasz #Birds of Prey #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #harley quinn birds of prey #mlm pairing #zsaszmask fanfiction #mlm fanfic #romantic fanfic #platonic fanfic #victor zsasz fanfiction #roman sionis fanfiction #chris messina #ewan mcgregor #This is my first ever fanfic #im so excited #tw swearing #tw panic attack

[finniestoncrane]

Regarding Black Mask having sadistic kinks…he would totally give his partner instructions that are impossible to follow (telling them not to make any noise and then doing something guaranteed to make them moan/scream) just so he can punish them when they can’t do it

Keep Quiet

Arkham!Black Mask x GN!Reader, word count: 1.4k ok be nice to me be kind to me this is my first black mask thing, and i gotta be honest, it's nice to write someone being a complete bastard who just is a complete bastard. reader has been paid by roman in an undisclosed agreement to be his little puppy, but he might be a bit rougher than they imagined... 💀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mentions of a monetary arrangement, sub/dom dynamics, rough oral sex, spanking, slapping, humiliation, degradation, sadomasichism, crying, pet play

"Keep. Quiet."

Those were the key words, the rules you were given. They'd been printed on the bottom of the invite card. They were uttered to you by the henchman who was posted at the door to the office. And Roman Sionis himself had uttered them slowly, cruelly, as he watched you undress and guided you to the slick, black platform in the middle of the room.

"Keep quiet. Don't make a sound. I'd hate to have to punish ya."

He turned on his heel, bright red flashing on the bottom of the polished, black leather dress shoes. With a dry chuckle, he turned again, leaning down once more so his face was level with yours where you lay face down on the platform in the middle of the room, though his was hidden behind the matte black skull mask he wore.

"I lied. Punishin' ya would be... well it'd be pretty fuckin' good. But I'm feelin' generous tonight, y'know?"

You nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, as you realised that perhaps the reward here didn't quite make up for the risk. You got money, you got pleasure. But you potentially lost everything at the hands of Black Mask. Violent, notorious, and unpredictable.

Or maybe, you considered, it was worth the risk, given how quickly you felt the pit of your stomach warm, how your heartbeat skipped slightly, how your arousal tingled through you at the thought of those last three attributes. Handsome, yes. Rich, of course. Powerful, naturally. But those were nowhere near as arousing as the volatile behaviour you'd heard tell of being exhibited by Roman in the past. You wanted to experience that for yourself, truth be told. Apathetic, yes. But curious more than anything.

You wondered why you had to be quiet. Some of the others, the ones who had been hired by Roman before, had told you that he had the room bugged. That suggested that perhaps a loud scream might not be picked up well on the mics and would ruin his recording. But then why would he bug the room if he didn’t want any sound? Unless he just wanted to hear himself… But this was Roman Sionis. If he wanted to record any kind of sound, he wouldn’t do it covertly, and certainly not with anything less than the best equipment.

So was it perhaps something to do with the fact that you were in his office, within his building? His employees were right there, just beyond the walls. Maybe he would be embarrassed if they heard what was going on? But of course, he wouldn’t be. Either the walls were soundproofed to allow him to be as heinous as he wanted, or, more likely, they were paper thin so everyone could hear exactly what was going on. After all, who of his employees was going to risk saying anything to him.

And then, you settled on the realisation that it was control. He had control over you completely. From how much you wore, to where you lay, to how much sound you could make in his presence, regardless of what kind of damage he intending to inflict on you. No one spoke back to him, least of all the playthings he was paying. You were there to lay still and be keep quiet. So you close your eyes, letting your body, laying face down, sink into the surface of the podium you had been so sarcastically placed upon, and considered what might be about to happen to you.

Just as your mind began to wander further, causing your heart rate to increase, you felt the sharp, smooth crack of his palm against your rear. The flesh on one of your cheeks heated immediately in response to the smack. You didn’t have time to process the sudden invasion of your personal space before Roman was smacking the other side. His hand switched between your two cheeks, covering your ass in deep, rounded welts as his leather glove came into contact with your red, trembling skin. Over and over, the pain getting stronger either through the repetitive nature or the increase in force, in violence, behind his smacks. Until he suddenly stopped, his heavy breaths getting louder as he walked around you, his finger stroking along your curves as he made his way around to your head.

“Roll over.”

You did as he instructed, and were met with cruelty even then.

“Good dog. Do you know any more tricks then?”

You couldn’t tell whether you should answer or not, so you stayed silent, staring into what you could make out of his eyes beneath the dark mask. With a surprisingly gentle hand, he let his fingers spread through your hair, stroking it, soothing you almost, before he gripped it close to your scalp and tugged sharply. As he pulled your body towards him, you scrambled on your palms, trying to pull your body up the platform, closer to him, where he wanted you to be, until you were laying with your head completely off the edge. Upside down. Waiting for his next move. You opened your mouth to speak, to protest the uncomfortable position, but you were stunned back into silence as his palm cracked your face.

“Don’t even think about talkin’, sweetheart. Keep. Quiet. Keep fuckin’ quiet.”

You nodded, the sting of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You worried that he might offer further punishment for this display of emotion, but instead he crouched down once again to your level and tutted.

“You dumb animal. Not quite as clever as I thought you were, huh pooch?”

He watched as you swallowed your nerves, throat tensing with the motion.

“Nervous, eh? Good. You should be.”

He placed a finger between your sternum, following it to between your collarbones, then trailing it up your throat to your chin as you watched him, his eyes keeping focus on where he was touching you.

“You know, if there’s one thing I truly hate…”

Roman paused, licking the lips of his mask, eyes narrowing as he took in your pitiful form before him.

“… it’s a puppy who isn’t housebroken.”

His fingers were suddenly tensing, putting pressure on your throat. Constricting your breathing ever so slightly. Enough to cause you to panic before you tried to calm yourself down, preserving the remaining breath in your lungs.

“You gonna whine, little puppy? You gonna howl an’ cry?”

Working against the strength of his grip, you managed to shake your head, a gesture which was met with a deep, dark chuckle from Roman.

“Good. I don’t have time to go take you to be put down.”

Your tears welled up as his grip got tighter, but you fought against the instinct to raise your hands and pull him away from you. If you could just see it through, keep calm, stay still, it’d be over soon. And it was. He let go, leaning forward to admire the dark imprints his fingers had left on your skin.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

A rhetorical question. He knew by the streaks of tears that were stinging your eyes as gravity carried them back towards them that it had been an ordeal.

“I told ya. I paid for ya, I ain’t gonna break ya. Not this soon, anyway. Not before I’ve had my fun.”

Your pupils widened as he brought his hands to the zipper at the front of his white, pinstripe pants. He reached his fingers inside the fabric and pulled out his cock, fingers wrapped around the base as he approached you. Inhaling only through your nose, you tried to keep your mouth closed, silently signalling to him your thoughts on what he was proposing. But he wasn’t proposing it, and he had no intentions of asking for your opinion.

He forced his cock into your mouth, pushing it between your lightly pursed lips, his head hitting the back of your throat as he pushed his entire length into you. There was no hesitation, no hint of him letting up despite the fact that you were now quietly choking on him. When you gagged and let out a whine, an involuntary noise, he whipped his cock out of your throat, drool spilling onto your face.

“If I have to tell you again, you are gonna be one sorry pup.”

Pressing a finger to your lips, you watched in silence as his cock twitched, clearly aroused by the control he held over you.

“Keep. Quiet.”

#black mask #roman sionis #finnie writes #arkham black mask #black mask fanfiction #black mask x reader #black mask x you #black mask fic #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fic

[help-itrappedmyself]

Sacred Moments (Batman AU) Part 2

Masterpost

The meeting was on the docks, surrounded by shipping containers piled high in maze-like configurations. The gang that called the meeting made their way through the winding tunnels in small black vans, and one sleek black sedan. They got set up, guards exiting the vans and taking up stations, forming a perimeter around the junction. Black mask comes out of the sedan’s backseat to lean against the trunk, waiting for his guest to arrive. 

Red Hood had made himself known quickly. Gaining territory and followers in Gotham the way outsiders usually struggle to do for years without making any headway. This place isn’t friendly to outsiders, it takes a special something to make a home here, something that most people only receive by rights of growing up here, making a living on these streets, dealing with the dark heart of Gotham all their lives. 

So, though no one truly knew where Hood had come from, Roman knew that he was a Gothamite. Only a Gothamite could so quickly make a home here. Only a Gothamite would be so stupid and crazy as to take a name left by the Joker and make it their own. And while dealing with strangers is difficult, no one in Gotham is truly a stranger to one another. They both have the same streets forming their veins, smog in their blood and toxins in their mouths. Black Mask knows one thing that unites the city is that stupid Wayne boy and the way it translates to the shadows that make up Gotham as greed and power. Almost every big-name player in Gotham has tried at least once to mess with the Wayne family. But Black Mask doesn’t play at the level of holding up galas for pocket change. And though the boy Wayne adopted does make nice catnip for those looking for a ransom, Black Mask has thought bigger. And more dramatic, but he’s from Gotham, drama thrives here. 

