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tanith-rhea · 1 year

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Neighbours

Miranda just broke up with her fifth boyfriend of the year. It is September and she is starting to feel done with juvenile relationships and thinks it's time to settle down and focus exclusively on her Policing Bachelor's. To this effect, she moves to a new apartment to start the new no-relationships (or at least no-men) chapter of her life. Shame that her new neighbour seems to disagree with that… at least when she’s sleeping.

Word count: 3k

Part One, Part Two

I love this gif by @kingpreciouswrld so much, thank you!

Your new neighbour is the cutest person you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s no big deal, obviously, but it would be stupid to deny she is the person with the biggest puppy vibes you’ve ever encountered.

You first saw her coming back from a workday. She was just moving in, a few boxes in the corridor, some blocking your door. Your previous apartment was a disarray of disassembled furniture and all manner of clutter.

You missed your old apartment, but it was for the better. The new one, just across the corridor, was a one-bedroom at almost half the price, it was also half the size, but you could not care less, being only you.

“Hey, do you want some help with this?” you remember asking the bent-over girl lifting the heavy-looking boxes.

She didn’t respond immediately, instead turning around to look at you with white-blond eyebrows up on her forehead.

“Oh my god, sorry! Am I blocking the way?” she tried to flatten herself in the wall, but the box was still very big if you were to pass.

“No” you chuckled, amused with her sweet but ineffective attempt at making space “I live here, actually” you knocked on your door and shrugged.

“Fuck I’m blocking your actual fucking door” she seemed exasperated with herself, turning slightly pink. She was so adorable you felt your stomach bubbly. Maybe you would throw up rainbows, who knew?

“It’s no problem, really. I can just open it and jump over the box. I’m asking if you want help” you tried to smile gently. Most of the time your smiles were snarky or smug, so you didn’t have much practice conveying niceness.

She bit her lip and you wanted to curl into a ball and scream in happiness. How the hell did she manage to be so cute? You wanted to punch her.

“All right… yeah, thank you. If you’re serious…” she gave you a sheepish smile and you promptly lifted some boxes as well.

The boxes were indeed damned heavy. It only made you admire even more how easily she seemed to pile two or three of them and bring them inside. She could throw you across the room without breaking a sweat, you were sure.

She thanked you again and you tried to act normal and said she could just shout if help was needed. You were just across the corridor anyway.

She didn’t shout for help. She didn’t even call for a chat, actually. You left early in the morning to work and came back close to six when she was already inside, you assumed, watching television or playing games or whatever you assumed students did these days.

The only interaction you had after the moving in was when you came back from work two days later to find a chocolate cake on a paper plate with a “thank you <3” note on it. The heart and her handwriting were very round, and you thought she must have had one of those teachers that made kids write four pages of calligraphy with every homework.

You didn’t even have the excuse of giving the plate back, and what would you say if you simply knocked on her door? Hello, I think you are adorable and would like to spend time with you even though we are just neighbours, and I don’t mind if you don’t find me attractive, I just want to look at your cute as fuck face? No, that wouldn’t do. You just had to accept your predicament and move on.

But the mind is a funny thing, and countless nights of not sleeping enough and rewatching Buffy, The Vampire Slayer atop the stress of applying to culinary school were just the thing it needed to decide it was time for a good old sleepwalking.

The first time it happened you woke up trying to open the door to your old apartment at four in the morning. The hallway was dimly lit by the soft blue nightlights kept for those who stumbled home after a wild night out or left to work in the ungodly hours of the morning. You went back to your own apartment, drank very cold water and decided an early start was as good a decision as any. You made scrambled eggs for a change and actually had breakfast before leaving.

The second time was the same. You woke up cold with your hand twisting insistently in your neighbour’s doorknob. By the fifth you were starting to get frustrated, and by seventh, you were beginning to consider telling Miranda about your predicament, lest she decided to go for a midnight walk and find you trying to break into her apartment.

But you didn’t have the chance. The eighth time, Miranda forgot her door open, and your sleepwalking self was satisfied to finally be able to enter her “home”. You woke up with a searing pain in your head.

“Are you awake? Are you all right? Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, you scared the shit out of me!” your neighbour’s voice was a high-pitched audio on 2x velocity.

Her hands were on your face, and you were sprawled on the rug of her living room.

“What…?” your heart rate was slowly rising, and you didn’t understand what was happening. You were partially used to waking up in the hallway but laying on the ground with a panicked Miranda on top of you was at least a bit disorientating.

“I think you sleepwalked into my home” she took a deep breath, trying to lower her volume “I heard something bumping from my room and came out to see a figure down the hallway… so I hit you with a frying pan”

“You did what?!” the absolute nerve! Well, actually you invaded her home, so good on her for defending herself “What if I was a real burglar? You would come at me with a frying pan?” your head was still aching, probably where she hit you, but you gave her a side smile.

“I’m at policing school for something, aren’t I?” she went up and offered you a hand smiling, she seemed relieved.

Policing then. That made sense considering her height and strength, but you could swear she was an artsy one, maybe sculpting and drinking herbal tea or whatever.

“Sorry, officer, didn’t mean to cause any trouble” you joked, getting up and patting your pyjamas.

“Next time I’ll have you arrested” she arched a brow, amused.

You definitely wouldn’t mind that. Ok, that was enough. She was cute, yes. It was the middle of the night and she had bed hair and her blouse was hanging off her right shoulder but that didn’t give any right.

“I’ll, hm… go then” you pointed behind your shoulder to the door “You probably want to go back to sleep… I should too” you smiled tightly, trying to keep the swagger or whatever, look cool, even if you had just invaded her home, flirted with her and stared at her unguarded form probably still warm from sleeping.

She seemed to jump at that, realizing the circumstances, and looked at the clock. Almost five, damn.

”Oh, you could actually stay. It’s not a problem” she speed-talked at you.

“Are you sure…? You could still sleep around… two hours?”

“Classes start at eight, might as well make use of the extra time” she shrugged, smiling contently “But you don’t have to stay if you don’t want” she quickly added, seeming less confident.

Jesus, the girl was a rollercoaster of emotions.

“No, sure. I’ll stay” you smiled, and she seemed satisfied with that “Actually, I’ll make you breakfast. You go shower and get ready and I’ll make you panda-shaped banana pancakes” you blinked, trying not to laugh at her confused look.

“All right…” she walked slowly to the hallway “Will you need help in the kitchen?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll find my way” you reassured her, and she nodded shortly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Miranda was the funniest girl you had met in a long while. She was direct and innocent in a hilarious and charming way. After two or three pancakes she was asking you about your preference for sleepwear bottoms or what brand of toothpaste you used. You also discovered she swore off men after five bad relationships in only a year. That was interesting but discouraging at the same time. For one, she wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with a man, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t straight. Chances were that she was, from how she talked about men, and that was at the very least really disappointing. You thought you had a chance when you first saw her, but that just went to teach you never to judge a book by its tall, beautifully breathtaking cover. She was an absolute lesbian thirst trap, and it was hugely unfair.

At least now you were friends, not simply the person across the hallway, and you could be content with that; if not jumping excitedly in gay bliss, but that was ok.

One breakfast turned into eating junk food over at your place, watching Buffy because you still had one season to go for your fourth rewatch, and talking about all manner of things. Miranda was in the third year of her bachelor’s degree, halfway to graduation because she studied only in the mornings. She was twenty-one, two years younger than you, and apparently had fooled around with some girls in the past; mostly just “straight and curious” as she put it. She didn’t seem too happy about it, and you didn’t touch the subject again.

Almost an entire month of eating at each other’s places and watching whatever was on television went by and you could almost lie well enough to yourself that you weren’t slowly falling for her and were just happy for becoming closer and closer friends with her. But then it happened.

You had drunk a few beers together while Miranda did some research for a paper she was due next month. It was late and you were napping lightly on her shoulder when she leaned on your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“You can go sleep if you want, I’ll finish this in a bit anyway” she murmured close to you and in your half-sleeping daze you only agreed with a hum and went to the bedroom.

Her bedroom, in the apartment that wasn’t yours anymore.

She saw you walk down the corridor and didn’t say anything, which was strange. Some people didn’t mind having friends sleeping over, but you were going to her room, not the guest’s, and still, she didn’t utter a word. Later, she went to sleep as well. You were already deep in a dreamless sleep unlike you’d had in a long while. She slipped in the covers beside you and brought you to her chest, you sighed contently in the crook of her neck while she played with your hair until she too fell asleep.

Waking up in Miranda’s bed was the sweetest sensation. Her body was warm, all tangled with yours, and she snored softly with her head atop yours. For a few seconds you were in heaven, and then the situation finally dawned in your head. You were sleeping in Miranda’s arms. How the hell did that happen? You remembered last night as if it was… well, yesterday. She said you could go to sleep, but she didn’t specify where, and your sleep-deprived brain took you to the exact bed it had been trying to get you into for at least a week and a half some time ago. And Miranda did nothing. Actually, she didn’t “do nothing”, she went and slept with you in said goddamned bed.

“I can hear you thinking” a sleepy voice came from atop you; Miranda was awake and hugging you while pressing her nose to your hair. She made a contented hum and hold you tighter before letting you go, sitting up “It’s all right, this was your apartment, I get that you would go to your old room if you were sleepy and not thinking clearly” she smiled, letting you off the hook.

She was so unfairly beautiful with pillow marks on her cheeks and sleepy dust in her eyes, a dopey smile not at all timid, but warm, before getting up and crossing the corridor to the bathroom.

You were in hell. You also were in heaven, but it didn’t belong to you. Miranda was your friend; she was straight and very much not interested in a relationship at the moment. She said so herself, countless times while drunk and complaining about ex-lovers, whom you wanted to beat to the ground for not seizing the opportunity of catching her eye, thank you very much. You could not continue doing this. You were far too invested for your own good and it was time to take a step back and reflect.

You got up, knocked on the bathroom door to say you were going home to get ready for work and left.

The following days were horrible. Miranda would come over with takeout only for you to lie about a headache and wanting to sleep, or you wouldn’t come back till it was late enough that she would be inside watching tv. Sometimes you said you had work stuff to sort out, which you didn’t, and she knew because you worked at a café. It also wasn’t a good enough excuse because she did college stuff all time at your house and it never was a problem. She knew what you were doing, and she didn’t stop you. Maybe she was relieved.

It was Saturday night, almost a week after the “I can’t keep lying to myself that I love you” incident. Miranda hadn’t knocked in two days, and you were eating ice cream on the sofa while indulging in some well-deserved skin care consisting of tears and self-pity when a voice sounded at the door.

“Hey… are you there? I can listen to the tv” it was Miranda, of course it was.

You knew you were being a drama queen, but you enjoyed those stages of breakups where you could cry all day and stuff yourself with sweets. It didn’t mean you wanted her to see that.

You hid the ice cream underneath the coffee table and furiously cleaned your face in the hem of your t-shirt before opening the door.

“Hi! Sorry, I was just cleaning, everything is a mess today, I’d prefer you didn’t see it” you didn’t even give her a chance to speak.

She looked easily over your shoulder, noticing nothing out of place.

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to interrupt” she looked at her hands, squishing each other nervously “Listen… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’d like for us to go back to normal” she sounded so sorrowful you wanted to bang your head in the wall for being the cause.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable” one truth “it just has been a busy week, I really wish we could have hung out more” two lies, well, one and a half. Could she spot which was which in your voice?

She looked at you uncertainly, her hands clenching like she needed strength to proceed with whatever she wanted to do.

“I understand your position in this situation, and I respect it. It was inappropriate of me to take advantage and a completely absurd assumption as well” she closed her eyes forcefully for a few seconds, her brows furrowed tightly before looking at you again “I can keep my feelings to myself and be only your friend. Everything would be normal; I wouldn’t even touch you if you’d like”

What the hell was she on about? Keep her feelings to herself, what the fuck?

“What? Randee, you didn’t take advantage of me, I slept on your bed. You could have kicked me out if you so wanted, it was your right, and you didn’t. You were actually decent and pretended it was all ok and reasonable”

She seemed confused, and you were starting to feel a bit frustrated at the situation. Nothing she said made sense.

“No, it wasn’t right of me because I wanted it!” she had to stop speed-talking at you like this, you could barely understand her “I could have slept on the couch, or in the guest room, but no. I slept with you… because I wanted to, and because I could… and now I wish I hadn’t because you’re pulling away from me and I feel like you don’t even want to be friends anymore while I can’t get enough of even being near you”

…

What now? Your heart was eerily calm for what you’d just heard. Did it stop and you were dying? Would it expand and explode from the absolute incredulity of what you had just heard?

Miranda’s bottom lip was trembling and she looked alarmingly close to breaking down in tears when you lunged yourself forward to hug her.

She sobbed, heavens allow it to be in relief, and hugged you back with much more strength than you could take. You could barely breathe but you didn’t pull away.

She started crying this time, but you traced soothing patterns in her back until it subsided and brought her inside to sit on the sofa. You brought up the ice cream starting to melt from underneath the coffee table and offered her. She accepted and ate while sobbing. It was the sweetest, most wonderful thing you’d seen in your entire life. You cuddled up to her side, hugging her shoulders while she calmed down. You could barely keep your excitement from showing now that you knew she wanted you back. This incredible woman wanted you back.

When she finally calmed down and put the ice cream aside, you loosened your grip on her shoulder and looked at her face, her puffy red adorable face.

“I wanted to as well,” you said simply, looking her in the eyes, hers locking into yours with a surprised glint “And I couldn’t deal with the feelings I had so I decided to keep my distance”

She was silent for a moment, searching your face for any signs you weren’t saying the truth.

“Do you still?” she asked slowly, looking at your lips.

“I do” you whispered before smashing your lips together.

