#roman sionis/original female character

[thegreatwicked]

Shadows of Deception - Chapter Seventen

Shadows of Deception

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.

River by BRKN LOVE

2:47 AM. 

What in the hell? 

It was too early to be this pissed off, and it wasn't just because he had been ripped from sleep for seemingly no reason. He was pretty sure he’d been having a fantastic dream, the kind so real, he could still feel it on his skin. It was nice, gentle, almost tickling in a way that left his nerves highly alert and his cock beginning to stir. Maybe if he was lucky he could fall back into the dream and see where it led him.

As he shifted beneath the covers trying to get comfortable again he became aware of an unsettling pressure draped across his lower half; odd that he hadn’t noticed it before. Blinking several times saw his vision adjust to the murky darkness of the room, and the shape looming over him sharpened into focus.

Belladonna.

He knew that silhouette anywhere. That hair cascading over her shoulders framing her face as she gazed down at him with a seductive and alluring expression, her fingers lazily drawing up and down his thighs that sent little waves of warm arousal through him. The shadows caressed her curves more intimately than any luxurious lingerie ever could, teasing and tantalizing her skin with their all-consuming darkness. It was mesmerizing the way she watched him with a mix of suspense and yearning, it quickly began stirring something within him and sleep was now the last thing on his mind. 

Although captivated by what he saw, confusion accompanied the thoughts swirling around in Roman's mind. Why was she awake at this ungodly hour? He looked back at the dock where his phone sat charging, with a tap of his finger the time lightly illuminated the small part of the room softly; 2:48 am. She had work in the morning and she couldn’t have had more than four hours of sleep.

They had both collapsed into bed sometime after eleven? Maybe? The shoot had wrapped at three but to his surprise Belladonna’s work day had been far from over. She’d arrived back at the penthouse somewhere around nine-thirty, wearing exhaustion like a designer dress that had seen a few seasons too many. 

She looked like crap.

Though he wasn’t honestly stupid enough to say that, he had some sense of self-preservation, after all. And he obviously knew it was the byproduct of a long day with many demands and he could certainly understand the sentiment; he’d had more than his share of days where he felt and probably looked about as appealing as the floor of a taxi. More often than not the source of Roman’s bad days were swiftly dealt with a brutal show of violence as opposed to tactful negotiations or compromise and in that regard, Belladonna was a better person than him. 

He didn’t have too many problems that couldn’t be solved by a small caliber of bullet and a clean-up crew.

When she’d nearly fallen asleep on the couch, any hopes he’d had of picking up where they left off from their little ten-second tryst together before the shoot, evaporated on the spot. He’d all but carried her to bed. Which in a way was fine with him, he got to cop a feel on the way without getting slapped, all she did was call him a pervert and Roman had definitely been called far worse. It was actually kind of cute how she said it with her voice colored by the softness of sleepiness. She was out before her head hit the pillow.

But she seemed plenty awake now though.

Her fingers traced his stomach and chest, feeling the defined hard lines of his muscular physique as if she were blind and his body was a canvas of braille. Each crevice and ridge, like pages in an illicit novel she couldn't resist. The grin on his face grew with her exploration, he didn't seem to mind at all; in fact, he found it fascinating how she touched him as if he were a work of art. It may have been a bit ego centric on his part, but there was no mistaking the intensity of her gaze for anything other than what it was: pure, unadulterated desire.

The question was forming on his lips, a slight furrow appearing between his brows as he opened his mouth to speak it. But she shook her head and her finger moved lazily up to press gently against his lips, silencing any potential inquiries. The soft pad of her fingertip trailed over the luscious curve of his lower lip, leaving a faint tingling sensation in its wake. He watched with rapt attention as the sensation grew and spread until it was almost unbearable. 

And once it was, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and jerking her forward. Her hair fell like a curtain around them, and that sweet, invigorating scent he hadn’t quite figured out yet enveloped him. It was crisp, with a tangy sharpness that teased his senses, a fragrance that was both refreshing and tantalizingly elusive. It was all around him, drowning him. 

Fuck it, there were worse ways to die.

Their faces were mere inches apart, their breath mingling in the small space between them, and his skin prickled with anticipation as he waited to see what she would do. Everything about their current position suggested he was in control, that he held the power. Hell, he could crush the delicate bones in her wrist with one twist of his hand but she just smiled at him like a cat about to get the cream, and tilted her head in amusement as though this had been her plan all along. 