Red Hood approaches on his bike and the guards let him pass easily. He parks and his boots thud the ground with every step.

“What do you want Mask? We have no shared business.”

“That may be true for now, but you're cutting into the drug trade and I wanted to step in early for territory negotiations.”

“Didn’t peg you for a negotiator.”

“I’m a businessman, and the Alley has a lot of business.” Roman stood up straight, pushing off the car. “I have something here I am willing to give you and in return I’m hoping to be able to sell closer to the Alley than my competitors.”

“I’m not stupid, I know better than to think I can stop the drug trade. But I don’t allow dealings with kids. Not as buyers, not as sellers, not as runners. I don’t think you’ll be able to follow the rules.”

“Your rules have made a nice open market. To be the only one selling to them would be a large increase in profits.” 

Hood brings his hands closer to his guns. Roman waves him off.

“There is little need for that, I don’t want any part of your Alley. They can barely afford my goods as it is. Besides, you are highly outnumbered.”

“I don’t negotiate about kids.” Hood growled. “You leave them out of your business or you business stays out of my Alley.”

“Do you negotiate for kids?” Roman smirks. “I mean, you haven’t even asked what I’ve brought you.”

Hood becomes a deathly still, poised like a snake and waiting on a breath, whole body a hairpin trigger. “Do you have a child right now?” There is an amount of shock in his voice, even through the modulator, that Roman takes great amusement in.

Roman hums. “I mean she’s barely a child anymore. Sixteen, and almost seventeen at that.” He clicks his tongue. 

“You kidnapped a child.” There is a thud from the trunk behind Roman.

“Ah, it seems she’s awake now.” His grin is slow and syrupy but does nothing to soften the rest of his face. “See, I had to find this girl in particular. Her value lies far beyond the fact that she’s young. But it took a long time to find her. Too long for her to end up being good for what I had planned for her. That Wayne brat died before we found her. But she could still be useful to you, or at the very least you could help her out some. She is very far from home.”

Hood says nothing, his mind racing. 

“What’ll it be Hood, you interested? If not, I can alway find a use for her somehow. She won’t be worth as much as I had hoped, but I’m sure Wayne will find her interesting either way.”

“What does she have to do with the Waynes?” Hood asks, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Roman is glad to have sparked an interest, this is her main feature. “That brat that the Waynes adopted, the second one, he lived on the street. He was known here, so when he was formally adopted and all the knowledge about him became worth something we decided to find his soulmate. She would have been worth more if the brat was still alive to fight with daddy for her.” Roman frowned at the change in plans, still irritated by the time lost and plans gone to waste. “But she is still a pretty little thing.” Roman shrugs.

“Let me see the mark.” Hood growled out.

“Of course, you can inspect your property before the deal is finalized, but first I would like to talk about returns.”

“What exactly do you want?”

“Your territory, the Bowery and Crime Alley, can be yours.” Roman smirks at Hood. “I know better than to intrude, and your population is too poor to be of much use to me. But your territory is getting close to the university and I want to be able to continue my business there without interference.”

Red Hood’s territory was getting close, he was only a few streets away. The people living at the university would be a good crowd, with enough money to spend on University there’s enough money to spend on drugs. Hood could see why Sionis wanted access to the area. Right now Hood’s territory included a stretch of a few blocks that separated the university from Sionis’s territory and Hood's guys had been keeping his runner’s from passing through. This had ended up with Hood confiscating a fair amount of Sionis’ goods and money from the dealings. 

“Show me the girl.” Hood demanded. “And we can discuss your passage through my territory.”

#batman #dc comics #red hood #black mask #jason todd #roman sionis #my writing #fanfiction #soulmate au #soulmate marks

[dcpromptevents]

introducing Robin/Villain Week 2023! have your favorite Robins been looking for something different? want to try life on the dark side - maybe by choice, maybe not?

event will be running from July 30 to August 5 2023

for purposes of the event, please feel free to include Stephanie, Duke, and Jarro as Robins, or other Robins or heroes as villains!

ao3 collection is here!

alt text below the cut

day one july 30 arranged marriage | caged | "why would you do that?"

day two july 31 Talon | Stockholm Syndrome | "that's an old scar"

day three august 1 Role Reversal | Betrayal | "I didn't mean to"

day four august 2 Canon Divergence | Revert to Status Quo | "I broke the rules for you"

day five august 3 Alternate First Meeting | Truth Serum | "Just this once"

day six august 4 Supernatural Creatures | Hidden Wound | "answer me"

day seven august 5 College/Professors | Gun Kink | "I changed for you"

#dc prompt event #writing prompt #dc characters #dc comics #fanfic #fanfiction #writing prompts #dc fan event #dc week event #Dick grayson #slade wilson #jason todd #roman sionis #tim drake #ras al ghul #damian wayne #stephanie brown #duke thomas #sladick #jayde #rastim #jayroman #joker

[littleoddwriter]

Hey I saw you're requests were open so I thought I'd give it a shot. I been a fan of your writing for years asspecialy roman x male reader.

So I was wondering if you could do roman sionis x male reader, who copes with life with starving himself and using drugs.

I completely understand if that's a lot and if you don't feel comfortable writing it for any reason whatsoever I more than understand. Please put you're well being first please. You're writing has always been a big comfort to me and tge past few months haven't been the easiest and yeah 😅

Keep up the amazing work and remember to take care of yourself, I'm really sorry if this was uncomfortable to read or has waisted your time

Coping | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Hey there! Thank you so much, first of all!!! That really means a lot to me, so, thank you! And thank you for your request and trusting me with something so personal. I hope the story I wrote for it can give you some comfort and that I've done your request justice. Please stay strong and keep on going. I'm happy you're here and I hope things will get better for you! <3 Take care! <3 summary; See above. notes; Male!Reader; Implied Past Traumas; Mentioned Drug Abuse (Cocaine & Heroin); Mentioned Disordered Eating Habits; Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms; Emotional Hurt/Comfort.

Having been dealt a pretty bad hand in life, you have developed unhealthy and self-destructive coping mechanisms to get through your days. Rationally, and always in the back of your mind, you knew that what you were doing to cope with the negativity and difficulties in your life, you only made things worse. 

Starving yourself didn’t make your issues go away, and neither did the drugs. Of course not. But substance abuse has given you those much needed breaks from your own mind and the bullshit you had to deal with day in and out. Not eating - or rather, very rarely - was mostly a form of self-punishment. A method you’ve learned early in your life.

After meeting Roman, things had been going well for a little while. You ate pretty often because of your dinner dates with the other man; although your portions were fairly small. And you did lines of cocaine with Roman together, which definitely made it seem like it wasn’t so bad after all.

You’ve been feeling pretty happy when you were with him. That was new. You liked it. And you definitely liked him.

Deep down, you knew it wouldn’t last though. This natural high of being with Roman. 

It only took one new traumatic experience, which was a painful reminder of your terrible past, to let everything crash down and burn. 

When you met with Roman and he wanted to have a meal with you, you refused. You said that you weren’t hungry and he accepted it after a small fight. He hated not having his way, but he also knew when to let go. At least, he did with you. 

But the more often it occurred, the more suspicious he became. 

The next time you saw him, it was unexpected. You had just done a shot of heroin before he barged into your small, dirty apartment.

“I hate being played with, Y/N,” Roman stated angrily, uncaring of the fact that he had just crashed your high. 

You simply looked at him with heavy eyelids, trying hard to focus on him standing in front of and above you as you were slumped on your worn-down couch. 

Frowning, Roman snapped his gloved fingers in front of your face, “Are you not listening to me?” 

As he asked this, you made a small sound in the back of your throat, humming softly in acknowledgment. 

“What’s your problem?” you responded eventually, rubbing your hands over your scruffy face.

Roman fixed you with a piercing glare, sniffing in disdain, “You are.”

That woke you up a little, as though somebody had poured a bucket of ice water over your head.

“What do you mean?” you asked dumbfounded.

“The fact that you’ve been fucking avoiding me! You keep standing me up when I want to meet you.  We haven’t even fucked in a while,” Roman huffs with annoyance, “If you don’t want to see me anymore, then just fucking say so, but don’t you fucking dare lead me on!” 

Sitting up straight, you held up your hands in a placating manner.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you rushed the words out, “Roman, no. I don’t… Fuck…” 

With a deep sigh, you put your head into your hands, scratching your scalp in frustration. 

“I’m sorry, babe. I’m not leading you on, I promise!” you said urgently, looking back up at Roman with pleading, bloodshot eyes.

As suddenly as his anger usually appears, the fight left Roman’s body and he sat down next to you on your couch. He was trying hard not to make a comment about the state of your apartment, let alone your couch, or you, but you could see the disgust in his features before he schooled his expression.

“Then what’s going on with you?” Roman asked in a surprisingly soft voice. You could even detect a hint of vulnerability in it. 

For a long moment, you simply looked at him and debated with yourself. Should you tell him the truth? Would he leave you if he knew how broken you really were? 