#miranda hilmarson x reader #would you look at that #top of the lake #miranda hilmarson #constable hilmarson #gwendoline christie #female reader #fluff #humour #just some lighthearted fluff #there will be smut #just got too long for a single post

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dmin7cadenza · 1 year

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I started writing a fanfiction of Tears of the Kingdom where Link goes to the Forgotten Temple to investigate the geoglyphs, but finds a secret room filled with hundreds of feet of murals depicting his last lives. He starts to remember them, not as heroic exploits, but as lives filled with pain and failure, and has an absolute mental breakdown. His first words in years are him begging and pleading with Hylia to set him free from the cycle, but she can’t do anything about it. I’m about three and a half pages in, and it might become the best thing I’ve ever written. I’m writing it because I do strongly resonate with my perception of this incarnation of Link; he’s very quiet, showing very little emotion for anything except cooking food. Of course, he’s a blank slate for the player to project onto, so I do that a lot. I am writing this emotional experience in the hopes that, if I make him cry, maybe I’ll feel something as well. Let me know if you’d like to see it on ao3 in the future. This is my first creative writing project that isn’t for a class.

#there will be smut #Sidon will be involved #Breath of the Wild #Tears of the Kingdom #fanfiction #creative writing #video games #botw link #angst

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 4 months

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Weekend Getaway (1/3)

AO3 | 2 | 3

RATING: M

SUMMARY: When Emma's roommate drags her to get a live Christmas Tree, she ends up trapped at a Christmas Village for the weekend. Fortunately, the village had a bar and a bartender that Emma wants to get to know better.

Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert - DM me if you would like to be added/removed from the list.

"You're coming with me," Ruby announced as she banged into the flat. The front door crashed against the wall before closing behind her. Wearing a red knit sweater with a Christmas tree on it that actually lit up and arms heavily laden with shopping bags, she was the bright spot - literally - of Christmas Cheer that Emma was certain she did not order.

It wasn’t that Emma hated Christmas or anything quite so dramatic. But if given the opportunity to skip directly to New Year’s Eve after Halloween, she would happily accept. There was no escaping how dreadfully lonely her life had become since she’d driven away from Storybrooke after - Nope, not going there.

"We are getting a live tree this year! Get your jacket, let's go." Ruby continued, not waiting for Emma to acknowledge her.

"Those are fire hazards. Plus, where would we put it?" Emma gestured at their tiny, crowded living space.

Ruby grunted as she deposited the bags on the nearest chair. She grabbed Emma's boots and threw them at her, "Put 'em on."

Scowling and grumbling, she clicked off the TV and shoved her feet into her boots.

It was impossible to deny Ruby anything. They came to the city together a few years ago to get over their broken hearts and discover a life outside of their small town. They'd helped nurse each other through the heartbreaks, acted as both wing-woman and excuse for one another - depending on what the night demanded, and endured the challenges of being artists in a big city together. Ruby had landed a part on an off-broadway play and Emma was in her second season at the New York City Ballet. It took several failed auditions, many pints of ice cream, and the constant support from one another to get them this far.

"Let's burn down the building then."

"That's the spirit!"

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

They drove for hours, leaving the city behind for the snow-covered, rolling hills of the upstate. While singing and dancing to old favourite songs, they passed several signs advertising various Christmas tree farms. Ruby would shake her head and drive by them. After the tenth one, Emma finally asked where they were going. “I found the perfect farm online.”

At Emma’s sceptical look, Ruby continued, “I promise, there is something special about the one we are going to," Ruby explained. "I can just feel it, you know?"

Emma released a resigned sigh. Ruby was impulsive and spiritual, believing her intuition was a powerful force that should not be ignored. Emma needed something a bit more concrete to guide her decisions.

Ruby slowed at a lane that was much like any other they had passed all day, except this one sported a faded red pickup truck with rounded fenders that was wrapped in fat, colourful light bulbs. A hand-painted sign welcomed guests to the Jones' Christmas Tree Farm for sleigh rides, hot cidre, hot chocolate, and to cut and carry home their very own tree from its stand on the stained wooden slats in the bed of the truck.

As they bounced along the uneven lane, Ruby cleared her throat. “Don’t kill me…”

“No promises.” Emma tore her attention from the endless rows of firs and spruces lined outside her window to glare at her old friend. The ice in that glare would have stopped the hearts of mere mortals. But, this was no mere mortal. This was Ruby Lucas and nothing could hinder Ruby’s excitement once it gained momentum.

Ruby smiled brightly at Emma and pulled a duffle bag from behind Emma’s seat. “I booked a cabin for us for the weekend. We were just saying that we needed a little break and they had so many fun things and, wait until you see the farm, it is beautiful!”

Emma had planned to set up a station on her couch and binge-watch garbage telly. Not spend a weekend on a farm, much less a farm that would doubtlessly be filled with families and couples buying trees the entire time. This was definitely worse than the countless movies featuring smiling men and women in red or green sweaters in front of a highly decorated tree that were beginning to populate every channel she surfed, right? Yes, she decided, it was. Ruby had driven her directly into the ridiculous small town that featured in the background of one of those ridiculous movies and was making them stay for the entire weekend. This was not what she had in mind when they were talking about their holiday. Sun, sand, and sangrias had featured in her dreams. Not snow, cidre, and Santa.

“They’d better have hard cidre or spiked egg nog,” Emma muttered.

“Like I would spend a sober weekend in a cabin on a farm!” Ruby shot Emma a wounded look.

Emma snorted and shook her head. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“Oh, hush. This will be a weekend to remember.”

The lane opened up to reveal a stunning farmhouse with snowy Christmas trees in rows lining the hills sprawling in every direction. A red barn stood out brightly in stark contrast to the white landscape. It would have been breathtaking, Emma thought, if not for the Christmas Village that stood before the barn under twinkling fairy lights.

"Our cabin better be out of town."

"Well...it is close to the Holly Jolly Tavern, I think."

"RUBY!"

"I know how much you hate Christmas and we are changing that this year. Your heart will grow three sizes and Tiny Tim will live after all."

"Wait...am I the Grinch or Scrooge?"

"Yes." Ruby laughed, throwing the car in park. "I'll check us in, why don't you go find your Christmas spirit?" She mimed taking a shot before getting out of the car and walking toward the farmhouse, leaving Emma in the passenger seat of the old car, quickly growing cold, wondering why she allowed Ruby to pull her into these ridiculous situations in the first place.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

The Holly Jolly Tavern was, thankfully, more Tavern than Holly Jolly. Sure, a decorated tree stood tall in the corner near the fire crackling in a large hearth and large multi-coloured bulbs were strung along the walls. And, of course, the drink specials had cutesy holiday names and instrumental Christmas songs played softly in the background. But, the bartenders weren’t dressed as elves or in tacky holiday sweaters and the tables and chairs were your standard sturdy wooden pairings found in drink establishments everywhere.

Emma sat at the long bar and scanned the wall of spirits trying to determine what best fit this situation.

“What can I get you, love?” The low voice was charmingly accented, and it sent chills down her back. She turned toward the bartender and met brilliant blue eyes that stilled her heart. He wore a crooked smile that made her think very dirty thoughts about his lips and the amber scruff framing the sharp line of his jaw.

“Whatever your favourite drink is,” Emma answered with a flirty smile. She thanked whatever gods were watching that her voice sounded steady, her mouth was suddenly so dry that she'd expected it to crack.

He nodded at her request and started pulling together ingredients for her drink. She watched him at his task, mesmerised by his movements and the way he focused so completely on his task. She wondered what it would be like to have that focus directed solely on her and her pleasure. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought and turned away in an attempt to hide it, but his eyes danced with mischievous humour as he handed over her drink, telling her that she was caught. Luckily, he was kind enough not to comment.

She studied the bright red drink, cranberries and mint floated in the glass, and a thin lime garnished the rim of the tall glass. It looked refreshing and exciting. She wondered if this was truly his favourite drink or a cocktail he had mixed for her using that special power great bartenders had - that uncanny ability to know exactly what a patron needed based on a single glance.

“A Cranberry Mojito,” he told her, leaning on the bar before her. Her eyes lingered on his well-defined arms and the unfair way they were stretching his deep blue knit sweater. “What brings you here, um?”

“Emma,” she answered for him, “And, oh, I don’t know. I guess that I have always dreamed of living in one of those ridiculous towns from those cheesy Christmas romances.”

“Pleasure, Emma. Killian,” he said in that musical voice. “I take it this trip wasn’t your idea, then?”

“Nope. My roommate surprised me as we were pulling in - Ohhh! This is good.”

He smiled in triumph at her approval. “The trick is making the simple syrup from scratch with fresh cranberries.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Emma said before taking another sip of the deliciously sweet and tart drink. “Is this truly your favourite drink?”

“Tonight, it is.”

“Your tastes change so often?” She teased, her eyebrow lifting to emphasise her innuendo.

“I’m not so fickle as that, love. I am partial to rum, but not so dull as to only take it one way.” Killian replied, meeting her gaze. The heat in the depths of his sapphire eyes made her stomach tighten in response. This man was too good to be anything but trouble.

Mmm, but it would be some good trouble.

“That looks fantastic! Can I get one, too?” Ruby’s voice shattered the tension building between them.

“Coming right up, love,” Killian answered immediately. His eyes lingered on Emma’s a moment longer before he turned to mix Ruby’s drink.

“It’s a Cranberry Mojito,” Emma explained, turning to look at Ruby. “Here, try some while you wait.”

Ruby’s eyes were wide and she was biting her lips together tightly to suppress what Emma knew to be a wolfish smile. Emma shook her head subtly, pleading with Ruby to not say a word. Ruby nodded excitedly at her in approval of whatever she had read into the exchange she interrupted earlier. Emma frantically shook her head - whatever you are thinking, stop thinking it!

When Killian returned, setting Ruby’s drink on the bar before her, Ruby pounced. “So, what is your name?”

“Killian,” he answered with amusement laced in the melody of his voice.

“And what does your girlfriend think of you making eyes with your patrons, Killian?”

Emma sputtered and coughed as she tried not to choke on the sip she’d taken before Ruby’s obvious question. Ruby turned to Emma, earnest concern etched on her face, while her eyes danced with humour, “Are you okay, Emma? Need some water?”

Narrowing her eyes at Ruby, Emma shook her head. Her breath was still taken by the liquid burning in her lungs. A few strangled coughs later, Emma ground out that she was just fine. Killian slid a glass of water to her anyway, the sweet gesture sinking Emma further into… well, whatever was happening between them.

“Good,” said Ruby briskly and she turned to Killian expectantly.

“I’m not a man to make eyes with someone while involved with another,” his accent clipping the words.

He hadn’t liked that accusation one bit. The realisation warmed Emma as much as the rum spreading in her blood. He wouldn’t cheat on her and leave her too embarrassed, too ashamed, to face the town she had lived in her entire life. He may be trouble, but he was honourable trouble and that she could handle.

“What kind of a man are you then, Killian?” Ruby asked. She sipped from her cocktail and pinned him with a look that dared him to rise to the bait.

“Don’t do that, Rubes,” Emma snapped. Her temper was rising - she felt the need to protect Killian from Ruby’s intrusive questions. Killian sent her a grateful look before excusing himself to serve a man flagging him down on the other end of the bar.

“Ooh, you like this one,” Ruby whispered far too loudly as she waggled her eyebrows ridiculously. Emma could not help but laugh and the strange frustration that had so quickly risen in her dispersed.

“No. I just thought that was unfair of you,” Emma said simply.

“Mmhmmm.”

Emma rolled her eyes at the disbelief in Ruby’s tone. “Fine. Think whatever you want.”

“I do and I will.”

“So, what is there to do in a Christmas Village?” Emma asked in a very smooth and effortless transition from the previous topic.

Ruby perked up and started rattling off various activities that she had booked or seen on her walk over to the pub. Emma listened half-heartedly - her attention straying to the barkeep continuously. She caught him looking her way once and he sent her a devastating smile before returning to his work.

He served them several more rounds as the night grew older, but he was unable to linger longer than getting their order or setting down their drinks as the Holly Jolly Tavern stayed busy once the sun went down.

When they left, staggering into the night, Emma felt a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t seemed to notice her exit.

Would it have been too much to ask for him to come out running to see her home safe like some Victorian gentleman? She snorted at that very drunk, very ridiculous thought and followed Ruby to the cabin she would call home for the next few days.

#emma swan #killian jones #captain swan #captain swan au #cs au ff #cs ff #cs christmas #cs fanfic #killian x emma #there will be fluff #there will be smut #there will be a happy ending #fic by Jas

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shadecrux · 9 months

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On The Wing - Chapter 2

https://open.spotify.com/track/0RLwgks1gHQzXeIkaJIpHr

Previous Chapter ┃Next Chapter

˚ * •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚＊------💜 💚 💜------＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *

°•★Pairing: Bucky Barnes x femaleartist!reader

°•★Rating: NSFW

°•★Tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, romantic AND sexual tension, flirting, pet names (doll, sweetheart), a little bit of steve!, k.i.s.s.i.n.g., metal arm (i consider that a warning), grumpy!bucky if you squint, bucky being a dork, promises of more lewdness

°•★ Words: 2275

°•★ Notes: Chapter two!! Uhh uhh only thing I can really think to note here is that while I will be writing a bit about Bucky being a soldier any resemblance to real world wars or history is accidental, as I intentionally left it vague to keep the story from veering in a different direction. I know we haven’t reached smut yet but it is coming I promise!!