She lowered her lips those last few inches to his, their softness pressed against his, finally silencing that tingling sensation that had been coursing through him.

He should have reminded her of the early morning awaiting her, that Daisy would need her sharp and ready, but the thoughts scattered like smoke as she licked her way into his mouth deepening the kiss, and any semblance of spoken word melted into a pleasurable moan. 

He had let go of her wrist without a second thought, his grip immediatly slackening. He didn’t care about it anymore. Starting at his biceps, her fingers traced the length of his arms until they intertwined with his, and then, with a firm motion, she pressed his arms above his head, effectively pinning him to the bed.

"Angel, what's gotten into you?" 

But he didn’t give a shit, he was more turned on by her than he’d ever been at this dominating yet seductive side of her, he always knew she had it in her. Let his kitten play a bit, let her think she had the illusion of control, it would make taking it back that much more enjoyable.

He didn’t really care what brought this on, but he most definitely wanted to know what she might say to him. Truth was, he was going fucking insane, he hadn’t jacked off this much since he was a goddamned teenager.

The tension had been mounting between them for weeks, and with each interruption and missed opportunity it only grew worse. The events of the last week being particularly excruciating, with her lying next to him each night with that sweet smell lingering on the pillows and sheets. Close enough to taste and touch.

The concerns of the waking world—the meetings, the daylight responsibilities—receded into nothingness as the heat between them stoked higher.

She gave no indication of hearing his words or being concerned with their meaning, they may as well have been white noise; soothing but ultimately something she could ignore.

"Shh,"

Her breath was hot against his ear accompanied by a flick of her tongue and her nails raking lightly down his chest. He clenched the pillow to keep himself from spoiling her little power trip, he’d take over soon enough.

"I don't care." Such beautiful words were never spoken.

Her lips grazed his jawline, her teeth gently grazing his skin as she continued down his neck.

“I’m not going to work,” She nipped his collarbone. “And neither are you.”

He liked the sound of that. Her honeyed words wrapped around him in the darkness, binding him to the moment. Saliva-slicked kisses continued, igniting a slow smoldering fire across his chest. He lay back unable to tear his eyes away from her both thrilled and hypnotized.

"Is that right?" 

His eyes fluttered shut, heat pooling in his groin, and any traces of annoyance faded, replaced by need—for her lips, her body, the oblivion only she could give him. 

"We’ve been teasing each other for weeks," 

Her fingers curled firmly around his cock, the warmth of her grip causing a subtle thrust of his hips upward into her hand. He leaned back against the pillows, his head tilting slightly as he let out a contented sigh and his body relaxed.

“You could have killed me when we met,” Her voice was a gentle murmur against his skin, punctuated by the soft exploration of her fingers. 

A growl rumbled in his chest. "I couldn't kill you if I tried, angel. You're too damn interesting." 

"Interesting enough to keep around?" 

"And gorgeous enough to drive me mad." He choked as she squeezed gently, hips rising off the bed again. "I’d have bent you over that conference table—"

"I wish you had." 

The images flashed unbidden in his mind just as they had a thousand times before: Belladonna splayed out on the conference table, gasping and writhing beneath him. He could almost smell her arousal, almost feel the tight heat of her body enveloping him, she’d strangle his cock, he was sure of it.

“I couldn't stop thinking about that night in your car, after the party. I wanted you so badly." She complained sounding like a spoiled little princess who didn’t get her way, "But Cobblepot's men had to fuck it up..." Belladonna squeezed tighter, and Roman let out a low moan in agreement. 

Seriously, he let those fuckers off lightly, maybe next time he wouldn’t stop at slicing just an ear off, maybe something more valuable so the message of ‘Don’t fuck with Roman Sionis’ had more… meaning.

"I would have let you do anything you wanted to me."

Fuck. Yeah, next time they’d be losing something far more valuable than a goddamned ear.

“Anything?” 

She caught his nipple between her teeth and gave a gentle tug eliciting a sharp hiss from him, followed by an ‘Mmhmm.’

“He was going to kill me, baby, but then there you were,” 

Bullshit. He’d have never let anything happen to her, but he did like the hero worship he was getting.