The longer your gaze held his, you felt your resolve break until you broke down in tears as all of your repressed feelings suddenly came to overwhelm you. 

It took Roman a few seconds to act, but he put his arms around you and pulled you close at last. He didn’t say anything and just let you cry into his shoulder. He would probably make you pay for his ruined suit jacket one way or another, but that would be a problem for you in the future. And maybe it didn’t matter as much to him now anyway. 

Through your pained sobs and stinging tears, you explained it to Roman. You told him about your traumatic past, your coping mechanisms, your current situation that led to you neglecting your relationship with him. All of it spilled out of you without a way of stopping it.

When you were slowly calming down, Roman kept his arms around you and rubbed your back soothingly. 

“Well, I didn’t expect that,” Roman mused, “but I’m glad you’re not fucking with me.” 

Knowing Roman, this was as close as you’d get to any sort of response to what you just told him. It was also the closest thing to reassurance from him. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t scream at you. He simply held you close and comforted you in his own way. 

“We’ll have to find you some better coping mechanisms, though. And stop punishing yourself by not eating for fuck’s sake!” Roman continued after a few long moments. It made you smile weakly. 

“I’ll try,” you responded hoarsely. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘I’ll try’, my fucking ass. You’re going to move in with me and I’ll watch you eat a full meal at least once a day. Got it?” 

There it was. Roman’s way of showing that he actually cared.

For a minute or so, you were so stunned by his, well, demand, that you completely forgot to respond, until he nudged you with a huff, “Got it?”

Weakly, you nodded, “Yea- yes, okay. Sounds good.”

“Good,” he smiled brightly. “Because remember, you’re my boy now and I like to take care of my things.”

#it's been way too long since I've written a full short story so I hope this is good enough ^^' #roman sionis #male reader #roman sionis x male reader #fanfiction #fanfic #jesse.writes

[heartofwritiing]

Types of kisses I think my favorite Ewan McGregor characters would like.

all gn!reader

Catcher Block

- Definitely likes kissing your neck.

- giving you hickeys and love bites all over.

- is the kind of guy to try and distract you while your on the phone by kissing your neck or ear to get you to mess up.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

- Obi-Wan LOVES forehead kisses okay fight me.

- especially if your shorter then him he likes that he has to lean down and peck the top of your head or forehead.

- loves lingering kisses on the lips too

- since hes always away for long periods of time.

- and when he returns to you his kisses are hotter and longer.

- like all the pent up emotions you’ve both had are pouring out into those kisses.

Christian (Moulin Rouge)

- I feel like Christian just loves to make out.

- he loves your lips, he thinks they’re the softest lips ever.

- my sweet bb boy is so touched starved so he loves it when your making out and you run your hands through his hair.

- or you just interlock your fingers with his.

- your both kinda in control when you kiss, but if he’s jealous his kisses are more fierce and passionate putting all his love into them that you kinda get taken aback by this.

Roman Sionis

- hand kisses.

- like you would just come out from getting ready for a ball or gala he was taking you too and he would grab your hand and place a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

- he’s not big of pda but he will occasionally kiss your cheek when you’re out.

- but when your alone he kisses you on the lips.

- they’re quick pecks, but they’re meaningful to you both.

#ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x reader #types of kisses #roman sionis x reader #obi wan x reader #catcher block x reader #down with love #birds of prey #star wars #fanfiction #moulin rouge #christian x reader #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #headcanon #x reader

[welcometohellweofferimagines]

BRUCE WAYNE x READER ❥ there is a thin line between love and hate ❥ ⌜ ❁ ⌟  ✧  ⌞ ❀ ⌝ based off of the original (cringe-fest) imagine: x

children, i’ve brought you a garbage fic and a billionaire to eat. dig in. x ⌜ ❁ ⌟  ✧  ⌞ ❀ ⌝ ⌌ ✍︎ re-written version of “ and i would like nothing more than that ”. unedited.  18 • 09 • 22 ⌍

You don’t drink. Well, much. No, that really was the truth.  

All right, you might indulge in one or two alcoholic beverages here and there — but it really wasn’t a problem; and you rarely got drunk. Especially not on the job.  

“Okay,” said the bespectacled man — perhaps the politest of your conversational partners this evening — before he tapped his empty champagne flute, stood, excused himself, and left.  

Ah. Perhaps insisting to these blue-bloods that you were a professional, and a well-behaved one at that, was not the best topic of choice. You’d lost four, no, five... no, maybe nine people since you picked up your first flute and begrudgingly agreed to mingle.  

“It’s networking, baby,” Luca had finger-gunned in your direction. “Just as important as the job.” 

What job, you mused to yourself, grumbling over the glass rim. “I don’t give a fuck about this back-scratching shit.” 

The last of the bubbly disappeared down your throat, the thirst for more immediate as soon as you lowered the champagne flute from your lips.  

Jewels glittered in all directions, the comically elegant laughter around you like headache-inducing sirens. Your own attire felt cheap in comparison, although you’d dragged your feet into an expensive shop to purchase it just a few weeks ago. 

You trudged past them all tonight much like you’d entered the store then, a little more drunk and loose now to care that you looked like a sullen child instead of [Y/N] from Accounting.  

It didn’t matter anyway. You’d handed in your resignation a week ago. Soon, you’d be gone with the wind, baby. Networking be damned. 

You wandered. Wandered, stopped to admire the chocolate éclairs on a server’s silver platter, and wandered some more. Yet, no champagne flutes were in your sight, save for those held already by attendees. You scratched your head — increasingly fuzzy, with the umpteenth drink coursing through you; there must be a logical explanation, you decided; but you sure as hell weren’t going to be able to discover what it was tonight, so you might as well just go sit down. 

Unbeknownst to you, you were among the few guests to whom a certain British butler had long since forbidden the servers from offering more drinks. If he hadn’t been Mr Wayne’s own personal staff, one or two might not have cared to listen. But because he himself had an air of authority, none dared approach you after dispersing; except for those serving food.  

A quiet corner near the French windows pulled you from the chattering crowd, a sole man occupying it. He smiled at you when you plopped down across from him, but, until he spoke, he was a little too hazy to recognise. 

“[Miss/Mr/Mx] [Y/L/N]. What a pleasure.” 

“Mr Fox,” you greeted, perking up for the first time that night. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

“Couldn’t miss one of Mr Wayne’s parties, now, could I?” There was a trace of humour in his voice. Enough for you to throw all caution to the wind and snort in a drunken response.  

“So much for charity event, huh.” You rested your cheek on your palm as you glanced over your shoulder at the others. “You know, I tried to donate five hundred dollars. The lady there laughed at me,” you gestured with your chin to the tall foundation hostess in her custom red Versace gown, greying golden hair swept up in a trés chic updo. “Thought it was a joke.” 

“Nobody likes a cheapskate, [Mx/Miss/Mr] [Y/L/N].” Lucius Fox shook his head. “That’s why I donated five hundred and one dollars.” 

You were caught in a mid-snort when another figure approached, claiming the chair beside Mr Fox with a languid air. The newcomer unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat, turning to his adjacent partner with a smile.  

“Lucius. A word?” 

“Of course, Mr Wayne.” He then nodded in your direction, “We have another guest, however. Polite manners require you greet [them/her/him] as well.” 

It wasn’t meant as a chastisement; rather, Lucius Fox sounded very much like he was teasing the man. The alcohol in you wasn’t helping much at the moment, but you just about managed to catch Mr Wayne smiling, an indulging expression that reeked of an arrogant nonchalance. Your nose scrunched up.  

God, you disliked this man.  

In the revolution, you hoped to eat him first.  

“Good evening. [Mx/Miss/Mr] ...?” 

His gaze found yours. Or, at least, you thought it did.  

You didn’t answer. The silence that stretched between the three of you grew uncomfortable, until, when Fox began to shift in his seat, it turned unbearable. 

Now was your cue to exit.  

Mr Fox began, “This is [Y/N]—”  

Without a word, you stood from your seat, and walked — perhaps, more accurately, stumbled — to the French windows and flung them open, out into the cool night air.  

Gotham sprawled out before you: glittering lights. Much like the ornaments the elite donned inside, the spectacle overwhelmed, much too fine for an especially topsy-turvy mind such as the one you were struggling with now. But, oh, was this a pretty sight. Prettier than the one indoors.  

Another outcast stood further down the balcony, the warm orange light of a cigarette cutting through the dark; he exhaled, leaning his head back, missing you as you stormed up to him with balled fists and a furious frown.  

“Luca!” You punched his arm. Lightly. He yelped. (Maybe it wasn’t that light actually.)  

“[Y/N], what the fu—” 

“What happened to networking, baby?” you demanded, seizing his cigarette and flinging it beneath your shoe. He cried out as you crushed it into ash. 

“Huh?” 

“The fuck are you doing out here? I haven’t seen you inside since Lady Gaga sang.” 

“She was amazing, wasn’t sh—” Your palm struck his shoulder. “Ow!” 