~All writing unless otherwise noted is my own. Please do not post or reupload my work to other websites without my express consent. I do not consent for my fics to be used in AI creations. I do not own any of the characters featured in my works unless they are stated to be OCs.~

All of my fanworks are intended for adults aged 18 and up only! Minors please DNI. ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48744160/chapters/123378907

˚ * •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚＊------💜 💚 💜------＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *

I wish the rocket stayed

Over the promenade

Cus I would make a hook and eye

And fish them from the sky

My darling she and i

We’re hangin' on to take us high

And sing the world goodbye

It had been almost a year since Bucky had returned to civilian life. He had joined the army, looking to serve his country, to make the world a better place and in doing so secure for himself a better future in a life that had fallen stagnant. He was sent home halfway through his first tour of duty with an honorable discharge, several medals and awards for his acts of heroism, and one less arm for the troubles. Bucky sometimes wondered still if some of those rewards weren’t just “We’re sorry we blew your arm off” flattery, but he shrugged it off. They were gonna keep taking care of him, getting him into the best hospitals they could for treatment and rehabilitation from his injuries. The blast that took his arm would have killed his entire squadron if not for his fast actions - after saving a dozen lives it was the least they could do for him. Eventually, that meant getting him into a clinical trial for a new kind of prosthetic on the utmost cutting edge of technology. One that could fully articulate and respond to electrical impulses that controlled one’s nervous system, that could even simulate something resembling a sense of touch. It wasn’t difficult to sell the story of the war hero to get him into the clinical trials, and due to his excellent health, he was a perfect candidate for the experimental procedure. And though the surgeries left him with deep, jagged scars surrounding the connection where metal met flesh - it worked. It was celebrated as a second chance for a deserving man and as hope for a future where more people might be given their lives back after grievous injury. Despite his unique circumstances that could have easily landed him in the public eye, Bucky kept a low profile. He had insisted on a certain degree of anonymity when partaking in the trial, avoided press and requests for interviews, and even took to wearing a tight-fitted pair of leather gloves and long-sleeved shirts to hide his arm from prying eyes. He moved back to New York to try to reintegrate himself back into civilian life. Physical therapy and therapy therapy once a week, job training, cheap studio apartment in Brooklyn… His time in the army had changed him, leaving him with scars, and nightmares, jumping at loud noises and punching at shadows. He could likely have used his connections to find some more gainful sort of employment, discharge or not, but… after the things he had seen, Bucky just couldn’t stomach the idea. Not so soon, at the very least.

Still, the soldier worked on and off, odd jobs mostly, nothing with any sort of regularity. His mind and body were still healing, and the military pension he was on was enough to keep him comfortable, even if it was just making ends meet. He was just sort of… drifting, without any real cause or purpose.

It didn’t seem as though anyone could reach him to pull him out of that darkness, though that didn’t stop his childhood best friend from trying, every chance he got.

“Come on, Buck. It’s been ages since you’ve gone out - just this once, humor me?” Steve asked, giving Bucky his best sad puppy dog face. “M’ just tired, Stevie…” he muttered, unconvincingly, scrubbing a hand through his hair that was starting to grow out again. “You’re a terrible liar.” “Am not.” “You’re thinking about her again… aren’t you?” Bucky said nothing for a long moment before grunting in frustration and tossing a couch cushion at his slightly too persistent friend. “Where’d ya get so damn insightful anyway?” “Buck, it might surprise you to learn, but… you’re not a great liar. And you’re not the best at hiding your emotions, either. You know I’m always here if you need a shoulder to lean on, right?” “I know Steve. I know.” “So, should I tell the guys you won’t be making it this time?” Bucky nodded, giving Steve an apologetic half-smile. “Next time. I promise I’ll come out next time.” ——————

He’d hardly believed that you had accepted his request to join you, that you seemed to be expressing interest in a guy like him. You were different, he could tell just by looking at you - the way you dressed, the way you moved through the crowds, the way you seemed to observe the world around you with a more dedicated eye than most. You stood out in a subtle sort of way that intrigued him immediately. It had been fortunate, in a strange way that he had been gawking at you when he had been - it’s the only reason you didn’t end up squished between the roof and the side of the building.

Now that he had your company, he would do anything he could to keep it.

Bucky had taken it upon himself to act as your tour guide since you had never been to Coney Island before. He talked up the history of the park, gave his suggestions for what rides were best, and in general went above and beyond to make sure you were enjoying your time there. Coasters were your favorites, and Bucky, always fond of the more thrilling rides himself was all too happy to show them all to you. As time went on, he found himself taking your hand in his more often, under the guise of guiding you from place to place. He knew he was lying to himself, that in truth he just wanted to touch you, to feel that electric tingle each time your skin brushed his… but based on the way you clutched his hand in his, the way you sometimes chased his touch when he moved away from you, it seemed that you and he were on the same page. Conversations flowed easily, he talked about his life, and you talked about yours. He was truly blown away, hearing about all the places you had been, all the things you had done, and listened raptly to you every time you spoke. You left out the heavy stuff, of course, your history, your family… and while Bucky noticed, he wasn’t about to bring it up. It wasn’t his place to pry. He talked about his own life, his family, the interesting things he’d seen or done in all his years in the city. Sharing his love of literature and fiction, talking about his favorite sports teams or the swing dancing classes he had taken. He didn’t consider his life, or himself very interesting compared to you, all the things you’d done and exotic places you had been. Still, you gave him just as much focus as he gave you, and Bucky wondered once again just what you saw in him… but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Bucky remembered trying to convince you to ride the water rides - and you refusing as you hadn’t brought anything to change into. Eventually, though, the heat of the day had gotten to you, and with a boyish grin, he had dragged you to wait in line for their flume ride. The entire time it wound its way up the hill you were cursing silently under your breath, and he just laughed at the way your face scrunched up in annoyance. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you’re annoyed?” “Fuck you.”

Your profanities only made him laugh harder - he swore he could hear an undertone of affection there, his chest swelling with warmth. You really were just too damn cute. As it made its final descent you grabbed him and tried to hide behind him looking to avoid being hit by the splash. “Oh no you don’t!” he laughed, easily grappling you and wrestling you back in front of him just as the white spray flew up around you, drenching you both in cold, chlorinated water. “Ahhh, you bastard!” You had sputtered, frantically brushing the water out of your face. “Oh come on sweetheart… you didn’t think I was gonna let you miss out on the fun, didja?” He smirked. “Mmm… you’re lucky you’re cute.” You dared to say, muttering it in frustration. You couldn’t help but laugh, though as he helped you up to your feet and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, the two of you giggling all the way to the exit gates and beyond. He spent the next hour preening from your praise, and the next time he took your hand you held his tightly, stepping in closer to his side as you walked. For the rest of the day, any chance he could find your hand was in his, or his arm was slung lazily around your shoulders. The sky was beginning to fade into twilight, the lights of the midway all coming on, the park a bright glowing presence to contrast with the darkening skyline when you, at last, found your way back to the games, having ridden everything at least once. He had insisted on trying to win one of the giant animal toys for you at the games - you explained to him how most of them were rigged to be deceptively difficult, but that didn’t dissuade him. In the end, he didn’t manage to win the giant dragon plush he was aiming for - but instead, you walked away with a surprisingly soft unicorn plush, all blues and purples and little spots of silver making its fur look like a sky just filling with stars.

You had tried to play it cool when he was selecting a prize for you, but Bucky was observant enough to see your eyes continually flicking toward it, and he had the worker reaching out to grab one before you could muster a word of protest. Your singular muttered comment as you walked away about it being “too girly” made him smirk. He could bring up how he saw you hug it the moment he looked down to put his wallet away… but he decided to keep that piece of information to himself, for now.

Not one to be outdone, you insisted on staying there on the midway until you had matched or bested him - and while in the end you did no better, by the time you were walking away, arm in arm he had a prize of his own clutched to his chest - a floppy white wolf plush made in the same style of yours. Was it stereotypical to cap off the day with a big, romantic Ferris wheel ride? Maybe a little - but Bucky always had been a little traditional, at least when it came to romance. Sometimes cliches are cliche for a reason. And as you rode the bucket up to the top to take in the surrounding view, you could see why he had insisted. You could see the whole park, the white sand beaches trailing off into the distance on either side of you. On one side was the darkness of the sea, and on the other the twinkling lights of Brooklyn in the distance. It was beautiful… but not nearly as beautiful as you, he thought, watching your eyes light up with wonder at the scene. A burst of color from down the beach startled you both, and the two of you looked up in unison to see fireworks bursting in the night sky, high overhead. It wasn’t a holiday, as far as he knew - but he wasn’t about to complain, seeing your eyes light up at the colorful display overhead. He slid an arm around you, and you nestled into his side, wrapping both arms around his waist while Bucky willed his heart to stop beating so loudly in his chest. You were somewhere near the top when the ride came to a stop, just in time for the finale of the show, a final bright series of bursting golds and pinks and greens that lit the entire night sky. He looked over at you to find your eyes already on him. You looked so beautiful, and he had been holding himself back all day long… Bucky slid a hand up to your face to cup your cheek, gently lifting your head towards his. He felt his heart all but stop as you leaned into the touch, your eyes trailing back and forth between his eyes and his lips. He had to go for it - but he had to do it right.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered, and you responded with a small nod, already leaning in, as was he, pulled by a magnetism that neither of you could deny any longer. It was explosive, that first kiss, bursting in his brain just as the rockets burst in the sky above you. Your lips felt so soft against his, your grip around his waist tightening. His head was spinning when he broke away from you, far too soon for his liking as you were brought back down to the ground to disembark. He held you clutched tightly to his side as you wound your way back to the exit through a throng of people leaving as the voice over the loudspeaker announced that the park was closed. Outside of the gates, you surprised him again, throwing your arms around his neck and leaning up for another kiss which he eagerly returned. “Come home with me…” you murmured against his lips, and his hands tightened on you in response, a heated sensation tugging at his stomach. “You sure, doll?” Your next kiss, hungry and full of promise was all the answer Bucky needed. He called for a cab and off the two of you went into the night.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #james bucnahan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader smut #eventually #there will be smut #modern au #soldier bucky #artist reader #sebastian stan #shades fics

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thegreatwicked · 4 days

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Shadows of Deception - Chapter Fifteen

The Great Wicked

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

She Knows It by Steven Rodriguez

Roman sat back in a plush chair outside the glass-walled conference room, his dark eyes fixed on the meeting taking place inside. Ever stare at something for too long before your mind just takes it and runs with it? Or you say a word too many times until it loses all meaning? That was how Roman was feeling.

With each passing moment he sat in that chair ‘people watching’ his mind wandered further. The conference room began to look less like a conference room and more like a giant fish tank with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls and bland artwork that was supposed to be thought-provoking but only induced boredom. And let's not forget the generic, mass-produced paintings that were meant to add some color but ended up blending into the beige office walls perfectly. So stimulating.

The ergonomic design of the chairs in the room was reminiscent of strange coral furniture one might find in a fish tank. The potted plants in the corners probably aimed to add some vitality to the sterile environment, which likely saw many long hours and late nights without exposure to any natural stimuli.

Yes, the longer he looked the more it looked like a fish tank.

The men in their suits became a school of angelfish, drifting aimlessly. The women with their bright colored high fashion frocks like Discus fish effortlessly floating through the water.

And there, in the center of it all, perched on the table leafing through papers and glancing back at her laptop was Belladonna. Her inky-black hair flowing loosely, cascading down her shoulders like the elegant fins of a betta fish. Dressed in the black jacket, and silver jewelry that Roman had delivered for her that morning made for a striking contrast against that only solidified his odd comparison. Beautiful and elegant. And just like a female beta fish, she seemed to furrow her brow when approached by her male colleagues - he was well acquainted with the difference between her ‘resting bitch face’ and her ‘are you that fucking stupid’ expressions to know that her colegues were not impressing her with theri smart deas.

Why was he comparing the woman he wanted to fuck to a fish? He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Goddamn it, Cobblepot.” He muttered under his breath, refocusing his attention on the conference room and trying to shake off his annoyance.

Fuck he hated fish.

Roman couldn't understand why people would choose to have fish as pets.

Fish were about the most ridiculous idea for a pet Roman could think of, but people loved them. Maybe because they were cheap and easy to dispose of when they inevitably died - just a quick flush down the toilet. Some people went for the more exotic options like lionfish, piranhas and even electric eels. But at least those were interesting, lionfish were venomous, electric eels looked scary as fuck and he could certainly see the benefits of having something like piranhas floating nearby. Perfect for getting rid of unwanted guests...or bodies.

Roman didn’t personally like fish. In fact he thought they made horrifically boring bets and he had little interest in pets in the first place. He didn’t even have any as a kid. Though that might have been due to his parents not having any faith in Roman not using them as target practice or something.

Bit extreme. He didn’t hate animals, he just found them like he found most living things; clingy and annoying.

He looked back to Belladonna adjusting her glasses and combing a hand through her hair. He liked those glasses on her, he’d have to see if he could convince her to wear a sexy little pencil skirt, then he could live out the sexy librarian thing again, the first time it was for the novelty of it. Not because he particularly liked the woman but hey, a fantasy was a fantasy.

Betafish weren’t boring.

Hell, females could be so aggressive that they would attack males, nip at them to establish dominance and it could result in injury and even death.

God, he loved a woman who wasn’t afraid to take a bite out of him. It was what he found fascinating about Belladonna, she was afraid of him, no doubt, but she didn’t act like it. Hell, she’d put a gun in his hand and all but dared him to shoot her. Fuck the woman had some balls, her temper flaring like the vibrant fins of a betta.

They were some of the most common fish in aquariums, but commonality didn’t mean less interesting. Hell, diamonds were as common as taxis but that didn’t stop everyone from falling all over themselves saving two months salary for one. Bettas in particular were well liked for their beauty, intelligence and their spunky personalities.

The problem was that most people didn't know how to properly care for them or keep them happy. Instead, they would see these stunning creatures and impulsively buy them, only to place them in tiny fish bowls that were unfit for their needs. Her shabby loft came to mind, a place far below her worth. She'd chosen to keep a low profile, to avoid the limelight that should have been hers.

Eventually the shimmer in their scales would fade and they’d more than likely be forgotten about. Not Belladonna, she shimmered in a dark room.

Roman blinked, suddenly aware that his mind had been drifting into an almost absurd fantasy about fish. He scowled at the thought, silently cursing Oswald Cobblepot again for filling his head with such useless information. The man had a penchant for talking endlessly about his various collections and interests, and naturally, in his years of knowing Oswald Cobblepot he’d been forced to absorb information about things he didn’t care about whenever they spoke.

Cobblepot had a thing for penguins and naturally with his collections of oddities at the Cyrus Pinkney Natural History Museum. He also collected seemingly useless information, which he then forced upon Roman in their younger years.

Roman knew far too much about fish for his own personal liking: including tips on how to care for betta fish.

He shook his head, his thoughts went to some strange places when his mind was stagnant like it was currently.

His fingers tapped impatiently against his leg, the urge to barge into the meeting growing stronger by the second. But he knew she would bear the brunt of those consequences and then he’d be subject to hers. And while Roman was sure he could turn that frustration into something a little more fun with most people, Belladonna wasn’t most people. He sighed, forcing himself to remain seated.