“You took care of me when I crashed.” She added, her strokes growing more deliberate and it was great but he was notabout to come from a fucking handjob.

"You could have let him kill me," She whispered against his skin, her mouth moving down his body. “But you saved me, my dark knight on a dark horse.”

"Couldn't let something so beautiful die,"

He didn’t mean to come off so needy just then and if anyone ever asked or Belladonna ever brought it up: No he didn’t.

"I owe you, Roman. And I think I need to start showing you how grateful I am. You told me yourself, you can’t allow debts to go unchecked, not even for me..."

He grinned at her recollection, smug satisfaction flooding his body with each stroke of his cock, oh, that little gem. He liked her logic, liked how his words were coming back to visit him in a way that was sure to benefit him. It wasn’t what he’d meant, not really, but he loved how she was touching him and the way she was positively lavishing attention on him, he fucking ate it up. This was the kind of shit he lived for, having someone adore him. 

When he told her she owed him and decided to collect in the form of orgasms, he’d meant hers, not his. But this was fun and it felt fucking phenomenal after so many weeks of wanting to throw her down and rail her.

He’d said that control was what got him off, and the idea of telling her at any moment he was going to collect by making her come for him was better than any fucking drug. Still, only a moron would turn down what he was getting, and he was content to lay back and see how exactly she might express her gratitude. 

“My angel has a bit of a devil inside her…” He chuckled.

“Not yet, she doesn’t.” 

Fucking finally, he was going to get some goddamned relief from someplace aside from his own hand. Oh, he’d sure as shit earned it.

Her stroking paused briefly and the light reflected off her eyes, for a moment giving the illusion that they were pitch black. It felt like he was about to be on the receiving end of a Pandora’s Box of lust, as her lips brushed tantalizingly close to his throbbing cock.

"God, Belladonna," He gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily under her touch.

This wasn’t quite out of character, the few times things had turned physical between them had given him the distinct impression that she was an intense and passionate lover. He still found it a bit odd that tonight, or rather, this morning of all days she would suddenly decide to do something about it was a bit odd. She’d told him before that her work came before him due to the unstable nature of their relationship, and yet, here she was, awake after only a few hours of sleep about to blow off work to blow him. 

But the frustration of their interrupted intimacies had built to an unbearable crescendo. His cock didn't care about the sudden shift in her demeanor; which meant he didn’t care. He could get her another job somehow or somewhere else. Hell, he’d write a blank check so long as she didn’t stop what she was doing.

"I'm going to make you feel so good, you're going to cry." 

A shiver ran through him; it wasn't a threat, it was a promise—delivered with a seductive certainty that made him believe every word. 

He smirked. Goddammit, it was good to be him.

"Well, I don't cry, kitten. But good luck, I hope your jaw can handle me." His gaze fell to her soft, full lips, imagining the pleasure they could bring him. "You know, I've always loved how beautiful your lips are. And I bet they would look even better wrapped around my cock."

She smiled wickedly and leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over him, making him ache for contact. 

"Is that what you want, Roman?"

"Fuck, yes," He groaned, growing more desperate by the second.

But instead of giving him what he craved, she continued to tease him – her tongue, her breath, her fingertips – all coming painfully close, but never quite touching where he needed her most. He wasn’t the type to force a woman to do anything she didn’t want but he sure as shit wasn’t a man to whine and beg, his irritation mounted with each near-touch. 

"Ask me nicely, Roman," Belladonna purred, clearly enjoying her newfound control.

"Come on, kitten, I don’t beg," Roman growled, though the desperation in his voice betrayed him.

“Angel, don’t make me tell you again,” His threat saw no reaction beyond another nip of the skin on his hip. 

He tried again, maybe a gentle warning in his voice would stir compliance. "Belladonna… Don’t tease me."

She shook her head mutely, stray tendrils of her long black hair falling loosely over her face, as Roman continued drowning in sensation, barely treading water. She leaned in again, blowing a soft, hot breath over the head of his cock, and the last of his restraint shattered.

“One little word baby, that’s all it takes,”

In the depths of his conflicted thoughts, the battle between pride and desire waged within him, each heartbeat echoing the unspoken truth—he wanted her, more than anything else in that moment. Oh, fuck it.

"Please," He breathed, the word escaping as a desperate, needy whimper. 

Belladonna's lips curved into a triumphant smile. "That's my good boy."