“You said it was important. I’ve been rubbing elbows this whole time and I’ve hated every single second of it. Why aren’t you doing the same thing?” 

“I said it was important, I didn’t say I liked it.” Luca huffed out a breath, inhaling as if it were cigarette smoke. He leaned his head back again and blinked up at the starless sky.  

You glared at him. “How many people — and not from work — have you talked to tonight?” 

Luca seemed to consider a moment. Yet, when he answered, it was a pathetic one. “I talked to Alfred.” 

“Who’s Alfred?” 

“Pennyworth.” 

“From?” 

Luca paused. He hesitated, fidgeting. “From Wayne... Manor.” 

“Wayne Manor? What is he? Wayne’s lover or something?” 

Luca relaxed into a grin. “Butler.” 

“So he makes the bed after he wakes up from it. Okay. I get it. Good job, Luca.” His other hand, the elbow resting against the parapet, held a crystal whiskey glass, amber liquid inside. You swiped it — much to his displeasure.  

“I spoke to a lot of people,” you brushed his protests aside, “I deserve this,” slowly sipping the burning liquid until none was left.  

“[Y/N], I’m broke,” Luca pouted after a few peaceful minutes. “I bought this stupid watch for, like, almost a grand. Harrington saw it and did his backhanded compliment thing. He was all like, oh, I love it! So vintage. That’s their old model released three years ago. Very affordable.” 

“Hate that guy” 

“Me too.” 

“Is that why you’re out here? Not in there?” 

Luca nodded. 

“Okay. Mood.” You regarded the crystal in your hand with interest. “That’s why I’m outta here.” 

“Home?”  

That caught his attention. Now it was undivided — you didn’t actually want, nor need, him to focus on you so much. 

“No. I handed in my notice—” 

He spoke as you spoke, “You can’t leave, you bitch. Who else is going to be broke with me? Even Samara in accounting has a millionaire stepdad, and Hwa has—” 

“—and I’m gonna leave this conversation now, bye.” 

“[Y/N]!” he shouted after you.  

“It’s mingle time, baby,” you called back to him.  

It was not mingle time. You lied. You were going home.  

But the night hadn’t finished its fun with you yet. You hadn’t stepped within a metre of the floor when Lucius Fox waved you over to his corner again. He had with him a whole party of individuals now: a Wayne Enterprises board member, one tech CEO from someplace-or-other, two board members from another company (one of whom you were about 80 to 85% sure was Roman Sionis), and a corporate lawyer you’d seen around the tower; and last, but certainly not least, Bruce Wayne himself.  

You could ignore him, pretend you didn’t see.  

Ah, yes, because making direct eye contact and then walking off is a totally valid explanation behind you somehow not noticing his invitation to his table. I am drunk though, you realised. That was a good excuse.  

But this was Mr Fox... Soon enough you wouldn’t be around him anymore — not that you could tag alongside him much already when you were stuck in the accounting department — and what moments you could steal of witnessing his dry wit would be lost forever. That, and he was much too nice to purposely slight.  

Surprisingly, there was a seat free beside Bruce Wayne. As you sat, though, you could tell that the woman to your right — the gorgeous lawyer, a Harvard graduate, you’d heard — had been eyeing that chair up for a while, too cautious to take it for herself, hoping instead that he might scoot over, even if only to get a better look at her slender legs.  

Alas, you were now in between them.  

“[Y/N] is leaving our company soon,” said Mr Fox, raising his glass of whiskey — where and when did the whiskey come out?! — to you in a toast. “If either of you gentlemen have an opening for a new chartered accountant, I’d highly recommend you hire [them/her/him].” 

He took a sip from the glass as he added, “So [they/she/he]’ll come back to us soon.” 

The other company’s board members chuckled, their interest in you sparked for a moment, before flickering; fleeting, much as you’d expected it to be. You busied yourself with the champagne that a server came to set before you — their hand trembling in uncertainty (considering retracting the flute as soon as their gaze locked with Mr Pennyworth’s) — content at last to have more numbing juice. 

“Did Bruce not pay you enough?”  

It took longer than you would have liked for you to realise that the one who spoke — Mr Hotshot-Twenty-Something-Year-Old-Tech-Savvy-Small-Loan-of-a-Million-Dollars-Guy — was in fact speaking to you. 

A brush against your knee startled you. You almost jumped in your seat, managing to just flinch a little, glancing down in slow realisation that your adjacent acquaintance — unfortunately not the pretty lawyer lady — had accidentally brushed his knee against yours. He’d turned just a bit to look at you. His face was a tad blurry. You drank more champagne.  

Hoping it to be a rhetorical question, you just answered with what you hoped was a humorous smile. But then Wayne himself joined in; his arm came to rest atop the back of your seat.  

“Didn’t I?” he asked.  

Could you up and leave for a second time in the face of his questioning? I mean, yes, of course you could, there was no law stopping you from doing that. The lawyer beside you could surely confirm that. But, would it be embarrassing? Witnessed by too many eyes?  

Yes. Very much so. 

“My salary was sufficient, thank you.” Damn, you hoped you didn’t slur. Or maybe you shouldn’t care... right?  

“Then why leave?” 

Fucking damn it. Just fuck off, you wanted to snap. His face swam beside you, the smile that graced his lips a fleeting sight as you narrowed your eyes at him for a quick moment. You must have looked far too contemptuous for an employee. Good thing you’d quit already.  

Thankfully, it was the tech CEO who answered for you (the one time you’d excuse it). “Sufficient, Bruce. Sufficient. Not great.” 

“Sufficient is great in this economy,” offered the lawyer, twirling her finger around the toothpick in her martini, staring at the green olives within. Darn it, how come she got a martini, and you didn’t?  

“Yeah?” countered the CEO.  

The woman frowned. “Not everyone’s as comfortable as you are, Nathaniel.” 

The subject of her frown also frowned. “Don’t call me Nathaniel.” He took a swig of his own drink. “Reminds me of my dad.” 

Why not just pay what we’re owed, you might have suggested. If someone had also given you a martini, you would have said it.  

Sufficient is just not good enough. To put up with their lot.

Mr Wayne’s knuckles brushed your fingers when he lowered his whiskey glass to the table; too close to where you held your flute to not be suspect. You looked at him through a narrowed gaze again. His brown hair fell over his forehead, catching the light. It looked like melted chocolate, dark; but there were hints of a golden hue in each wave. 

You then couldn’t help but notice that he’d undone his tie. A few buttons on his pristine white shirt were open. Holy shit if you’d ever dared show up to an event like this, unkempt as he’d allowed himself to become, you’d be blacklisted from employment interviews for life — unless you changed your name as well as your face.  

Damn this man.  

“You should’ve asked for a raise, [Y/N].” 

[Y/N]. Sure, he was your boss, he could address you by your name rather than be formal, but also, what the fuck. In the few years you’d worked at Wayne Enterprises, you’d seldom met the man behind the name (although... there was that one time you’d spent almost a whole afternoon following him around the tower, close to begging him to just sign off on his personal expenditures, long ago giving up on explaining to the company owner that wining and dining the hot new Swedish shareholder couldn’t be accepted as a valid use of his company card). You sure as hell weren’t suddenly friends now. Besides, the way he just said it... that’s not how bosses usually utter any employee’s name.  

The lawyer beside you noticed, too. Or at least you think she did. Her posture became rigid, her gaze shifting to you. Her plump lips formed a smile, but it seemed self-deprecating, as well as accepting.  

You took a moment to admire her smooth dark skin as she lamented over not moving seats as soon as yours had first become available. 

She was who Bruce Wayne should be rubbing his knuckles against. Not you.  

You’d rather punch him than brush your own knuckles against his skin.  

Fine, yes, it was true that he was very pretty. Women weren’t as vapid as these assholes liked to accuse them of being; it wasn’t just money, and you know what, it wasn’t even only his looks that trapped women or other partners. You’d seen him shed some of his ignorance before. Sometimes, he really could be charming.  

If you liked that sort of thing.  

Which you didn’t. 

Ugh.  

“I think,” you drew a breath, “I’m done with the corporate world for a while.” 

“What will you do once you’re free?” Again, it was Mr Wayne who asked.  

Wasn’t he completely uninterested in even saying hello to you a few moments ago? When was he going to go back to not caring — because you really needed an opening to say your goodbyes and book it home. 

“Travel. Take a vacation, I guess.” Why did your accent change? Fuck, you needed to leave.  

“Good choice,” Mr Fox nodded in approval.  

You raised your almost empty champagne flute to him. 

“In this economy?” joked the woman beside you.  

She was rich, you could tell. But self-made. Her dress was a gorgeous black silk. The gold around her neck and wrists weren’t there to brag. She had on an old, sentimental wristwatch. There was something about her, that you could tell she knew well the struggles of gaining success. If anyone else understood the value of money at this table, it was her.  

You liked her. You should get up and give her your seat. Even if it meant that someone as undeserving as Bruce Wayne could shoot his shot with her. After all, she wanted him to, didn’t she. 

Or maybe you should shoot your shot. 