He needed to get a gameboy or something, watching the meeting Belladonna was stuck in wasn’t good for his IQ, he could feel it dropping by the second. And by this point it had to have dropped at least by thirty points, because he’d been waiting for thirty minutes.

Once he’d focused on their moving lips it had gotten a little bit better, he couldn’t quite read lips but he could make out some words:

"Emergency... Urgent... Expensive… Client… Fired…" Roman whispered under his breath, catching a few words. Roman's eyes flicked to Zsasz, who stood beside him with an air of stoic indifference. "You picking up anything useful?" he asked in a low voice.

“Nope.”

Zsasz shook his head, but Roman wasn’t surprised, he noticed that the man's gaze seemed to be following Belladonna's assistant, Daisy, as she moved around the room. Fair enough, he was Zsasz’s boss, not his goddamned babysitter, it he wanted to eye fuck Daisy; let him. Someone should.

She was too tiny for Romans taste anyway, he liked curves, hips, breasts. Daisy was just too petite for his taste. But judging by the way Zsasz was watching her, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Back to the meeting, it didn’t seem to be wrapping up or getting any better. He knew from the way her brow furrowed and the tenseness in her shoulders that whatever was the topic of discussion wasn’t a very pleasant one. It didn’t look like she was bearing the brunt of anyone's wrath but rather she was trying to untangle a mess. She hadn’t even noticed him there on the chair in the small waiting area and he hadn’t really said or done anything because at first watching her had been somewhat fascinating. Then he made the comparison of the conference room looking like an aquarium and then… Shit. He needed to stop this.

Roman checked his watch again, scowling. Thirty-five minutes now with no sign of the meeting ending. Roman's fingers went back to tapping impatiently on the arm of his chair as he watched Belladonna continue her heated conversation with her boss.

She threw up her hands, clearly exasperated. His fingers tightened on the armrests of his chair.

Maybe she finally felt his gaze on her but he seemed to catch Belladonna's attention and she looked at him, he winked at her and she at least smirked at his little flirtatious charm, but she was still clearly strained by the weight of the conversation she was having.

He knew that look well, it was the look of someone who was surrounded by incompetence or someone who was forced to fix something that wasn’t their problem to begin with. Roman gestured with a nod of his head, urging her to join him outside the conference room. But she only shook her head softly, her expression remaining serious, before turning her attention back to her boss.

Pulling out his phone, Roman quickly typed a message.

'Problem, angel?'

As he hit send, his eyes flicked to Daisy, who often had Belladonna’s cell in her possession, glanced at the notification. She offered Roman a little wave hand, held up a finger then showed the text to Belladonna, and after a brief pause, Belladonna texted back, as her eyes darted back and forth from the phone to whomever was talking

'Can't talk.'

"Damn it," Roman muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening.

Well, he couldn’t necessarily be angry, it wasn’t like she was ignoring him. But he still wasn’t wild about being sidelined. He wanted her undivided attention, not this nonsense with clients and deadlines. Frustrated but simply too stubborn to quit, he decided to try another approach and texted Daisy instead.

‘Everything alright, Daisy? Your latte is getting warm.’

She was sitting at the conference table looking up from a laptop then looking at her phone, her eyes met his as she read the message, and she offered Roman and Zsasz an appreciative smile. They could see the tension in her shoulders begin to ease, if only slightly.

She seemed in a far better mood than Belladonna and offered a smile and twirled her finger around her temple to convey the insanity of what was currently happening. Roman chuckled.

‘Everything alright Daisy?’

She looked like she was struggling to put her thoughts into words and after a minute she got up, whispered something to Belladonna, who looked back and forth between Daisy, Roman, and her boss before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Finally," Roman murmured, as Daisy excused herself from the conference room.

The moment the door swung open, a cacophony of raised voices spilled out into the waiting room, as predicted, it wasn’t good.

Daisy emerged looking utterly relieved to be free from the chaos within. As she approached Roman, he got to his feet and held out her iced green tea latte, from the way she was looking at the cold drink one might be tempted to think that Roman was holding out a winning lotto ticket. She gratefully accepted the drink and a quick sip seemed to energize her a bit.

"Thank you," Daisy said gratefully, wrapping her hands around the cold cup and taking a long sip. Her expression softened, and she let out a frazzled breath, trying to shake off the tension that clung to her like a second skin.

Zsasz watched the exchange with an amused glint in his eyes, leaning casually against the wall. He gave Daisy a playful wink, which elicited a small smile from her before Roman's deep voice cut through the lingering tension.

“Daisy, Daisy… What’s got my girls so worked up?” She smiled at Romans' endearing ‘his girls’ note. “Bad day?”

She shook her head, “It’s one for the books, that’s for sure.” She took another sip, “Falls into the category of ‘its not our fault but it is our problem’ kind of thing.”

"What's going on?" Roman asked, charming concern coloring his voice.

"It's been absolute chaos since this morning," She began, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Long story short, we had a huge post-fashion week photo shoot scheduled with the Gotham Literary Society, but there was some sort of paperwork snafu with the permits. Now we're out of a location and scrambling to find one to accommodate the client."

“Yes, I read about that, the site’s just been restored after a two year long renovation.” Roman added casually. Daisy nodded and emphatically gestured with her hand in confirmation as she took another sip of her coffee.

“Exactly! We need to find another location by tomorrow or we might lose the client, Lauren is pissed and well, everyone is scrambling to figure something out." She explained, frustration creasing her brow. "Her bosses are breathing down her neck, which means she’s breathing down our necks. There's talk that if we lose this client, several people might lose their jobs. It’s literally no one’s fault but someone’s gotta pay, right?" She glanced back at the conference room, worry etched in her features. "We're trying to find a place for the shoot, but it's practically impossible because most popular locations are booked already and have been for months. It's the week after fashion week, after all."

“Big client?”

“Huge,” She looked around and lowered her voice, “Adrian Blackwood.” Romans face lit up in recognition. “He just debuted his entire collection and lets just say he had other offers for people to work with, we need to figure this thing out but we’re running out of time. He’s expecting the details to be confirmed by the end of the day which is officially in,” She paused and looked at her watch, “Six hours. Any place worth booking is booked out and any place available isn’t worth the trouble.”

"Are you or Belladonna's jobs at risk?" Roman's concern for their well-being was palpable, his fingers tapping against the side of his leg as he awaited Daisy's response.

She hesitated, biting her lip. "I'm not sure. Belladonna might be okay, but I can't say the same for myself. Assistants get fired all the time, we’re a dime a dozen but I’m pretty sure Belladonna would march out with me while giving them all the stiffest middle finger ever.”

Roman scoffed, of that, he had no doubts. Despite Belladonna’s claims of not having any friends, she was loyal, he’d only recently seen just how loyal.

"We can't have that," He said, shaking his head. He looked back at the chaotic conference room, his gaze finding Belladonna's once more. Roman furrowed his brow in thought before an idea struck him. "Daisy, I think I can help," He declared. "Tell her to come speak with me."

Daisy seemed uncertain, glancing between Roman and the ongoing chaos inside the meeting room. She took a deep breath, seemingly weighing the potential consequences, briefly opening her mouth to try and argue but Roman insisted and his tone of confidence seemed to convince Daisy it was worth the interruption. Finally, she shrugged, an air of ‘fuck it’ in her demeanor.

"What's the worst that could happen?" With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the lion's den to relay Roman's message to Belladonna.

Again when the doors opened the tense tone of their words floated out, she whispered to Belladonna who looked between Roman and Daisy, confusion evident on her face. He was pretty sure she was telling Daisy she wasn’t going anywhere but Daisy appeared insistent. And she must have convinced her because Belladonna let out a sigh, rolled her shoulders and reluctantly approached her boss.

They talked for a minute and her boss didn’t look very happy, clearly unimpressed by Roman's presence, waved her hand dismissively. But after a minute and some vague gesturing with her hands she conceded and Belladonna strode out of the conference room, back rigid and heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. Roman watched her approach, noting the tension in her shoulders and the tight set of her jaw. She wasn’t happy by any means, though she was doing her best to conceal it but the irritation was simply radiating off her.

"Ok, Daisy said you needed to talk to me. Make it quick, Roman, I’m kind of in the middle of something." She snapped, her patience wearing thin.

“I can see that,” He wore something of a smug smile and after a silence long enough to start to get on her nerves, he spoke again before she could bite back with something smart. "Daisy was just telling me about your little predicament. It seems you're in need of a new location for your photoshoot, and quickly.”

"Yes," she replied tersely, impatience and exasperation seeping through her words. "But can we please get to the point? My boss is already in a pissy mood and I’m pretty sure I’m next on the chopping block if I don’t get my ass back in there."

"Question?" He said, clearly not bothered by her eagerness to wrap up their conversation.

"Fine, what's your question?" His leisurely questioning was starting to grate on her nerves, and she couldn't help but glance back to her boss, who seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on their conversation.

"Am I a joke to you?" Roman tilted his head looking both disappointed and confused. Sort of reminded her of a puppy with its ears half up and half down trying to suss out a high-pitched sound.

Belladonna stared at him, confused. "What?”

"Use my club,"

Belladonna stared at Roman, her dark eyes wide in surprise. "Use your club?" Momentarily thrown off balance by his unexpected offer.

"Yes," he said, his voice low and smooth. "It's mine to do with as I see fit, it’s empty during the day, and should have more than enough space to accommodate your shoot. You can use the space however you need.” Roman smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “and you can vouch for its legitimacy since it's up-to-date with all the necessary permits and licenses."

"Would that help?" he asked, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

"Yes, it would," Belladonna admittedly a bit lost for words

She hesitated, shifting on her feet. The offer would solve all her problems for the shoot and might even put her in a better spot for work. She’d obviously need to run it by her boss.

As if reading her mind, Roman gestured towards the conference room.

"Go. Run it by your boss." Roman said with a playful flick of his wrist, shooing her away as if she were a mischievous cat lingering too long by the cream. His dark eyes twinkled with amusement at her hesitation, a side of him few got to witness. "Do you need a slap on that gorgeous ass to get you moving?"

Her eyes flashed with something sharp, but she bit back a retort and turned on her heel, striding back toward the conference room before Roman could follow through with what she hoped was only a joke. As she spoke to her boss, he could see the shock register on her boss’s face. She glanced at Roman, then back to Belladonna then back to Roman, who allowed himself a triumphant smile, knowing he was about to be the hero.

Belladonna motioned for Roman to join them, trying not to let her surprise – or her gratitude – show too openly. As he stepped through the door, the room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. All eyes were on him, but this time, he was not the source of any problems. In fact, he was the solution – a role that felt surprisingly gratifying. With his charming smile and easy manner, he greeted Belladonna's boss.

“Ms. Preston, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His smooth tone eased the tension in the room as effectively as a tranquilizer.

"Mr. Sionis, this is a pleasant surprise," Laura said, her demeanor considerably improved as she reached out to shake Romans’ outstretched hand.

“Oh, please, Roman is fine.”

"Belladonna here, tells me you're interested in leasing out your club for our shoot." She crossed her arms over her chest, head tilted as though she wasn’t sure she bought it.

Surely there had to be more to it, right?

“Leasing? Oh, not at all. Can’t have a face this gorgeous wearing anything other than a smile.” Roman's gaze drifted to Belladonna before turning back to Laura. "I'm more than willing to assist, by providing my space free of charge," He responded smoothly. "It won't be a problem."

Laura was one of the most assertive people Belladonna knew, never one to be told what to do, never one to let a man swoop in and save the day… Yet, here they were… Either the situation was worse than Belladonna had initially thought and Laura couldn’t afford to lose this client, or her boss too, was drawn in by Romans’ charm, she wouldn’t be the first or the last. Hell, it happened to Belladonna more times than she could count.

Laura eyed Roman skeptically, her expression guarded "So let me get this straight, Mr. Sionis. You're offering us the use of your club; one of the most exclusive night spots in Gotham for our shoot, free of charge?"

Roman nodded, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips. "That's correct, Laura. Consider it my contribution to the arts."

Laura shook her head incredulously. "Well, I'm afraid I can't accept your offer without some form of compensation. Your club is a prime location, and we can't just take advantage of it for free." Laura stood clicking her pen several times as she contemplated her next move. "But, you know, Roman," She began, "I think we could generate some fantastic publicity for your club through the shoot. If you’re unwilling to accept monetary compensation, maybe some good publicity in the fashion industry might suffice."

"Oh? How so?"

A smirk played on his lips as if he didn’t understand what Laura was proposing, he knew damn well. But he was at least smart enough to know that he had to let her feel like she had a say in this whole thing.

"Well, I have it on good authority that the designer behind the collection is a huge fan of your club. Since your club would be the backdrop it seems wholly inappropriate if we don’t see the man of the hour. And I happen to know for a fact that the designer has a fantastic piece that only a man like yourself could do justice to.” Roman's ego swelled at the thought of being part of a fashion shoot. “It would be great exposure for both the club and the collection."

"I like the sound of that," he replied, nodding thoughtfully. "But one condition."

Laura raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what's that?"

"Belladonna does the shoot," Roman declared, his gaze drifting to where Belladonna stood, sorting through fabric samples. "She's got the skill, the eye. She'll be perfect."

Belladonna's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden turn of events. She opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak, Laura cut in.

"I think that's a fantastic idea," Laura said, flashing a quick smile at Belladonna. "It would add a personal touch to the campaign. We all know Belladonna has quite the eye for male beauty,"

Belladonna hesitated for a moment, then nodded, reluctantly agreeing. She knew she didn't have much choice in the matter.

"Great," Roman said, extending his hand. "It's settled then."

"On behalf of the entire team, thank you, Roman. And I look forward to the proofs,” She turned to Belladonna, “Don’t let me down, Belladonna. This goes well and I think you’ll have earned that bonus we talked about.”

“You got it, Laura,” She replied coolly.

“Alright, then let’s go make the client happy, I'll let him know about the change of venue, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” Roman offered her a card from his jacket pocket.