As the word left her lips, an abrupt stillness enveloped him. The profound silence felt alien after the whispers of Belladonna's breath, the absence of her weight atop him jarring. 

Suddenly, he was jolted awake, the erotic sensation giving way to the cold reality of his empty bed. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains as the clock on his nightstand read 9:00 a.m. It had all been just a dream – Belladonna was gone, off to work before he had even woken up. 

It had all been a torturous, vivid illusion that left him with nothing but a painful erection and frustration. He lay there for a moment, taking in the quiet space where Belladonna should have been. A growl of discontent rumbled from deep within his chest, and turned his face into the pillow, his fingers clenching the fabric as he released a vehement:

"FUUUUCK!" 

The word tore through the quiet of the penthouse.

Outside, in the main kitchen, stood Zsasz who paused, a hint of amusement curving his lips, then he added another scoop of coffee beans to the grinder. He recognized the tone—a blend of aggravation and hunger that had become all too familiar recently. He wasn’t about to touch that though, knowing better than to intrude on his boss's privacy, especially not when the echoes of Roman's rage were reverberating so clearly through the penthouse.

"Morning," 

"Shut up, Zsasz," Roman growled in response, pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee. 

Zsasz didn't let the hostility bother him; instead, he looked like he was holding back a chuckle. The two men sat in silence, sipping their coffee like it was the only lifeline tethering them to sanity, though maybe for Roman a little more so than Zsasz. His thoughts consumed with Belladonna, her dark eyes haunting him even in the daylight hours, now reaching into his dreams. He used to not dream at all, or if he did he could never remember it. Now he was dreaming about her lips so close to his cock that he— Fuck. Rubbing one out in the shower hadn’t helped at all.

He shifted in his seat, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.

"Any stops before the fashion house?" Zsasz asked casually, breaking the silence.

The weak attempt at conversation was bullshit. Zsasz didn’t give a crap how Roman was that morning, and he knew damn well the only stop they would make was for coffee because Zsasz had a dick too and his barely concealed smirk told Roman everything he needed to know. He was being a shithead.

"The fuck are you smiling at?" Roman shot back, his irritation clear in his voice, as he looked up across the table over his mug. 

Zsasz just shrugged, taking another wordless sip.

Roman clenched his jaw. He knew Zsasz was prodding at the very thing that had kept him awake all night – his growing obsession with Belladonna. There wasn’t much point in denying it anymore, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to admit it before he fucked her. Instead, he steeled himself for the day ahead, preparing to face the woman who had taken over his thoughts and permeated his every waking moment.

"So," Zsasz ventured, his voice low and dangerous, "you ever going to sleep with her?"

Roman's knuckles turned white as he gripped his mug, trying to maintain control over his emotions. A sneer twisted his tired features as if the mere suggestion was beneath him. 

"You ever going to fuck that little assistant of hers, Daisy?" He spat back thinking that would shut him up.

Zsasz's lips slowly stretched into a dark smile, no longer bothering to hide his amusement anymore. His laughter echoed in Roman's head like the scrape of nails on a chalkboard. The realization struck him like a bullet – Oh, no. Fuck no.

He slammed his mug on the table his voice cracking with frustration. 

"When?!" 

When the hell had Zsasz had time to sneak away to fuck Daisy when at every turn any moment between him and Belladonna had been interrupted?

But Zsasz just grinned wider, taking another leisurely sip of his coffee, his eyes gleaming with sinister satisfaction. Roman gritted his teeth, feeling a tantrum bubbling beneath the surface. 

"Relax, Roman," Zsasz drawled, clearly enjoying himself. "I'm sure Belladonna will pop your cherry soon enough."

Roman glared at Zsasz with an intensity that might have suggested he was trying to get Zsasz spontaniously combust. As much as he wanted to wipe that grin off Zsasz’s face with his coffee mug, or whatever else was handy, he knew better than to go up against someone like Zsasz. 

Zsasz was fucking nuts. 

Then again, anyone who voluntarily got his dick pierced was a special kind of batshit crazy. Zsasz was something else entirely and he wasn’t stupid enough to fuck with whatever demon had inhabited Zsasz’s body. Instead, he downed the last of his scalding hot coffee, the bitterness mirroring his mood.

"Finish your damn coffee." 