She laughed, throwing her head back at something Bruce Wayne said from your other side, showing for a moment the graceful curve of her neck. Her laughter sounded like divine song. 

Nope, never mind. She was way out of your league. 

“Excuse me,” you murmured, rising — frustratingly with a bit of difficulty — to your feet. Much to your distaste, your chair legs scraped across the floor, loud. Using the table’s edge for balance, you guided yourself around your chair, pausing to push it in with a keen concentration that your closest table partners didn’t fail to notice. 

“I’ll come with you, [Y/N],” Lucius Fox offered, standing as well. 

But before he could move, Mr Wayne also rose, the fog of his own drunken mirth disappearing for a second, noticed solely by Lucius. “You promised Mr Sionis a sneak peek of our new tech, didn’t you? It’s okay. I’ll help [Y/N].”  

The two men shared a nod, even as Bruce Wayne’s gaze followed your abruptly retreating form. Fists balled at your sides, arms pendulating, you focused all your will on remaining upright and fast, all the while fleeing to the exit unaware of how cartoonish you looked.  

Almost there, you triumphed, catching sight of the coat check attendant. Almost. There. 

The attendant noticed your approach and offered a smile. He stepped forward to serve you, just as another woman called for him, the apologetic expression on his face too genuine to hold a grudge against him as he rushed off to get her fur coat. Foiled again! How many times did you have to be reminded of how unimportant you were compared to these blue-bloods? 

You tapped your foot once you reached the door to the cloakroom. Soon, you were leaning against the wall in a vain effort to not fall. It wasn’t long before someone joined you, their amiable smile gaining from you only a disappointed grimace. If he noticed, Bruce Wayne didn’t comment on it. He simply came to stand beside you, hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, his gaze sweeping over the party crowd with you. 

“Leaving so soon, [Mx/Miss/Mr] [Y/L/N].” His tone didn’t make it sound like a question, not even a rhetorical one; this seemed more like a remark.  

“It’s almost eleven,” you mumbled, checking your wristwatch to confirm. “Not so soon, actually.” 

“This event’s unlikely to end till midnight,” he told you, flashing you a small smile before returning to people-watching. 

“Uh, ha, too late for me.”  

Away from people, from being among conversations, you could no longer deny the fact that you were, like the embarrassment you could be, slurring. But beside him, you didn’t feel too bad about it; you’d heard about the times he’d shown up to board meetings hungover. More often than not, he even fell asleep during them. Let him hear your slurred speech, his opinion didn’t matter to you anyway. 

“Sounds like we’re losing a good employee,” mused Mr Wayne, but he spoke with a certain detachment, although he smiled. He didn’t care about the company as much as Mr Fox did, you were aware; he’d left most matters in the latter’s capable hands, after all. 

“Don’t worry,” you found yourself saying, “I’ll make sure my replacement ch—chases you around to get your—” you imitated signing, “—on expenses even better than I do.” 

His look of surprise met only the sight of your turned back, your additional muttered, “Not that you ever made it easy, though,” hopefully going unheard as you waved the coat attendant over again. 

(You'd only really done it once.) 

(Not that it mattered.) 

(Once was hard enough.) 

To your astonishment, his laugh rang out behind you. You faced the direction of the deep sound, seeing that he was now eyeing you with a certain curiosity — all traces of alcoholic influence oddly gone. A sudden uneasiness pooled in the pit of your stomach.  

Why, you couldn’t tell. Maybe it was because you’d never seen him this way. Bruce Wayne was always the worst spoiled, unconcerned snob around Gotham; yeah, he was an Ivy League graduate, but you sure as hell doubted that he got in on merit (all right, that was harsh... he was smart, you had to admit that — but he was just as careless); and what immense power he had, he used for his stupid exploits.  

This man before you didn’t seem like that Bruce Wayne. 

The attendant came to take your card and disappeared once more into the cloakroom. You took his arrival and departure as an excuse to turn your back on Wayne again, for some strange reason trembling. You were drunk. You were seeing things, thinking things, making things up. 

Yes, that made sense. 

“Do you need a ride home, [Y/N]?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

“Hm? Oh, no, thank you,” you answered, without evening meeting his gaze. “I’ll take the train. Besides...” No, don’t say it. You didn’t need to, just leave it at that, what use was it to make another jab at this dude? “Didn’t you drink?” 

He chuckled, stepping around to look into your face with a smile, “I’d ask my butler to drive.”  

His smile waned, just a bit (such a miniscule shift, you almost thought you imagined it; because, otherwise, that might have been the most genuine reaction you’d ever seen him have). “It’s not that safe on the trains this late at night.” 

“It’s okay,” you fought to keep a frown off your face, “I use them all the time.”  

Who was he to speak? His family might have built them, but you doubted he’d ever taken a train in his life. 

Okay, he had a point. But you weren’t going to listen to one of the wealthiest people in the world tell you your public transport was inadequate. 

And yes, of course you knew he himself had suffered an enormous loss in his youth... but perhaps that’s what frustrated you the most: that, despite what horror he faced on the night of his parents’ murder, he still turned out to be this selfish brat. 

Your coat appeared, along with the attendant. He came up to you whilst someone else vied for his attention; you hurriedly handed him a tip, then left the ballroom, heading towards the elevator. A pair of feet followed behind. 

“Wait, [Y/N].”  

You didn’t wait. You all but smacked the elevator button with the heel of your palm.  

Darn skyscrapers... Waiting for the elevator to rise to the top floor proved the worst of your experiences that night, because now Bruce Wayne was standing with you, alone, out in the glossy lobby where you just wanted to be left in peace. 

“At least call a cab,” he said. Was his voice soft right now? Were you losing your hearing? How drunk were you, really? 

All you responded with was a rub of your thumb over the tips of your middle and index fingers.  

The lift continued to ascend. 

“Let me pay fo—” 

Before he could finish his offer, you shot him a dismissive look, quelling the little bud of guilt that grew in your chest from your own rude reaction. 

“Goodnight, Mr Wayne,” you gave a nod, and returned to staring at the floor numbers above the sleek black doors.  

He paused, for just a moment. Then, he said, “Well, [Y/N], thank you for your donation.” He turned to leave. 

You shot him a smile this time, unable to keep the sarcasm off your face. “I could only offer some spare change though. Sorry.” 

Silence. Then— 

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you somehow.” 

The doors finally dinged open. 

That stupid smile was back: the saccharine one, aloof and false. He never went without this particular expression, and he was damn good at it. Somehow, it could please its recipients, even though he didn’t even bother to properly conceal the apathy in his tone of voice.  

But you couldn’t stand it. You had nothing to gain from the Great Bruce Wayne; except perhaps a headache. As pleasant as his smile was to look at, all it achieved in its use with you was furthering your irritation. If it were actually possible to see red when enraged, you’d have been overcome by it now.  

“You know what, Mr Wayne, no.” You whirled towards him (staggering just a bit). “You’re not sorry.” 

Still glaring at him, you marched inside the elevator. He took that as a cue to follow. Inside the closed — albeit ample — space, it felt almost as if your anger was radiating off of you, filling up between those four walls, pressing, and vengeful.  

If it became tangible, Bruce Wayne would be crushed dead. You too, probably; but that was a sacrifice, in this moment, you’d be willing to make. 

A short laugh escaped your lips, “You’re just not.” 

Serious again, you continued your attack (as well as you could). “Just like— Just like you don’t actually care about this city. No, actually, I don’t think you e—even care about other people. What is this event... Honestly? It just feels like a, uh... a sham. A chance to stroke your egos, get drunk, and fuck around. You want to raise money for the public library? Okay. Where are the kids? Where’re the... library... people? Um. Fuck. Uh, right, librarians. Where are they? Lady Gaga is cool and all, but how is her singing Shallow really a part of this cause? Did you just pick a random charity out of a hat? Because it sure as hell seems like you did.” 

You took a moment to gather your breath. 

“Do you even know how to read, Mr Wayne? Well then read this — you are a pompous... pompous jerk. Who cares for little else but his money. You’re a fake.” 

Everything was tilting. Was the world being pushed to its side? You stumbled back against the golden rail.  

Some time passed. 

When you next spoke, you almost didn’t recognise your own voice; this was someone else, surely; they sounded tired; they sounded almost sad. You weren’t sad. You were angry. 

“You’re the fakest person I’ve ever met.” 

The elevator announced your arrival on the ground floor. The doors slid open, but you didn’t move. He didn’t either.  

Gone was his façade. Not even intoxication altered his features. He didn’t even seem offended.  

Now, he was nothing... And fuck, this was so, so, so much worse. Whoever was standing in the other corner of the elevator was just an empty man... 

An empty man with hollow eyes. 

You couldn’t hold his gaze much longer. Glancing down at your shoes, you mumbled, “You know. You know what it’s like. This place is a shit show. Money couldn’t even save your...” No, you’d better not.  

Inhaling deeply, you diverted. “Imagine what it’s like for everyone else. Hon—hon—” you gave a short chuckle at your stuttering, “—honestly, even I’m luckier than most. So... just... imagine.” 