Roman extended his hand, sealing the agreement with a firm handshake. "My pleasure, Laura. I hope you’ll find time to stop by, and if your client has any questions, don't hesitate to give them my card. I'm always happy to accommodate."

As the bubble of stress burst open like a fragile balloon, the aquarium fish seemed to have taken a cue swimming away. Daisy wrapped Roman in a hug that could rival the strength of an ant and crowned him a lifesaver, before following the other fish out of the conference room. Belladonna collapsed onto the table, hands rubbing her temples in relief… or maybe just exhaustion at the fact that it was only noon. Roman playfully nudged her with his foot,

“Look at me on my white horse, saving the day!” He mused so proudly, “Seems it got you a bit of cred with your boss, didn’t it? And what was that, something about a bonus too?”

“And now I have an entire shoot to direct.” She replied with a tired smirk and a nod. “And yeah, she’s been dangling that bonus since the beginning of the year.”

He shrugged, prowling closer, caging her in with his arms as he braced them on the table behind her. The scent of his cologne enveloped her, dark and sensual.

“I’m sure you’ll manage just fine.” He paused, “You’re welcome by the way.”

She tilted her head at his playful remark, giving his belt a tug, pulling him into a kiss. Her lips brushed his several times, by now they were both used to the stares and quick little instances of phones being pulled out during his lunchtime visits.

“Thank you.”

“You know angel, I have to say, I think these conference room meetings are starting to grow on me, I’m finding them very stimulating…”

“Keep it in your pants, Sionis, mama’s working.” His eyebrows shot up at that one, and his chest inhaled a deep controlling breath.

“Easy kitten, don’t forget who holds the cards here.”

“Let's see them.” Her mood had considerably improved but Roman found that was usually the case after he kissed her, “Full house beats a flush.”

Roman shook his head, a half-smile playing on his lips as he held out her coffee. Today, it was different - her usual rose-infused mocha, but iced. The cool container melted against her skin as she took it from him, the condensation leaving small droplets on her fingertips.

"The girl at the shop insisted you try it iced with the warming weather," Roman explained, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"And you actually took her suggestion? Shocking," She replied, taking a whiff of the sweet aroma before taking a tentative sip.

"Jokes on her, if you don't like it I'm burning that little cafe to the ground..." Despite his playful threat, she could tell Roman was only half serious. But the drink was surprisingly delicious, and she couldn't help but wear a pleasantly surprised expression as she took another sip.

“Good?” He asked with a smug look, she held the drink out to him but he shook his head, so she took another sip and leaned forward to give him a kiss, slipping her tongue past his lips for a rose-infused mocha-flavored kiss. He seemed a little more interested in tasting the coffee now.

"And so the little coffee shop that could, lives another day... Have you eaten?" His concern might have been slightly pandering but it was still kind of cute.

Roman looked hard at her searching for any signs of deceit, Belladonna seemed very unamused at now having two people inquiring as to her dietary needs. “Been too busy.”

Roman reached into the small brown bag that had gone unnoticed until now, revealing a box of french macarons that were almost too beautiful to devour. After careful consideration, he chose a bright pink one adorned with delicate swirls and a sprinkle of glitter. The aroma of rich chocolate mousse wafted through the air as he playfully commanded:

"Open up."

Belladonna licked her lips in anticipation before parting them to accept the treat. She nipped at his fingers, savoring the velvety texture of the macaron and the warmth of his skin against her lips. As she chewed, Roman chuckled and shook his head.

"What am I going to do with you, kitten? Tie you down and force you to eat?" Belladonna shrugged nonchalantly, enjoying the banter between them as well as how Romans eyes did that thing again; where they flared up and there was a little surge of something dark trying to get out.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to drag him into the nearest closet.

Professionalism be damned.

“Kitten, don’t test daddy’s patience…” He warned her with a growl, his voice low and dangerous.

Belladonna wasn’t quite sure what came over her but she couldn’t stop the words that slipped past her lips.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

He jerked her forward into a hard kiss, and she was pretty sure she could feel that last little strand of his self-control pulled taut ready to snap as his tongue delved into her mouth and his hands slipped over her ass, lifting her onto the table. Standing between her legs, he pressed himself against her, feeling the heat of their bodies meld together. A guttural groan escaped his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tickling the nape of his neck.

Oh, this naughty little kitten of his…

“You like to tease me, don’t you, Kitten?” His voice was gravelly and strained in between kisses, panting heavily before finally breaking away just long enough to speak a few words.

“I’m about five seconds from dragging you into an empty office and bending that sweet ass over a desk, Belladonna, and I don’t care who hears." He kissed her again, harder this time, “You wanna play like that? Call me daddy?” He grinned a wolfish lear against her lips, “I’ll make you fucking scream it.”

A knock at the glass window pulled them both from the edge of the abyss they were standing on, looking over to the windows, Zsasz stood with his back to them, he had knocked on the glass, and several people in passing were hurrying away. No doubt they must have snapped a few pictures that would be splashed over the tabloids and gossip rags tomorrow, hell, maybe even today, it was still early.

“Kitten,” His deep voice rumbled through the air, causing her heart to skip a beat. He paused and straightened his perfectly-tailored jacket, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room before landing on her.

“One of these days I’m not gonna care how many people are around, and if you get fired, I’ll just get you another job somewhere else.”

“My office is down the hall.” She tried to maintain a professional demeanor but felt her cheeks flush under his intense gaze.

“Temping as that is, Angel,” He used her nickname with a hint of amusement in his voice, “I did come for more than just your afternoon coffee and to check to make sure you’ve eaten.”

“Has something happened with the cops?” Her curiosity was piqued by his serious tone.

“No,” His expression turned grave, “Does the name Maria Lopez mean anything to you?”

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall any information about the name. After a minute of concentration, she shook her head.

“No,” she answered honestly.

“No one? Not a teacher, a maid, a friend, nobody?”

“No, I didn’t get along with most of my teachers. Our maids were mostly Italian or Greek, and after what happened with Olivia, I didn’t have many friends. Plus, my father wouldn’t allow anyone with even a hint of Hispanic heritage near me,”

Roman looked confused by this revelation.

“His best friend was Spanish,” she continued, “They had some kind of falling out between their families a long time ago. My father saw anyone with Hispanic blood as someone not to be trusted.” Roman nodded in understanding; he knew the type of person her father was. “Why do you ask?”

Roman hesitated before offering up what he knew, “If I tell you this, you do nothing. Do you understand me?”

His voice took on that hard quality again, the one that readied her fight or flight instinct, he was serious. She nodded slowly, but he looked expectantly.

"Okay, I promise. What's going on? Who is Maria Lopez?" She asked.

He lowered his voice, “I think that’s the alias your mother has been using.”

Her jaw dropped. “You found her?”

He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm still verifying some things, but I needed to know if that name meant anything to you."

"If it's an alias my father chose for her, I never would've known to look for it." Understanding dawned on Roman's face as he nodded. "Where is she?" She demanded, feeling a surge of hope mixed with fear.

"I can't say for sure," He admitted.

“I don’t believe you.” His eyes sharpened. "You wouldn't ask me something like this if you didn't have reason to believe she was out there."

He was amused by her straight talk and she was right, fact was he had a lot more than he let on.

“Maybe I do have something. But,” She visibly deflated, “Nothing happens until I can verify what I’m looking at.” He seized her chin, “You do nothing. You don’t even so much as Google that name, do you hear me, Belladonna Black?”

She hadn’t been called by her full name in years and the way Roman said it… Well, it had her wondering if she could change his mind about the whole office rendezvous.

“You’re really gonna find her?” He was trying to be serious and maybe a bit intimidating but she didn’t see it, she saw him assembling pieces to a puzzle she hadn’t even been able to find pieces to in four years.

“I said I would. Anyone jumping the gun could result in more blood spilled. Do you remember what we talked about the other night after Stan left?” She nodded and gave a feint, ‘Yeah’ It was easy in the span of an evening with Thai takeout and sleeping in the safety of his cozy bed to forget just how real the game they were playing was.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” She took hold of his hand that gripped her chin and kissed it.

“Alright. You’re going to finish out your day and I’m picking you up at eight, not a moment later. Any other work you have to do will have to be done remotely, understand me?”

“You kidding, I’m a hero by association today, it won’t be hard to leave by eight.”

“Be ready.” She nodded, “Now, I need to be going, Angel. I have some errands to run and before you ask; don’t.”

Roman pulled her in for one more kiss, his hands settling on her hips, maybe a little lower than might have been appropriate for a goodbye kiss but she didn’t seem to mind. It was slow and leisurely, a gentle exploration of her mouth and she could feel the warmth of his wet tongue teasing the seam of her lips. With a satisfied 'Mmm' and a heavy restrained sigh, Roman pulled back, leaving her wanting more. But before she could protest, in Roman fashion he kissed the palm of her hand, his lips lingering for a moment before he left the box of macarons on the conference table, a gesture of sweetness in contrast to his confident and seductive demeanor.

“Eat up kitten, but not too much. We’re going out tonight.”

The hands of the clock on the wall had inched closer to six pm, casting long shadows across the nearly deserted office. Belladonna, now left to her own devices after sending Daisy home with Lloyd, focused intently on her task at hand: finalizing preparations for tomorrow's shoot. The responsibility of running it all loomed over her, a weight she now bore thanks to Roman's influence.

Belladonna adjusted her glasses and diligently worked through the shot list, making necessary adjustments and confirming equipment availability. She double-checked every detail, ensuring that everything would be in working order for the big day. Somehow knowing Roman would be there not only watching but participating made her a bit anxious.

Her gaze momentarily drifted to the corner of her desk where the mostly empty box of macarons caught her eye. A small smile played on her lips as she recalled Roman's 'doting boyfriend' act earlier that day. She reached for the box, taking out the last one; a chocolate and pistachio macaron, and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its sweet aroma.

She’d never say it outloud but the Roman made one hell of a fake boyfriend when he tried, almost fooled her, before taking a satisfying bite.

As she chewed, her mind wandered back to Roman—his enigmatic presence and the powerful connections he held. She was putting a lot of trust in him, the feminist in her didn’t like how dependant on him she was and she felt a pang of unease. But at this point Roman had had multipl opportunities to either cut her loose or let her die and each time he did neither.

The clock continued to tick away, marking the passage of time as she worked tirelessly to ensure tomorrow's shoot would go off without a hitch. And all the while, Roman Sionis' presence continued to linger in the back of her mind.

She redirected her attention to the list of garments for tomorrow's shoot, pulling out the photo of the piece Roman would be modeling, an intricately detailed, dark and alluring outfit that seemed to perfectly match his enigmatic persona.

"Damn, he is going to look incredible in this," Belladonna whispered under her breath, feeling a sudden surge of excitement at the prospect of capturing him on camera.

The past week had been a whirlwind, and despite the chaos and danger, but oddly enough she felt perfectly safe. And the notion of Roman being close by while she worked, working in his club was oddly comforting.

She still knew practically nothing about him, and their entire relationship seemed to be built on a foundation of dependency and manipulation.

Slumping into her chair she stared at the open search engine on her laptop thinking back to the last time she Googled him and how she didn't find much. At the time it had been disheartening but now she had more information on him, especially after her conversation with Cobblepot. She has a better idea of what to look for. She decided to try again, beginning her search at Gotham Preparatory School for Boys.

As she browsed through the website, with some quick math she found the graduating classes section and quickly calculated which year Roman would have graduated. Once she located his year, her eyes were immediately drawn to his graduation picture – stone-faced, serious, and undeniably gorgeous.

She studied the class photo, she noticed the space that people seemed to give Roman, as though he was a shark among a school of fish. It only confirmed Cobblepot's description of him – magnetic yet unnerving. People were afraid of him even at only eighteen.

"Roman Sionis, man of mystery…”

Roman wasn’t Valedictorian and hadn't received any special awards or honors. However, his grades must have been decent enough for him to participate in extracurricular activities, and he was a busy boy. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she read the list – debate team, high-ranking chess competitor, social clubs, polo, squash, fencing, boxing, equestrianism, and swimming.

None of those sounded like Roman but given the prestigious nature of the school, she suspected his parents likely had something to do with Roman’s busy schedule; something she could relate to. The thing that surprised her the most was the chess thing, she didn’t see Roman as having the patience for that sort of thing but by all accounts, he was very good.

"Of course, they'd want their son involved in everything," she mused, thinking of how similar Roman's upbringing seemed to her own.

Though she knew she should focus on the upcoming photo shoot, the enigma of Roman Sionis proved too enticing to resist.

She clicked further into the archives next, finding a treasure trove of photos featuring Roman in his school uniform. The crisp white shirt and sharp black blazer and his immaculately styled hair seemed to be precursors to his current love for suits. Even as a teenager, he exuded an air of confidence and danger that was undeniably attractive. His stern expression, reminiscent of a young James Dean or Clint Eastwood, gave him a "resting bastard face" that somehow only served to heighten his appeal.

"Damn," she whispered to herself, unable to look away from the smoldering intensity in his eyes. Many of his photos possessed the quality to them that his eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went.

There was an alumni section dedicated to post-high school achievements like colleges, civic honors, and prominent family legacies where Roman was mentioned as a successful club owner, nothing more. There was no mention of any continuing connection with the school, but it did lead her to a page dedicated to significant contributors – including Roman's father, Richard Sionis.

Richard's gray hair betrayed his age, though there was still a strong resemblance between him and his son. Unlike Roman, Richard wore a smile in his pictures – but it appeared rehearsed and artificial, reminding Belladonna of the way her own father would grin for the cameras. It was clear that Roman had inherited his father's good looks, but there was something more genuine in his features, less tired and fake than the elder Sionis.

Belladonna continued to read about Richard's long-standing support of the school, noting his service on the board of trustees and involvement in numerous fundraisers. It seemed that the Sionis family had a history of influence and power, making her wonder what role Roman's upbringing played in shaping the man he had become.

Who was Roman Sionis before he became Roman Sionis?

She stared at the screen, not ready to pack it in just yet.