Exiting the elevator, you glanced toward him one last time, parting with an “Imagine dying on these streets with nothing. Then you can understand why watching you throw —you gesticulated— “your money around like it’s nothing makes people hate you.”  

Cold wind greeted you past the revolving doors, the autumn night worsening by the minute. Rain was promised, and there was no denying it would fall soon enough. You should’ve brought an umbrella, but you’d honestly expected to run off much earlier.  

The way home was far; you lived in a decent enough city block, but that’s what it was: decent — far, far, far from these opulent parts of Gotham. Trekking to the train station was going to be a bitch. But the temptation of calling a taxi from here to there... Financial ruin in disguise.  

You drew your coat tighter around you and began walking. It is what it is. 

An arm abruptly blocked your path. Following its length up to the face of its owner, a string of curse words erupted on your tongue, luckily silenced, too caught up in the realisation that he was flagging down a valet with his other hand before you could let him have it. 

“What are you doing?” you demanded. 

“Taking you home.” His gaze remained on the valet, a small, young woman who rushed off to retrieve his vehicle.  

“Huh? I said I—” 

“On most nights do you walk and take the train home drunk?” 

There was a finality to his tone, taking from you any opportunity to argue. You could try; but you had a feeling that he would just shrug it all off. It would be useless, wouldn’t it. 

But you were drunk. He frustrated you.  

So, eventually, you tried. 

“You can’t drive.” You watched with him as the valet pulled up to the curb, the lights from the building reflecting off the sleek golden body of his Bentley. “If I have to choose between getting stabbed going home or ending up in a car crash with you, I’d rather get stabbed to be honest.” 

You were looking downward as you finished, miming a stabbing. When you glanced up, his smile came into focus; you were standing close, close enough that the sarcastic pull of his lips was completely unmistakeable. You should have been angry. Yet instead, you fell silent. 

He was too real here, now. 

Much like when he’d looked at you with his hollow eyes, you found yourself unable to meet his gaze. You focused on the pavement where you scuffed a limp leaf onto its surface.  

“I’m not drunk,” he said, taking the keys from the valet. “I faked it. I’m good at that, remember?” 

Several minutes more (no one willing to come tell off the man parked right outside the hotel entrance when it was clearly a disgruntled Bruce Wayne), and you were finally seated on the passenger side. When he got inside, droplets of light rain that had begun to fall were scattered in his hair, his piqued expression disappearing behind his sleeve as he tried to rub some of the rain off. He glanced in your direction for a second while he pointed at the dashboard system. 

“Type in your address, please.” 

The car rumbled to life and he pulled his seatbelt into place. As you sat digesting his words, he reached over to buckle you up, throwing you a peeved squint of his eyes when you barked out a protest. 

This was the final form of rich spoiled brat Bruce Wayne — the last boss, worst of the worst — you decided.  

Though, his manner felt more grounded than you’d expected from him during a disagreement. You’d expected more snobbish behaviour in the face of your blatant disrespect. More of “how dare [they/she/he] not like me — I’m Bruce fucking Wayne!” than this — whatever this was. 

After a stretch of awkward silence, he gestured towards the screen again, “Well?” 

Biting back some ugly grumbles, you did as he asked. Wondering for a moment whether your fingers were clean enough to be touching this expensive tech, hoping Wayne wouldn’t come to find the stickiness of dried champagne on his precious Bentley tomorrow morning. 

With a nod in thanks, he put the gear into drive, and sped off down the street. He immediately swerved to take over a car ahead. Your stomach lurched, and for a moment you were terrified you might throw up all the alcohol still in your tummy. Also, what did you even eat tonight? Mozzarella sticks?  

Oh yeah, that’s right, Luca, Hwa and you got waffle fries after work. 

Bad choice... 

You muffled past your palm, “Could you—” 

The car immediately slowed to a decent speed. You might have thought he looked a little concerned when he faced you, but that was impossible considering the man in question. 

“Do you need me to pull over?” he asked. 

“No,” you assured, shaking your head. Your hand slipped down your face, falling to your lap. “I’ll be fine I think.” 

A gentle hum filled what would have otherwise been silence, the engine so soothing that you felt you’d soon be asleep. The rain outside had grown heavier. Windscreen wipers swept across the windshield, the noise a welcome addition to your increasing repose.  

You fell asleep in just a few minutes, waking long after you’d set off from the hotel. You started in your seat, a sharp gasp alerting Wayne of your awakening, his eyes narrowing to where you had managed to slump down in your sleep. Quickly, you straightened, stretching out the double-chin you’d slept with, crying on the inside with every painful stretch of your neck muscles. 

“We’re almost there,” he said from beside you, tapping something on the tech screen. It wasn’t until a symphony stopped that you realised he’d been listening to music. Quiet followed. 

“Oh.” You rubbed at your right eye. “You can keep playing it.” 

“Tchaikovsky?” He smiled a little. 

You looked at him. “You were listening to Tchaikovsky?” 

He shook his head suddenly, “Who’s that?” 

Confused, you said no more. Your head lolled back against the leather seat, staring through the window where buildings and lights and people blurred by. Your head was still spinning a little bit. You almost enjoyed the way everything blended into obscure colours. If it hadn’t been for the somersaults in your stomach, you’d enjoy it more. 

“How far away are we now?” your question came out just above a whisper. 

“Fourteen minutes.” After a long pause, he mused, “I didn’t actually realise how far you live, [Y/N].” 

You curled in on yourself. 

“Did you take the train all the way to the event?” 

It took you a while to reply. He thought it was because of his question, unaware that he had made you uncomfortable elsehow. Several seconds later, you mumbled, “No, I stayed around after work. I walked over with some colleagues.” 

He thought, then began, “You—” 

But your voice held his tongue.  

“Why do you... keep saying my name?” Abrupt; though it came out in a bashful murmur. 

“Why?” He began to chuckle. “Why, because it’s your name.” 

“No,” you shook your head. The space pressed in. There was so little of it, really. So little between you and him.  

“No, like... It’s so... Like...” Intimate. “Weird. See, I haven’t said your name. Not once.” 

“You’ve called me Mr Wayne a couple times tonight.” 

“Yeah. It— That’s, you know, formal. Like, like, if you, like, call me [Mx/Miss/Mr] [Y/L/N], that’s not weird. Even in my head you’re just, like, always Bruce Wayne.” 

“Say Bruce.” 

You froze. 

“Huh?” 

“Say Bruce right now.” 

Quiet, you tried to curl in on yourself further; but could manage no more than you already had. You trained your gaze out the window at the passing streetlights.  

You murmured out a “No...”  

He grinned at you, and you couldn’t help but glance fleetingly in his direction to gauge his reaction, shocked to find his countenance genuinely amused for the first time tonight. You looked back outside, folding your arms as your body slumped down the leather. 

“Do you not want me to say your name then, [Y/N]?” 

You shrugged. 

“Okay.” 

A muted beep, and Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake filled the space. Moments passed. But after a while, you couldn’t help it: you turned to him with an incredulous expression. He regarded your wide eyes, tutting in response. 

“Is this not Taylor Swift?” 

You simply stared. 

“Hang on, I think you’ll like this.” 

He pressed a few things on his screen, Swan Lake disappearing. A modern beat played from the speakers.  

“Wait, what?” 

“You like Big Shaq, right? Two plus two is four, minus one is—” He swatted lightly at your shoulder with the back of his hand, “You’re good with numbers.” 

Gunshots struck the air. Pah, pah, pah, pah, pah. 

As if this night couldn’t get any weirder, Bruce Wayne randomly pointed out of his side of the window, announcing gravely, “There’s a drug dealer who sells crack down that alley. You’re only a few minutes' drive away. Don’t walk past there. I’ve heard he’s a horribly good salesman.” 

You willed yourself to go back to sleep. 

Morning came without mercy. 

You awoke earlier than you’d have liked to a pounding headache. Too weak to rise, you peeked over the covers — gathered tightly around your head — at the blinds, confirming from the golden sunlight sneaking through that it was day. You stubbornly fell back asleep soon after. 

At around noon, your roommate was no longer indulgent of your behaviour, barrelling into your room to haul you out of bed. They shoved a glass of water in your hand, pointed at a box on the nightstand, and said something about coffee and lunch and brushing your teeth whilst storming out into the corridor as passionately as they’d come in. 

You grumbled about not getting even a second of peace as you did what you were told. But you supposed this was revenge for the last time they’d come home drunk. You’d done almost the exact same thing. 

The box yielded to be Tylenol. As you popped two tablets down, you grew aware of your surroundings. The floor was not littered with the clothes you’d worn out — a usual sight on the morning of a hangover. You glanced down to find last night’s attire still on.  

Fabric creased, it looked cheap now, not just what you’d felt it to be among the evening’s finery.  

The prospect of laundering made you groan — it would take intensive ironing to get those creases out. A task you had no intention of completing this weekend.  

Trudging out to the bathroom, you brushed your teeth then took a shower. Your roommate was sat in front of the TV reading this week’s horoscope when you tiptoed to the kitchenette area to steal your coffee and lunch. Their gaze followed you amusedly as you snuck back towards your bedroom. 

“Hey!” they called, stopping you in your tracks. “Did you read the note on your nightstand?” 

“Uh...” you glanced over your shoulder at their bright face. “No? What note?” 

A flourish; with a wave of their hand in the direction of your room, you were dismissed. “Just go read it, genius.” 

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath (endearingly (maybe)), but obeyed.  

Spiteful as you could sometimes be in the face of your roommate's demands, your curiosity was simply too much to ignore when you spotted the folded piece of paper. It stood propped against your lamp, a little flower (smiling, you should add) sketched on its visible side. You plucked it from the nightstand and jumped back into bed. 

Cursive script flowed down the paper, equal parts elegant and equal parts chaotic — too grand for you to decipher without worsening your headache.  

And much too grand to be your roommate’s.  

You squinted, reading slowly. Taking little in; until memories of last night returned to you. 

Of course you hadn’t forgotten that the event was a disaster, nor could you forget that Bruce goddamn Wayne had driven you home after it. But the part at the end felt blurred; you recalled bits and pieces of waking up, falling back asleep, feeling as if you were floating, telling someone to fuck off, an intercom buzzing, elevator music, hysterical laughter waking you up for a moment and... and— Wait!  

God fucking damn, did Bruce Wayne carry you up the elevator and to your apartment, or was that just a very vivid, very bizzare, utterly ridiculous dream? 

It had to be. In what world could that be real. Any of it? The note in your hand was a figment of your imagination, too. And Mr Wayne. The logical explanation was that none of it happened and you’d dreamed a drunken nightmare. No, you still were — dreaming. You had to be passed out on the balcony with Luca or something, alcohol poisoning finally taking its toll. 

That had to be it. 

It just had to be. 

[Y/N] — 

You’re lucky you’ve already quit, otherwise I might have had to fire you after last night. 

There’s some water and medicine on your nightstand for the headache I’m sure you now have. If you’re managing to read this despite it, I truly am sorry to see you go. You must be a great accountant. Lucius seems to have noticed sooner. What a shame he did nothing to stop you from resigning. 

You said some interesting things at the event. Or, at least, I’m sure it was all interesting. Please don’t fault me for not understanding a word of it. You see, I’m very stupid. It’s true that I bought my way into college. In fact, you’re right: I never did learn how to read. I’m going to go home and ask my butler what a librarian is. 

You must be wondering how I’m writing this then. The thing is, I’m rich. I can do whatever I want. The pen has to move because I’m telling it to. It can’t afford being sued. My lawyers are really, really good. 

I’m sure you have much more to say to me, [Y/N]. I may even begin to understand if you give me enough time to learn from you.  

Tomorrow is Saturday. The office is closed. I’ll wake up at 7, Alfred will make me a smoothie, I’ll meditate, work out a bit. Then I’ll drink and fuck around. Not very interesting.  

Certainly not as interesting as being shouted at by you. 

There’s a nice little souvlaki place around the corner from your place. I saw the owner throw a piece of lettuce at a customer when we were driving by. I think he actually meant it as a friendly gesture. They were both laughing. Come with me on Saturday night? Maybe we can get a free piece of lettuce too. Or two, since it’ll be you and me. 

I promise I’ll make it worth your while. You can continue to admonish me all you like. For hours and hours. Teach me what I can and can’t use my company credit card for, so the next poor accountant who deals with me after you doesn’t have to cry over it ever again. That was you, wasn’t it? I remember you now. I'm sorry about that... truly. 

You know, now that I’m thinking about it, your shouting actually reminded me of my nanny when I was six years old. Not that she was ever drunk around me or anything. She just shouted a lot. She used to show that she loved me by calling me a vexing child. I think it was German for lovely, or something like that. Maybe cute? 

Anyway, rest up, drink plenty of fluids. I can’t have you throwing up in the souvlaki shop, the owner might not like us then.  

Respond using my business email. Don’t worry. I only give my number to people I’m looking to hook up with. Lucky for you, I just want to have souvlaki and learn how to read from you. So, no phone number for you. 

Bring your best insults. I’ll enjoy them. You’ll enjoy them. Win-win.  

So, come. Please. 

 Yours, 

Bruce. 

 And it was your imagination, too, that you sent him that requested email.  

In your imagination, you had to thank him for last night, after all. 

It began with: 

Dear Bruce, — 

#bruce wayne #batman #dc #dc comics #bruce wayne x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #reader x bruce wayne #bruce wayne/reader #reader/bruce wayne #reader insert #batman x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #lucius fox #roman sionis #gotham #christian bale #robert pattinson #welcometohellweofferimagines

[stardancerluv]

I read the snippet of After Midnight with Roman, Your King from the reader, but on the master list the link to part one leads back to the reader and there’s no link to part three, just part two

I was wondering if you had links to the other parts?

- another anon that’s in love with Roman and your fics

Hello! 👋🏻 Roman fan! Here are all the bits.

Part one

Part two

Part three

Any other questions or remarks are always welcome!

Thank you so much for reading! 💐😁

#ewan mcgregor #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis imagine

[kaufmann-6]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Roman Sionis 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

First whumpy work of the year! @febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday1 #febuwhump 2024 #alt prompt 1 #human shield #trigger warnings #torture #eletric shock torture #whump #whump writing #my fanfiction #my writing #my fanfic #jason todd #tim drake #red hood #red robin #roman sionis #black mask #batman #dc comics #dc #batfam #ao3 #jason todd fanfiction #tim drake fanfiction #jason todd fanfic

[keffirinne]

Roman Sionis oneshots - part 3

Things are starting to heat up

-> Read on ao3 <-

#roman sionis #roman sionis smut #roman sionis oneshots #roman sionis x reader #birds of prey #black mask #gotham rogues #ewan mcgregor #smut #fanfiction #my inner feminist is dying because of this man

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Shock therapy

whumptober 2023 day 4-cattle prod/shock fandom-batman TW-torture summary- Jason's plan doesn't go how he thought it would, and he faces the consequences

ao3 whumptober masterlist

part 1 of WDKY

He laughs. It’s much better than screaming, though it annoys his kidnapper more and the cattle prod jabs into his side again. He clenches his teeth.

“That’s enough.” the cattle prod leaves and Jaon pants wishing he still had his helmet on so he could hide his expressions. 

As it is, Black Mask walks up and grabs his chin tilting it up so that Jason has to look at him. He wants to jerk his head away but his whole body is shaking so much from the aftershocks that he can only bare his teeth.

“So, you’re the big bad Red Hood who’s been trying to take over my territory? I must admit, I’m a bit impressed. Not everyone has the gall to drop a bunch of heads off for the police.” Black Mask lets Jason’s head fall and turns away. “Though, if you think you could muscle into my territory you’re also quite stupid.” 

He motions to the man sanding by Jason, and he barely has a second to tense before the cattle prod is jammed into his side again. His vision is starting to go black before Roman motions for his man to remove the cattle prod.

Jason gasps and his eyes sting, but he’d rather die again than let any tears fall.

Which was looking more and more likely if he couldn’t find a way to escape.

“I admit I was surprised,” Roman starts as he approaches Jason again, this time with a pair of brass knuckles, “Granted, it’s not the first time someone’s tried to challenge me, but then this person,” Roman grits his teeth, “starts being a pain in my side. I’m losing shipments and finding my loyal soldiers dead.” He gives a nod and another shock runs through Jason, he doesn’t have time to feel relief when the goon pulls the prod away because there’s a fist hitting his cheek and he’s tasting blood from where he bit his tongue. 

Roman steps forward and yanks his head up by his hair. Jason can’t stop trembling, his muscles randomly seizing from all the shocks.

“And then,” Roman whispers in his ear, “imagine my surprise, I hear that this isn’t just some wannabe crime lord, but the second Robin.”

Jason flinches and Roman chuckles as he backs up, taking the cattle prod from the goon.

“I’m not–” Jason starts but cuts off when the cattle prod is jabbed into his stomach.

He doesn’t realize he’s screamed until after it’s taken away and he sees Roman smirking. He steps forward again, grabbing Jason’s chin from where it had fallen against his chest.

“I am curious as to what brought you back. Everyone says the Joker killed you. Would you care to enlighten me?”

Jason gathers himself as much as he can and spits in Roman’s face.

The man steps back, sighing and taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the spit.

“I thought so, but I wanted to give you a chance to cooperate. But I guess this was inevitable.” Faster than Jason can see through his blurry vision Roman steps forward and lands several punches to his face, his stomach, his chest, his ribs, before jabbing the cattle prod into his aching ribs.  

Jason screams again.

Roman doesn’t ease up and Jason loses track of how many hits he takes before Roman is stepping back, hardly even out of breath. “I have to ask, why you’re here instead of with daddy Bats? Maybe I should call him, let him know what his Robin’s been up to.”