She didn’t know if he went to college or where to look and she really had no idea what happened to him after he graduated, only that at some point his family had severed all ties with him and Roman had begun a criminal life. He had mentioned he’d done time in Blackgate, but she wasn’t sure of the reason. The criminal stuff didn’t bother her at this point, she mostly wanted to know about his family drama. Because personal family drama was irritating, someone else’s family drama was entertainment.

"Alright then," She muttered under her breath, typing in the keywords ‘Roman Sionis’ and ‘Blackgate’ then hitting enter.

Over a dozen arrest records appeared on the screen, and Belladonna felt her heart tighten in her chest. Most of the records showed Roman posting bail up until he was twenty-one, but then the pattern changed. The bail postings stopped, and he started doing more time in jail. She suspected this may have been when his parents severed ties with him, but she couldn't find anything concrete to prove it.

Not surprising, a family like his was likely to have as many skeletons in their closets as hers did and like hers; they stayed locked up tight away from prying eyes.

She clicked on the last arrest record, dating back to when Roman was twenty-three. Her stomach churned as the mugshot revealed several injuries to his face – a black and slightly swelling eye, bloodied cheeks, and a split lip. He looked like he had been beaten very badly, yet his smug expression remained intact, as if daring the world to knock him down further.

"God, Roman..."

Despite his injuries, there was something about his defiant gaze that made her feel a flicker of admiration. It was clear that Roman refused to be broken, even when the odds were against him. She could practically hear him boasting ‘You should see the other guy.’

Aggravated assault, property damage, trespassing, criminal menacing, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal weapons, resisting arrest, and battery – it was an extensive rap sheet that painted a portrait of a man prone to violence and chaos.

"Roman, you really don't make things easy, do you?" Belladonna muttered under her breath, feeling a strange mix of concern and fascination.

As she researched further into the dates of his arrests, Belladonna stumbled upon the court case where Roman was tried for these numerous charges. Limited to a mid-tier lawyer, she expected him to suffer the consequences of his actions, yet one by one, he managed to beat most of the charges. It seemed as though evidence had conveniently disappeared or witnesses had mysteriously chosen not to step forward.

"Interesting," She mused, intrigued by the power Roman appeared to wield even in his darkest moments. "How did you manage all of this?"

Her search eventually led her to the final charge that stuck: tax evasion. The out-of-place accusation left her puzzled, as it seemed far removed from the violent nature of the other crimes.

"Tax evasion? That's what they got you on, Roman?" Belladonna shook her head, disbelief etched across her face. Frustration gnawed at her as she tried to find more information on the bizarre charge but came up empty-handed. “Well, the permits make a little more sense now…”

The courtroom photos were grainy, like a lower quality paparazzi shot. His expression was one of pure disgust and irritation as he stood before the judge, his dark eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. The gavel came down, sealing his fate: three years in Blackgate Penitentiary.

She couldn't find anything on Roman's prison stint without hiring a private investigator or formally requesting court documents and that required the Freedom of Information Act which was time consuming and could be expensive and it wasn’t exactly subtle. And for some reason, she didn't want Roman to know she was digging into his past.

Her eyes narrowed as she typed in a new search query – this time focusing on Roman's initial arrest that had landed him in Blackgate Penitentiary. As she skimmed the articles, she discovered it was tied to an assault case against a local criminal named Tony Zucco.

"Tony Zucco?"

A feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She knew the name sounded familiar but couldn't quite place it. Frustrated, she opened a new tab and quickly Googled the man.

As the search results loaded, Belladonna found herself staring at a squeaky clean image of Tony Zucco – a self-made man from Old Gotham with a very old school mafia gangster look to him. He looked like the type of man her father surrounded himself with.

The more she searched, the less information she seemed to find about the altercation between Roman and Tony. It was as if their conflict had been purposefully scrubbed from the internet. However, one detail remained consistent throughout the scarce information available – Roman had lost the fight, but not without causing some serious damage.

"Damn," Belladonna breathed out.

What did Tony Zucco do to earn Roman’s wrath? What could have possibly ignited such a violent confrontation between the two? Her instincts told her it wasn’t exactly a fight over a seat at the bar.

The case was open and shut. As far as she could tell, he’d done his three years and he was released on the date, not a day more or less. There were a few pictures from paparazzi’s of Roman after his release and he looked harder, features darker and sharper, grittier. But she couldn’t imagine that three years of prison was easy on a man like Roman who had known luxury his whole life.

Gotham was almost pretty at sunset, if you didn’t think about all the scum that came out at night, the fading sunlight doused the area in hues of orange and gold. Roman lounged against the hood of his sleek black Maserati, scrolling through his tablet. A smirk played on his lips as if he were watching a thrilling episode of his favorite show, waiting to see what would unfold next.

Zsasz, Roman's loyal assistant, stood beside him, taking a drag from a cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air. For once not wearing his jacket in a departure of his professional look, he wore a shoulder holster but it didn’t hold a gun. No, where a small firearm usually sat tucked against a mans side instead was the scabbard of a very large knife. Scars on his arms on full display since no one was around to be scared by them, besides when it came to nightfall in Gotham, the scarier you looked, the less likely people were to fuck with you and there weren’t many men who looked scarier than Zsasz.

"Tell me she's asking better questions this time," Zsasz asked in a monotone voice with a hint of reservation.

“She started with my old prep school this time." Roman said, his eyes never leaving the tablet. "Nobody ever thinks keyloggers are useful until they are,"

“I prefer a more hands on approach.”

Roman chuckled, nodding in agreement. "You think she’ll find my list of extracurriculars impressive?"

“Hell no. Squash is dumb, and polo is for spoiled rich pussies," Zsasz countered, blowing out another puff of smoke. Zsasz scoffed.

A bark of laughter escaped Roman. "You do remember I played Polo, right?." Zsasz shot him a sideways glance, the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “

Zsasz's lips quirked. "Wasn't calling you a pussy."

"Damn right I’m not."

Roman's attention returned to the tablet, watching in real time as Belladonna uncovered more and more of his sordid past. Part of him relished the thought of her reaction. The rest rankled at her audacity to dig into his business but he had done just that too her so he couldn’t blame her much. Still, pretty stupid to think she could dig into him and he not know. He knew about her previous day of Googling after his little adventure at the docks with Cobblepots men and he’s watched as she searched up his old school.

He had to give it to her, she’d gone right back to work after he’d left and he was pleased to see that she didn’t Google the name Maria Lopez, just as she’s promised not to. Nope. But she did take a second shot at Googling him. Her first attempt at digging into Romans past hadn’t yielded much, turns out when you write in the name ‘Roman Sionis’ into Google it’s mostly just papparazzi pictures and a few articles on his club. Roman had paid good money to make sure those articles on his arrest and his younger years were at least seven pages back in the search results. You couldn’t erase a criminal past but you could make it harder to find.

He admired Belladonna's tenacity. She was resourceful, stubborn, and unafraid to dig into his past. Those traits only served to make her more attractive to him.

"Let's see what else she has up her sleeve," Roman murmured, his finger swiping across the tablet screen.

A wicked grin spreading across his face as he noticed Belladonna had uncovered his criminal record.

"Ah, there it is. She's finally found my rap sheet," He said, his voice low and amused.

"Should've been her first step," Zsasz commented, looking over Roman's shoulder at the screen.

"Oh come on now, give the kid a break. She's new at this."

"True," Zsasz chuckled, leaning back against the car hood. "I’ll give her this, she’s has handled everything so far like an old-school mafia woman. Haven’t seen tears from her once."

“Thank God for that, I can’t stand seeing women cry.” Roman agreed, his admiration for Belladonna growing with each passing moment "Indeed, she's been a champ,"

Flicking through the rest of the information she'd gathered, he spotted something that caught his attention.

"Look here, she's found Tony Zucco's name."

"Tony Zucco?" Zsasz mused, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "She won't find much. He's been out of the game since you shut him down.”

"Ah, yes. Good ol' Tony," Roman sighed nostalgically, a distant look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Not the least of which was the scar on his shoulder,courtsey of Zsasz's loyalty. Roman met his gaze.

"Good shot, by the way. The ladies seem to like the scars."

Zsasz's lips quirked again. "Following orders.” Zsasz reminded him with a sly grin as he flicked the ashes off his cigarette. “What else has she dug up?"

Roman scrolled through the contents of the laptop. "She found the shooting at the club." His mouth twisted. "Hard to believe that lazy bastard was in business for so long, Tony never seemed to understand the value of paying your people what they’re worth..."

Zsasz chimed in. "You had a better employee retention program."

"I did at that." Roman said smugly. They both chuckled, enjoying the memory that many would probably find deeply suspicious or deeply unsettling.

"Yeah, poor Tony never saw it coming. Shame you didn't kill him," Zsasz said casually. "Could've gotten the club for cheap if there had been a death on the property."

"True," Roman mused, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at the thought. “A little restraint goes a long way Zsasz…”

His laugh died and Roman's eyes narrowed to slits as he zoomed in on an article that Belladonna was currently browsing. It was a piece the Gotham Times had published shortly after the shooting—one he'd somehow overlooked until now. The street lights flickered above, casting eerie shadows across his face as he scrutinized the text.

"Zsasz," Roman said, his voice low and dangerous. "Take a look at this and tell me what you see."

Zsasz took the tablet from Roman, his pale eyes scanning the screen with a growing sense of unease. He glanced back at Roman, his voice tense with anticipation. "Two very irritating names.”

"This makes it two times now," Roman muttered, a note of irritation lacing his voice.

"Two?"

"First, we miss Belladonna's hypoglycemia diagnosis," Roman said, tossing the tablet aside where it landed with a soft thud on the leather couch. “Now this.”

"Ah," Zsasz nodded slowly, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "A determined woman does better research than the FBI. Maybe you should take Belladonna out for a nice dinner, thank her properly for her detective skills."

Roman's expression softened at the mention of dinner. The thought of her resourcefulness brought a rare sense of warmth to his chest.

"Dinner?" he echoed, considering the idea. His hand instinctively reached up to adjust the cuff of his immaculately tailored suit.

Roman considered it.

"Taking a half-Italian woman to an Italian restaurant... is that too cliché?" Roman inquired, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a semblance of amusement.

"Boss," Zsasz replied with a deadpan delivery, "clichés are clichés for a reason. But if you want something different, I know a place. Turkish."

"That little hole in the wall joint in the Bowery?" Roman's tone shifted with intrigue.

Zsasz gave a single nod. "That's the one."

"Karnıyarık," Roman mused aloud, a hint of hunger creeping into his voice as he remembered the savor of well-spiced eggplant and minced meat. "That does sound good."

"And don't get me started on the büyükanne's baklava." Zsasz's eyes gleamed with a rare spark of enthusiasm. "Better than any of those fancy restaurants, hands down."

Dinner was a good next step but there was a new loose end to tie up. Roman's amusement faded as he glared at the article again, picking out the names that had drawn his ire—Ramirez and Craven. The detectives first on scene after he'd been shot.

Roman sneered at the article, muttering under his breath, "So that's why you've got it out for me..."

His mind raced with thoughts of revenge and calculated moves, feeling the weight of their names pressing down on him.

"This changes things," Roman said, the gears turning in his head. He looked at Zsasz with a new sense of urgency.

"What do you want to do about it?" Zsasz asked calmly.

"Call up the lawyers and our inside man. I want everything on Ramirez and Craven by Monday."

"Got it, boss," Zsasz replied, nodding in agreement. His fingers were already reaching for his phone, ready to make contact and set things into motion. “You wanna wait on Metropolis? Left that doctor in pretty rough shape, he might talk, might not.”

“No, I think we’ve properly motivated the good doctor to keep his mouth shut. But let’s not take any chances, keep our travel plans as scheduled. And look into that other thing, I want that sorted by the time we leave, make sure she has everything she needs.”

"Now what?" he asked, curious about Roman's next move.

Roman's mind buzzed with plans and contingencies, the dark machinery of his intellect churning relentlessly. Craven and Ramirez had been the proverbial annoying thorn in his side since this whole damn thing started. He’d have figured out exactly what their beef with him was sooner or later but thanks to his little detective, it was sooner and he’d have to make sure he thanked her properly, wouldn’t he?

But he’d also have to tell her he’d been spying on her at work as well as her home, which really shouldn’t surprise her at this point. Well, she’d get over it.

The neon glow of the city reflected in Roman's dark eyes as he glanced at his watch, the ticking seconds a reminder that time was always moving.

"Time to go pick up my angel from work."

He pocketed the tablet and slid off the hood of the Maserati with predatory grace. Zsasz looked up from his phone call, nodding in understanding. Neither spoke of the growing reality, which was that Belladonna was quickly becoming a more central influence in Romans life, which made her dangerous.

Her beauty and courage had captivated him from their first meeting, and he found himself craving her presence more and more each day.

"Boss, everything's set," Zsasz said, interrupting Roman's thoughts as he hung up the phone. "Our guys will get us what we need."

"Good," Roman replied, his voice low and intense. "We'll find out exactly what those bastards are playing at, and put an end to it. But for now… let's focus on something far more pleasant." He smirked, enjoying the idea of spending time with Belladonna, even if only for a brief reprieve from the darkness that consumed his world. “I’m hungry.”

When faced with virtually no information about Tony Zucco aside from his sterling reputation within the community and the many mentionings of his hand in local businesses, Bealladonna’s bullshit detector started going off. Jaded or not, a wise man once said if something seemed too good to be true then it was.

When one word didn’t work, she opted to cross reference the name of Tony Zucco with Roman Sionis and then she found it.

The words "shooting" and "Masquerade Noir" had caught her attention, and as she read, she began to piece together a story that had unfolded just months after Roman's release from prison.

The article detailed an incendent that had unfolded at the location that would later become Roman’s club, he had been looking at the building with a leasing agent when Tony Zucco and his men showed up.

The statement of the leasing agent told of how Roman instructed her to flee and call the police and when she ran Tony’s men persued her. She imagined Roman's tall, dark frame acting as a barrier between the fleeing woman and Zucco's thugs. Roman then inteviened and tackled one fo the men by throwing punches but was qickly overwhelmed when he second man attacked Roman from behind. The witness report stated she saw Roman taking a severe beating on his knees before she went for help.