“Nngg…” Jason coughs and leans over to spit blood onto the floor. He can’t let Batman see him. Not like this. Not now. He has a plan. A plan which is looking more and more likely to fail. He always had been the failed Robin. 

“Or maybe,” Roman continues, “I should tell the Joker and let him finish the job he started.”

Jazon freezes. No. No no no no no. He can’t… That was… His breathing picks up and if he hadn’t been shaking so much he would have probably been begging.

Standing above him, Roman chuckles.

“Don’t like that idea? Well then,” he steps forward, wrapping his hand around Jason’s throat and squeezing, “maybe I’ll just finish the job myself.”

Jason’s vision has gone nearly black when another goon runs into the room.

“Boss!”

Roman snarls, hand tightening around Jason’s throat before he lets go and steps back.

“What is it?” he growls.

The goon tenses but continues, “The Bat’s here.”

Roman goes still, then smirks. “I guess the Bat decided to make the decision for us.”

Jason’s breathing starts to pick up again. No. He can’t see Batman. Can’t see Bruce. Not right now. His dad Batman will hate him.

“I wish I could see how the Bat reacts to his murderous Robin. Will he throw you in Arkham with all the rest of the crazies? Maybe he’ll even put you next to your friend the Joker. But I suppose I’ll just have to imagine it.” Roman jabs the cattle prod under Jason’s chin and turns it on.

His jaw clenches and his body shakes uncontrollably. When Roman finally pulls away, Jason collapses in his restraints, his vision starting to dim and his breathing becoming difficult.

He can barely make out Roman walking away, turning back just as he’s about to leave to call out, “See you next time little Robin.”

Just as Jason’s vision goes dark he sees a shadow burst into the room.

#whumptober #whumptober 2023 #batman #batman fanfiction #Jason todd #day 4 #cattle prod #shock #electric shock #torture tw #torture cw #Jason's not having a good time #roman sionis #black mask #red hood

[mrsedwardnygma]

HEY YOU!!!

dO yOu LiKe To SiMp OvEr BaTmAn ViLlAiNs???

Well here are links to quizzes and fanfics I made on Quotev:

A quiz about Jonathan Crane with one shots as results. (I also have one for the Riddler)

A self explanatory quiz

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST MY LOVELY FANFIC. there are three chapters with more to come.

I also have a bunch more quizzes

🙂

#batman villains #batman villain fanfic #dc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #roman sionis #black mask #roman sionis x you #roman sionis x reader #black mask x reader #personality quiz #edward nygma #the riddler #the scarecrow #oneshot #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #gotham

[alixgracchus]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Roman Sionis/Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Vignettes, Alternate Universe, Post Arkham Origins Summary:

Roman's retired from the criminal world and unhappy about it. He decides to hire some pretty company.

#roman sionis #black mask #batman arkham origins #batman: arkham origins #arkhamverse #dcu #mine dcu #my fanfictions

[littleoddwriter]

Hello my amazing and wonderful friend

I have missed your writing so dearly so I'm gonna take advantage of your asks being open right now and request a short college AU fic for Zsaszmask. It can be established relationship with just a look into their life or a first meeting. Write whatever is easiest for you, I will just be happy to read the words you wrote.

Kajahqhqh I'm so bad at sending requests so I hope this makes sense.

Wanna Hate You | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hello there, my dearest friend! <3 Aw, thank you so much!!! And no worries, you made complete sense, heh. I hope you like what I did with it, thanks for the request, dhjfkhsjk! <3 summary; Victor wants to hate Roman, but finds himself fascinated by the young man. notes; College AU; First Meeting; Mentions of Violence.

Boisterous fake laughter echoed through the hall and into Victor’s dorm room. 

He wanted to hate the guy the loudest laugh belonged to. He tried very hard to hate him. After all, that guy was beyond obnoxious. Victor had every reason to resent him, really.

But something about him just caught his attention. He knew exactly what it was, but that didn’t make it any less confusing to him. 

Roman Sionis. The heir of the Sionis’ legacy and Janus Corp. A spoiled brat that had people gravitate toward him for the simple fact of who his parents were and that he had money. Lots of it. It was all incredibly fake, but Roman entertained them all. He thrived on the attention he got, fake or not. He loved to boss them around, to feel like a God, as they practically kissed the ground he walked on. 

Yet there was something lurking beneath the surface. Roman was like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at every minor inconvenience or grievance that came his way. Victor was fascinated by that. 

No matter how hard Sionis tried to play the perfect boy with Daddy’s money, making connections at Gotham Academy, he always failed to maintain it completely. 

There was an incident at least once a week, where Roman just lost it and punched somebody in the face, humiliated somebody, harassed those around him, yelled them into submission and fear, or even pulled a knife on them. The list went on. 

At least once a week, Roman snapped. And every time, his parents cleaned up his mess with bribery to keep Roman in college and to keep all those incidents off the records. Every victim was paid off, sometimes never to be seen again. 

As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, Victor looked forward to those incidents every day. They were what made college more interesting, what made Roman so fascinating and captivating. They were the only reason Victor couldn’t get himself to hate the guy. 

In fact, Victor often found himself thinking about how he could bring Roman’s next outburst along faster without making himself take the brunt of it. He liked to watch. To see that fire in Roman’s eyes as the mask started to crack and slip and his true self reared its ugly head. 

Part of him felt like it was unfair, though, that he knew so much about Roman and was fascinated by him, only for the other to not even know he existed. 

Victor was pretty good at fading into the background. Usually, that was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t like attention; especially all that fake crap these college kids at Gotham Academy were so very good at. But he started to crave attention from Roman. He wanted and needed it. And it really bothered him that Roman had no idea. 

Victor has been racking his brain, trying to find a good way to introduce himself to Roman, get his attention and keep it. 

As it turned out, Victor fantasised about all the different ways he could go about it for nothing.

___

After a full day of classes, which he all hated and he failed to remember why he went to college in the first place, Victor returned to his dorm room. He didn’t have a roommate, luckily. So, of course he was very surprised to find somebody in his room on that evening.

How Roman got inside was beyond Victor. Maybe he underestimated him. Maybe Roman was really good at picking locks.

He stared at Roman, trying to decide on what to say and how. He couldn’t mess up his chance of finally having Roman’s attention on him.

“Are you mute or something?” Roman asked rudely, crossing his legs one over the other and leaning back in Victor’s desk chair. 

Victor frowned, shaking his head. He hated to admit it, but Roman made him speechless. And he also made him feel exposed, now that his piercing blue eyes looked Victor up and down.

“What’re you doing in my room?” Victor asked back instead. 

“Waiting for you, obviously,” Roman answered, looking around the small room with a disgusted expression, “I’d never set a foot in this sort of mess otherwise.”

“Why?” 

Roman’s eyes snapped back up to Victor’s face. He stared at him for a long moment.

“I’ve noticed you and your little habit,” Roman sneered, “You’re always there when I’m having one of my… moments. Always watching. But instead of appearing to be scared or put off, you just smile. Like I’m entertaining you with my outbursts.”

Victor couldn’t believe what he just heard. Roman actually noticed him? The spoiled brat was more observant than Victor had expected. 

Giving Roman a lopsided smile, Victor responded, “You're very entertaining when you snap. It makes you interesting to me. They all had it coming anyway.”

Roman’s eyes seem to light up at that and he shoots Victor a toothy grin in response, “So you agree. You agree that those fake maggots deserve to be squashed.”

“I do,” Victor nods. “But I don’t get why you hold yourself back so much if you want to put them in their place.” 

“Because of my stupid fucking parents,” Roman groaned, “I’m already on thin fucking ice with my father as it is. He keeps threatening to cut me off and I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not? You’d be free if he did.” Victor’s words were blunt and he could see that Roman was intrigued, but also hated it, since he probably wasn’t used to anyone challenging what he said. At least not like that.

“I know that. But… I don’t think I could handle the humiliation,” Roman said in a whiny voice that - surprisingly - Victor didn’t find annoying.

“You could. With me by your side.”

There was a spark in Roman’s eyes, “Oh? Forward much, aren’t we?”

Victor shrugged. He didn’t care. Not anymore. This was his chance and he’d take it, no matter what.

Tapping his fingers against his thigh, Roman continued, “Well, what do you suggest? I can’t just let myself be cut off without a plan…”

___

Victor wanted to hate Roman the second he heard his annoying, loud fake laughter ring through the dorm halls at Gotham Academy. He wanted to resent him, but instead felt pulled toward him. Roman Sionis was a magnetic field and no one stood a chance when getting too close, least of all Victor. 

Now, twenty years later, Victor couldn’t possibly care less. Roman was his and his alone. 

They both thrived, running their businesses and revelling in their true selves. No more hiding. No more lurking. No more Mommy and Daddy that could ruin all the fun. That was the first thing they had taken care of all those years ago. Roman was much better suited as the head and face of Janus Corp, after all, with Victor by his side.

#as per usual this started to run away from me (esp when i write for them... i do not have control then) #roman sionis #victor zsasz #zsaszmask #fanfiction