Roman out-numbered two to one, those seemed like his kind of odds. The image of his strong, muscular body entangled in a vicious fight made her shiver with both fear and admiration. It was compelling but something about it just wasn’t right. Where was Zsasz? She hadn’t bothered to look up anything about Zsasz, that one she had been a little afraid to look into.

The article continued stating by the time the police had arraived the two men were dead from gunshot wounds, Tony Zucco was shot in the chest but still alive and Roman was shot in the shoulder. She could almost hear the gunshots echoing through the empty building as Roman and Zucco traded fire.

Her breath caught in her throat as she envisioned Roman wounded and bleeding. She thought back to earlier that morning when she’d caught sight of him with that towel draped around his waist. She’d seen a few scars, one in particular on his shoulder, it had looked like a bullet but she couldn't tell from where she was.

As she absorbed the information, she could almost see the scene play out in her mind: Roman, bloodied but unbowed, bringing down the older man before collapsing into unconsciousness. It wasn't long after this brutal exchange that the police arrived, taking both men to Gotham General Hospital for treatment.

"Both men were treated and held in medical hold with armed police officers until they cold be taken to the GCPD." She read further.

While there was push from Zucco’s attourney to have Roman thrown back into Blackgate for the shooting and there was a potential civil lawsuit against him, the judge had ruled that Roman was out numbered, out gunned and he acted in reasonable self defense.

"Tony Zucco was sentenced to ten years for conspiracy to commit murder, assault with a deadly weapon, criminal conspiracy, and criminal solicitation. "

It had been, as far as she could tell, a slam dunk case mostly thanks to the severity of Romans injuries and the leasing agent who had witnessed the whole ordeal. She had stepped forward offering testimony, ultimately clearing Roman Sionis of any wrongdoing.

She moved from one article to another that talked about Tony Zucco’s release several years ago and he hadn’t been mentioned that much since, choosing to keep a quiet profile until almost all mention of him stopped. And a price reduction of several hundred thousand dollars had left the building vacant, which Roman swooped in to purchase it months later.

"Masquerade Noir opens its doors... quickly becoming Gotham's hottest night spot," She read aloud, her voice tinged with disbelief. The club had been born from violence, yet now thrived with people fighting to get in.

"Roman Sionis: Behind the Mystery" – another article title caught her eye, and she clicked on it eagerly. Scrolling through the text, she absorbed every detail there were interviews with staff, patrons, all speaking very highly of Roman as an employer who ran an immaculate ship. Didn’t tolerate any shady activity and overall, all who set foot inside his doors reported they loved the experience and felt safe and eager to return even if a martini cost almost twenty five dollars.

"From violence to prospering into an icon of the city; one thing is certain – he has built an empire from nothing, and many are drawn to the allure of his power and charm."

The sudden buzz of the intercom jolted Belladonna from her thoughts, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Miss Black, Mr. Sionis is in the lobby to pick you up," The security guards voice came through the speaker.

"Thank you, tell him I’ll be right down." She managed to reply, quickly shutting down her laptop and packing her bag.

As she stepped out of her office and made her way to the lobby, she considered what she might say to him, or even if she’d say anything at all. He’d never forbade her from looking into his past, never warned her not to go digging and what kind of idiot would she be if she didn’t at least do some light Googling into a man that she was growing more intimately connected with? Hell, she was all but sleeping with him at this point, she was living with him.

Her steps slowed as she entered the elevator and waited for it to carry her to the first floor. He did, however, tell her to ask fewer questions or learn to look the other way.

"Angel,"

Roman's deep voice called as he saw her, his eyes alight with a mix of desire and possessiveness and he wore a smile that could charm the devil himself. He crossed the distance between them in a few swift strides, pulling her into an unusually passionate kiss that caught her off guard. There was no one here aside from the security guard who wasn’t even watching, why the show? Something put him in a good mood.

"Hi.” She said a little breathlessly.

He ushered her toward his black Maserati parked outside, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "Hungry?"

"Actually, yeah." She replied, her previous queries now pushed to the back burner after that kiss and the prospect of dinner. She wondered what he had in mind but before she could ask he answered that with a question of his own.

"Ever had Turkish?" Roman asked, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

She wasn’t sure what it was but something had put him in a very good mood, it was hard to find any hint of those little tendrils of darkness that usually clung to him. It was then that she registered his question and her lips curled in distaste, the memory of her father's rants about 'those damned Turks' still fresh even after all these years.

"No, of course not." She said it with an almost laugh, as if it was the dumbest question she’d been asked.

Roman's gaze sharpened, and she could almost hear the unspoken reprimand. “Excuse me?’ Who's never had Turkish in this cultural melting pot of a city? It’s almost offensive.”

“Sorry?” She shrugged. "Did you forget I'm half Greek and my father is something of a xenophobe?" She replied, unable to keep the slightly defensive note from her voice.

"What's that got to do with food?" He asked perplexed as the car pulled away from the curb.

Belladonna bit her lip. Did Roman really need her to explain her father's deep seeded, outdated, cultural hatred? She thought it was pretty self explanatory. On the other hand it was just as plausible for Roman to harbor no real hate for anyone unless they crossed him in which case that was most certainly a ‘case by case’ basis. He also seemed like an ‘I hate everybody equally’ type of man. He was a total social butterfly, floating between different groups without a care in the world. Old grudges and racial tensions didn't seem to faze him at all, personal grudges? Well, that was likely different.

"Turkish food," She finally said. "Greece and Turkey have been enemies for centuries,” She managed. "Ever since the Ottoman Empire conquered Constantinople in 1453, there's been bad blood between the nations. Even now they're still not exactly friends-"

"Despite both being NATO allies..." Roman interjected, one dark brow arched knowingly.

His mention of something so political surprised her, Roman was smart but she didn’t really think of him as ‘politics smart.’ She had never thought of him as someone who paid attention to politics, let alone casually mention it. But in a way, it did make a certain kind of sense, the politics of crime.

"Just because someone is an ally, doesn't make them friends."

She froze, hearing the echo of their own intricate affiliation in those words. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by an awkward tension.

Without warning, Roman's hand reached out to cup her chin and he silenced any concerns she had with a deep, passionate kiss. His lips moved slowly over hers, lulling her into a relaxed state, slow, smoldering, possessive and hungry. When he pulled away, she was left breathless, her mind pleasantly unfocused.

"Trust me, you're gonna love it," He purred, low and seductive, his thumb stroking over her lower lip.

He didn't acknowledge her earlier words or the uneasy parallel she had drawn between them. If her comment bothered him, he didn't let it show.

“Was your father that much of a bigot to keep you from trying some of the most delicious food known to man?” Roman's disbelief was evident in his tone, and it surprised her. She had never thought of him as a foodie but he seemed all riled up over it.

“Roman, what do you think?” She asked dryly.

"Come on," he said. "Time you tried some Turkish delight."

“That jello thing that little prick Edmund liked from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe?”

Roman rolled his eyes, and scoffed. “You know classic children's fantasy literature but you’ve never had Turkish?”

“You mean, ‘I know classic Christian biblical propaganda?’ Then yes, I do. I went to an all girls Catholic school, remember?”

A sly smile crossed Roman's face. “Oh, Angel, trust me. That’s a detail I’ve never forgotten.”

Just an hour ago she’d read through as much of Romans criminal history as she could find, she was still no closer to discovering what it was that happened between his family and him. She didn’t for one second buy the fact that he’d done three years for tax evasion or that there was no validity to any of the other charges against him.

He did it. She was sure.

And she knew for a fact that the shooting that took place in his club couldn’t have been as simple as the article had made it out to be.

Roman protecting a curiously present leasing agent when someone he had a sketchy past with had just happen to show up? Not for a second.

She couldn't explain it, but somehow Roman had found a way to get away with murder and attempted murder. And now, he was doing it again with Jimmy. Even more unsettling, she was helping him - at times, even enjoying it. She could hardly believe how comfortable she had become in his presence, especially since learning to read him better. As they drove through the streets of Gotham, for what was sounding more and more like a real date, Roman wore something that hovered between a smile and a smirk. His hand rested possessively on her thigh, thumb gently grazing her leg through the fabric of her jeans. Electric sparks shooting between their bodies like lightning bolts. She couldn't deny the thrill she felt being by his side, despite the danger and moral ambiguity of their actions together.

Roman was a man of many qualities, but at the forefront of it all was his ability to survive. She couldn't imagine how much blood he must have shed to get to where he was. Despite knowing he was dangerous and having witnessed his quick fire temper firsthand, and even being mildly on the receiving end a few times. She was drawn to him.

Everything about this man should have sent her running and screaming.

But it didn’t.

First he’d spared her life, then he’d saved her life more than once, called down an armed assault when she’d been in danger and nearly declared war with another criminal over her. Yet, here he was, sitting beside her, taking her to dinner after a long workday, to try something new. She wasn’t bothered by his touch, in fact, she craved it. Despite the red flags every Cosmo had ever told her to look for and run from there was a warmth emanating from those flags, like a bullet-proof, blood red blanket.

Roman Sionis was a pit bull. An angry dog with a penchant for biting and slicing off ears. Dropping bodies where it pleased him and something about that knowledge set every nerve of hers on fire.

He was a criminal. A killer with blood on his hands. And a psychopath with violence in his heart. And if there was a God in heaven, let him help her because she was falling for him.

I woke up a little early so here's a happy surprise for you guys! So, we got a little more insight into Roman's past, eh? Anyone else get the impression we're missing some information???? Belladonna does. Hope you guys liked this chapter, I know I'm teasing you guys mercilessly but stick with me I PROMISE YOU the smut is coming in the next chapter or two, it just depends on pacing but it will be worth it! Y'all have stuck with me this far just hang on a little longer. I need to work on a few one-shots but I have the next chapter mostly planned out so it shouldn't take quite as long. I also had some family in town so writing was put on the back burner for a little bit.

I'm really loving how this story is coming together and I really appreciate everyone's support, especially my mysterious anonymous questioner who checks in on me, I don't know who you are but I appreciate you! Comments and interaction comes from such a small group so the feedback and check-ins really do keep me motivated!

How do you guys like the new look fo the story??? I finally got Canva Premium so I think I'll be playing around with some more fun stuff like the bars and dividers. You guys know what to do, reblog with those crazy tags, comment and like! Reblogs are the best way to circulate work on Tumblr so we can reach more Toxic Fangirls! And speaking of which a big welcome to a new potential member of the Roman Sionis Toxic Love Fangirl Club who is actually a pretty damn good writer her/their damnself! Looking at you @gilverrwrites and my other toxic fangirls too! @hereticpriest @daenerys-skywalker @tarrenterror25 @supernatural-lover and @keffirinneYou guys are my cheer squad!

Have a great day, let me know what you all think, and stay toxic.

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eddywoww · 1 year

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Woot woot almost 6k into uneducated guesses and there’s no smut yet

Are we shocked?

#there will be smut #I’m so excited it’s gonna be funny #my fic

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rafescurtainbangz · 3 months

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Professor Rafe is probably too long. Somebody cut this bitch off. Category is smüt.

How long do you like your one shots? Wondering if I should split it up.

Idkkkkk

#there will be smut #a whole lotta d #rafey daddy #xxbutdaddyilovehimxx

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vaya-writes · 5 months

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Not Quite A Life Debt - 2

A handful of f reader insert scenes with m demonic love interests. Fluff, hurt/comfort, and smutty shenanigans that lean kind of poly.

You (kind of unnecessarily) tried to save Ludwig’s life. Out of pity, he lets you crash at his place for a few weeks after. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, but he doesn’t live alone. Reader stays with the triplets until she gets back on her feet. Smut, family shenanigans, and possibly even romance ensues.

You settle in and meet Ludwig's family. There's a bit of a mix up regarding what humans can safely eat, and the start of some bonding with Obie. 3300 words.

Content warnings for this chapter include references to the last chapter (recovery from injury, very brief use of an inhaler, and mention of alcoholism), profanity, detailed food descriptions, food not safe for human consumption, someone (not reader) calls themself ugly and believes it. Divider by firefly-graphics. Also tagging @eldritch-spouse so she knows her clowns are being featured again.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous

You’re pretty dazed when you step into Perdition.

The events leading to this moment were stressful. Losing so much in so little time, having nowhere to turn; it’d all be overwhelming on its own. As it is you’re trying very hard not to break down in front of Ludwig, your new acquaintance.

But moving to hell? That’s a whole new level of crazy you’re not quite ready to deal with.

You take in your surroundings with a distant sort of interest. Ludwig leads you through a rough looking neighbourhood. It’s not the nicest place, sure, but you’re taken aback at how mundane the place is. Sure, there are demons in every window, and clustered around some doors and corners. There’s the flash of magic here and there, and things you'd rather not look too closely at. But it had never occurred to you that demons would require housing too. Would have their own suburbs and addresses.

You’d laugh if it wouldn’t trigger a coughing fit.

“So, I know you’re probably feeling,” Ludwig glances down at you, searching for a tactful word, “delicate, about now. But there’s a chance my family will be home.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is hoarse.

“Yeah. We were supposed to do dinner this week. But then you were in hospital and I had to postpone. My brothers will probably be lurking around until that’s dealt with.”

Meeting people. You could handle that. Perhaps not right now, when you’re still clad in a hospital gown, and stumbling from exhaustion. But maybe after a nap?

“Ok.”

You travel another block or so before Ludwig comes to a stop before a two story home. It’s fairly unremarkable, if a little worn down. You might call it well lived in.

He mutters a curse. “They’re home.”

You wince. “I haven’t-” you hesitate to say you haven’t met a demon before. After all, you’ve known Ludwig for about a day. But still, meeting more than one right now is intimidating as fuck. Being here makes you nervous enough that you almost forget the week you’ve had. “Uh. Is there anything I should know before I meet them?”

Ludwig frowns. Bothered, but it doesn’t feel directed at you. “Do you need a crash course in demonology?”

“Uh,” you just want to sit down. “Not today?”

His face crinkles some more. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, with his eyes always kind of closed. He lets out a long breath. “Obie is a glutton. Literally. He’s chill, but don’t leave anything small around him. Or your food unattended, if you’re particularly attached to it. And Mervin is a pride demon. He talks a lot of shit that he only means half the time. Expect to be criticised. It’s absolutely a front, but he can’t help it.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds... kind of stereotypical?”

“They’re stereotypes for a reason.”

You realise you’re missing a key piece of information. “And you are..?”

He blinks. (You think.) Then cracks the first smile you’ve seen him give. “Not obvious then?”

You look him over. He’s of average build, a light red in colour, hooded eyes that he barely keeps open, and a set of ribbed horns of moderate size. Perhaps his type might be obvious to another demon, but you don’t know enough about demonic physiology to hazard a guess.

“You slept through a building fire. Are you from Sloth?”

He leans back, surprised, you think. “I’m from the common ring. Type is genetic.”

You wait.

“I thought you’d guess based on,” he waves at himself, “colour, but yeah, sleeping through a fire is a bit...” he trails off. “Let’s not tell my family about that.” He stands straighter, recovering. “I’m actually a wrath demon.”

You should probably feel something when he tells you that. Concern. Fear. Something. But you’re experiencing something akin to post exertional malaise. And it’s definitely rounding off your thoughts with apathy.

You shrug. “Okay.”

He seems confused. “Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. How am I supposed to react?”

You’re pretty sure he’s staring. But after a moment he slouches. His voice softens. “Did you have any questions?”

“Is there anything you think I should know?”

He turns away. “Uh- not really. I... I know humans can scare easily. I’ve a bit more awareness of my outbursts than some wrathful types. Just... I suppose, ask before touching my things?”

It sounds easy enough. You look up at the house with a sigh. “Alright. Can we get this meeting over with? I’d like to shower and then sleep for another week if possible.”

He smiles again; the slight turning up of his lips. “That could be arranged.”

---

Any other day and you’d be intimidated as fuck. Strange house, strange people, strange new rules, and you don’t know the half of them.

You take comfort in the fact that Ludwig’s brothers are just as surprised to see you. The purple one – Mervin, you learn – stares daggers at you, silently contemptuous. Obie, the yellow demon with crooked horns, at least smiles, and shakes your hand.

Then Ludwig is whisking you away to the spare room. “This used to be ma’s room. She didn’t leave a lot behind, but there might be an outfit or two. There’s an ensuite so you can have that shower you wanted.”

“An ensuite and nobody uses this room?”

He snorts. “We could never agree who got the room after ma moved out. To put things lightly.”

The room is plain but it’s the nicest you’ve stayed in in a long time. The bed and wardrobe alone are luxurious compared to the hotel you’d been staying in. The clothes are a different matter.

After rummaging through the drawers you hold up some pants, and try not to frown. “I think your mum’s body type is very different to mine.”

Ludwig eyes the pants and huffs. “Yeah. I’ll see if anything of mine would fit you better.”

He brings you some supplies. A towel. Clothes. Some soap. And then you’re left alone.

---

Obie manages to keep his questions to himself. Even Mervin had kept his comments to a minimum, instead leveling Ludwig and his human with looks that could be deciphered as exasperated. Appalled. They wait until Ludwig comes back downstairs before facing him. Even then, they managed to hold off a little longer, until the sound of the shower begins upstairs, before giving him a proper dressing down.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“You missed ma’s birthday for a human? Do you know how devastated she was? You could have called? Texted? Sent a fucking letter-”

Ludwig sighs. Claps Mervin over the back of the head – somewhat viciously - before sitting at the table. “I did call, Merv. I told ma what had happened and got her damn blessing to stay on the surface. You’re just mad I didn’t tell you.”

“Of course I’m mad. I cleared my schedule for this! What could be so important that you could just blow us off?”

Ludwig laces his fingers under his chin. Would happily tell Mervin- if he hadn’t kept ranting. Pacing around the kitchen, gesticulating with anger. He shares a look with Obie, one honed by decades of dealing with the pride demon’s antics together.

Obie understands. Gets up. Herds Mervin into a chair (even as he keeps talking). Cages him in with hands on his shoulders.

“Shut up, will you? Do you want his explanation or not?”

Mervin cuts off, sneering at his brothers. “Fine. Speak.”

Ludwig grits his teeth. Has to swiftly decide which parts of the event to share. Not the drunkenness. That would just worry them. And if he tells them what you actually did to help, they’d probably experience the same bewilderment, the same condescension as he had. Mervin would have nothing but scorn for you, forever mocking your intelligence.

“I was doing a layover in some backward little town when the locals tried to hate crime me.”

His brothers straighten, attention immediately caught.

“I’m fine. Obviously.”

“What did they-”

“They set the hotel on fire.” Ludwig huffs at their expressions. “I know right? Anyway, the girl tried to step in and help. People weren’t happy about it. She lost her home for the trouble. I offered to let her stay here or a while.”

Mervin almost fluffs up, objections ready to spill, but Obie beats him to it: “That doesn’t explain why you were gone for several days.”

Ludwig winces. He supposes they will find out about your blunder after all. “She’s been in hospital. She charged into the fire to try and help me. Inhaled a lot of smoke.”

Mervin scoffs. “So she’s stupid.”

Obie digs his fingers into Mervin’s shoulders. “Sounds like she’s kind.”

Ludwig shrugs. “A bit of both, from what I can tell.”

Mervin still sneers. “And nobody else could take her?”

“No. I did not get that impression.”

Obie shrugs. “Then there’s only one thing for it. She stays.”

Mervin frowns. He’s definitely going to complain. But Ludwig spears him with a look that leaves little room for argument.

Instead he stands. Scoffs, as he shoulders Obie aside. “You’re a bunch of soft-hearted fools.”

---

The family dinner is rescheduled for the next day. You don’t care for the details, as long as you’re allowed to sleep. Using a real bed, in a quiet room is a wonderful treat compared to sleeping in a hospital ward.

You woke when Ludwig had knocked. He’d brought you a bag of chips – a surface brand you recognise. You tore into those rather than risk the kitchen and running into the other occupants of the house.

You’re not sure how much time had passed when you finally creep downstairs, drawn by the smell of cooking food. You’d slept in. Presumably. With the strange lighting in Perdition, the lack of clocks in your room, and your phone being flat, you haven’t an idea of the time.

The yellow one is busy in the kitchen, cooking with practiced ease. There’s meat in a frying pan, while eggs cook in another. You watch as Obie cracks an egg open– it's large, too round, and certainly not from a chicken. You almost miss the way he tosses the shell. It flies in a perfect arc before landing in his open mouth.

You hide your wince before making your way to the dining table. Ludwig sits at it, in deep conversation with another yellow demon. This one a plump woman with her hair styled neatly. You try not to stare, but she’s honestly the first demon you’ve seen with hair.

Her deep green eyes flick to you and she smiles. Her voice is pleasant. Sweet. “This is her?”

Ludwig nods, and introduces you to his mother, Katia.

She seems lovely; fussing over you while you wait for dinner and asking if you’re well. She asks about your pain, your sleep, how you’re settling in. When the conversation meanders back towards herself and her family she chats about her sons in a way that’s frankly endearing. You catch a darkness on Ludwig’s cheeks that might even be blush.

You actually manage to relax, smiling and nodding along politely, answering questions here and there. Thankfully she doesn’t ask you anything too personal. It goes on until Mervin joins you at the table and Obie brings out the food.

You stand and offer to help, to set the table, but Obie and Katia brush you off, the later insisting that you’re a guest, that you’re unwell – you should be resting.

They’re not wrong. Even the small amount of conversation that you’ve made has left your throat feeling agitated. You have to use your new inhaler before settling in for food.

Obie serves you your plate. There’s eggs, toast, sausages, and fried meat. It all looks familiar, but distinctly off. The egg yolks are too small, too green. The meats have an almost purple sheen. The toast is oddly shaped, like it had risen differently.

Still, you don’t want to be rude.

It’s been said that you’re a little stupid.

You certainly do nothing to detract from that argument when you cut a small piece of meat and toast and take a bite.

In your defence, you’re hungry. You’re being polite. You don’t want to rock the boat by asking somebody to accommodate for your very basic and important needs.

Regardless, you can’t help but hesitate at the taste. You chew carefully and swallow while sensation spreads across your tongue.

“So... what are we eating?”

Four heads turn your direction. They blink.

“Oh fuck,” Ludwig swears.

You pale at his oath, freezing before you can cut another bite.

The taste begins to sink in. Savory. Rich. Intense. It’s nearly overwhelming the way your mouth alights. You do your best to keep a straight face, but fail.

Mervin mutters something. Some insult. Some comment on your intellect. While Obie jumps up. Fetches a glass from the kitchen and fills it with water. “I’m so sorry, Bon. I completely forgot- here, drink.”

The water helps. Barely. It still takes a minute for the taste to start to fade. You end up drinking the whole glass, hoping to dilute the taste of whatever the fuck you just ate. Not that it was bad. Just... unexpected. Overwhelming. You’d never had a taste threaten to overwhelm you before. It's certainly a new sensation.

There’s a myriad of embarrassed looks around the table. You’re glad you’re not the only one. Hoping to diffuse the tension, you joke “Nothing poisonous I hope?”

Obie shakes his head. He looks almost downtrodden. “No. Just... food local to these parts. I forgot that humans aren’t used to it.”

“I’ve some junk food stashed in my room,” Ludwig stands, “Earth brands, so it should be safe.”

Obie shifts, “yeah, about that...”

Ludwig stills. Stares hard at his brother, you think, before turning and stomping towards his room.

There’s a silence before-

“You insatiable fucking rat. What have I told you about touching my things?”

“Mervin, go stop your brother from getting too worked up.” Katia intercedes, calm as still water. “Obie, you need to replace what you took. Now.”

Obie grumbles and stands. He picks up his plate and literally tips the contents into his mouth, jaw unhinging impressively to accommodate the mouthful.

You try not to gape.

He turns to you. “Wanna come with? You can pick out the foods you like?”

You glance towards the hallway, where you can hear two raised voices, now coming closer. It’s an easy choice.

You join Obie by the door, stepping into the sneakers Ludwig had leant you. “Sure.”

---

It’s an effort not to gawk at everyone you pass. Now that you’re rested and slightly more cognisant, everything around you seems novel. You’d flitted from small town to small town for most of your life. Hadn’t seen many monsters at all, let alone demons.

Here, they’re everywhere. And you notice, with gradually increasing discomfort, that they’re also very much aware of you.

You make it to a market. Obie grabs a shopping trolley and leads you towards the ‘interspecies foods’ aisle. They have a basic selection of human foods there, but there’s enough that you won’t have to eat the same thing every day. Mostly.

Obie carefully picks out some sweets and chip packets, scowling all the while. “I can’t even remember the specifics. Do you think he’ll notice if I get the wrong chocolates?”

You spare him a glance, before going back to monitoring your surroundings. There are even more eyes on you now. “I don’t know. As long as you get him a kind he likes?”

He hums his agreement, and starts filling the cart, comically emptying out an entire shelf.

“I think people are staring.”

“There’s a glutton in a grocery store, of course they’re staring. You gonna pick what you want?”

“Will they take my money?”

He pauses to consider. “No.”

Your stomach picks a bad time to rumble.

Obie gives you a pat on the head. “Not to worry. This time it’s on me.”

You’re relived, but your anxiety only lessens marginally. This family is already housing you. You don’t want to rely on them for food too. Gratitude tends to run thin in the face of inconvenience.

You pick out a couple of things. Sandwich fodder. Cup noodles. Milk. But Obie doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance and empties out several more shelves of your favoured foods. Soon you have enough stock to last you weeks.

Maybe he does notice. Because he prompts you to pick something else. Firmly redirects you towards the aisle again when you make to leave. “Nobody goes hungry in our house.”

Until the shopping trolley is full. To the point where overflow is a risk. You watch Obie balance more onto the precarious pile, impressed by how much he’s managing to carry.

The sight fills you with amusement. Enough that your anxieties ease, if only for the moment.

But once you leave the store, your concerns resurface.

“They’re still staring.”

You can’t help but glance down at yourself, self-conscious. You are wearing a pair of tights from Katia’s supply and one of the shirts Ludwig had leant you. It’s oversized, but not horrendously so.

“Don’t worry, Bonbon, they’re staring at me.”

There’s that nickname again. It’s sweet. Almost ridiculously so, and you’re not sure if you’ve done anything to earn it. It distracts you enough that you almost forget the stares. But you can’t help but circle back to them.

You don’t really believe him. Maybe some of the stares are levelled at him? But it seems to you that everyone is gawking at the human.

“Why would they be staring at you?”

“Well, I’m kind of ugly.”

Your head jerks in his direction, unbidden. You haven’t heard somebody describe themselves so frankly since- well you’re not sure if you ever have.

You regard him carefully. Search for the source of his comment. He’s the same build as his siblings. Yellow, in a pallor that is obviously inhuman. Average, as far as demons go, with two horns and tail. His horns are asymmetrical; curved and bent unusually. He has the same thin spade tail as his brothers, except the length of his is visibly kinked in several places. It lacks fluid movement – twitchy almost in a way that makes you think of broken bones and nerve damage.

Still. You wouldn’t consider him ugly. Just different. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. Gestures to what you had observed. His horns. His tail.

His casual demeanour is almost forced. You start to suspect that he was being quite serious when he called himself ugly.

It bothers you enough that you step closer to him and speak in a murmur, “you look fine to me.”

He huffs a smile. “Well, aren’t you sweet? Don’t worry about me, I’m used to it.”

His lightness irks you. You almost pout. “Nobody here looks normal to me. I don’t know what demons are supposed to look like. So you can believe my unbiased opinion when I tell you that you look fine.”

He looks away. Seems to consider. Before shrugging. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You can tell he’s not taking you seriously. This time you do pout. You push past your discomfort and link your elbow with his.

His head whips towards you, surprised at the contact.

You ignore his shock. “I’ve got a lot of gaps in my knowledge about demons. Want to fill me in while we head back?”

He turns away, quiet for a moment, before shrugging again. “What did you want to know?”

#vaya writes #eldritch-spouse #monster romance #demon romance #jazz hands #ive been working on this instead of sts #hope ya'll enjoy #and yes #there will be smut

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