Like a silent Pavlovian response, Belladonna's eyes darted up from the photo proofs spread across the desk to the ornate clock hanging above the studio door. Something about the seconds just before eleven called her attention to it every day. Its hands aligned with military precision, striking eleven am, and not a second later there was a soft rush of air as the doors to the studio opened, and in strode Roman and Zsasz.

His dark gaze found hers almost instantly, but it usually did, he always seemed to know exactly where she was, and sometimes it led her to wonder if he’d embedded a tracker in her arm or something when she was asleep. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Watching him navigate through the maze of mannequins and racks draped in silks and satins, a smile graced his lips, but something about it seemed off—forced, even. His smile usually stirred an intoxicating cocktail of danger and desire within her, today, though, it faltered at the edges.

Something about his appearance was ever so slightly out of place, she stared hard, studying him trying to figure out what this particular glitch in the matrix was. His attire was immaculate as always, and physically nothing was out of place, but there was a wrinkle in time around him. A dissonance between the Roman she knew and the man before her now. Was it his hair, not quite as ruthlessly styled? Or maybe the set of his jaw, the tension lurking in the corners of his eyes, and the tiredness that clung to his posture didn't go unnoticed either.

Right behind him was Zsasz, Roman's shadow incarnate, with a smirk that seemed unusually pronounced on his usually stoic face. In his hands, the mundane cargo of coffee and pastries seemed almost comical, a domestic contrast to his usual aura of menace.

It was an odd switch but she pushed away the tangle of questions threading through her mind. From the looks of it, Zsasz started the day off with a blow job and Roman looked like the kid who didn’t get his lollipop. Many things regarding Roman were still largely a mystery to her but she was pretty sure she knew how to make him smile. 

She saw the flicker of surprise in his dark eyes as she pressed her lips to his with more enthusiasm than their morning ritual dictated. The kiss lingered, with each brush of her lips against his, and for a fleeting moment, Roman's mask slipped. His eyes closed, lashes casting long, crescent shadows on his cheeks, and Belladonna felt the subtle release of tension in his shoulders. 

“Hey baby,” She whispered against his mouth, tasting the briefest note of vulnerability on his tongue.

Despite his temporary surprise and lull in his overcast aura of moodiness, his greeting was detached as his features returned to their neutral state.

"Angel,"

Taking the mocha he offered to her with all the warmth and familiarity of a stranger, she felt a twinge in her chest and something about how he wasn’t his usual self didn’t sit right with her. An odd little jealous streak came out in her, wanting to find the source of his discontentment and push it out the nearest window. 

Wait. What?

Where’d that come from? Roman was having a bad day so her first response wasn’t to tell him to get over it but rather to find who’d made her fake boyfriend all pouty and shove them out a window? 

He was rubbing off on her.

She couldn’t decide if that was good or not, though she was pretty sure he’d get a kick out of it if he were in a better mood.

Behind her, Daisy emerged like a burst of sunlight through clouds, her voice chiming with an unusual lilt as she relieved Zsasz of her own steaming cup. 

"Thank you, Zsasz," Her eyes lingered on Zsasz a moment longer, the emphasis on his name not lost on anyone. He returned her greeting with a conspiratorial wink from the usually terse man. Daisy's fingers danced into the paper bag and emerged with a triumphant flourish, cradling a raspberry scone. "Look, Belladonna, your favorite."

Belladonna offered a smile, though it failed to reach her eyes, still locked on Roman's troubled gaze. Daisy went on about upcoming meetings after lunch, plans of fresh air, and escape, but Belladonna heard her through a distant fog, her focus narrowed on the enigma before her.

"Zsasz, care to join me?" Daisy's voice broke through, sweet and inviting.

Roman's jaw tightened as he exchanged a glance with Zsasz, a static crackle of irritation before acquiescence won out. With a nod, Zsasz agreed, and together they exited, leaving the space emptier, and quieter—the perfect breeding ground for more annoying, moody angst.

"Let's go to my office," 

She led the way, their steps syncing as they threaded through the corridors to a door seldom used, down the hall to an office Roman had never seen before. The door clicked shut behind Roman, sealing them inside the office and she immediately dropped all pretenses. Leaning against her desk, her dark eyes following him as she sipped her coffee, trying to figure out what stick was jammed up his ass and why nobody used any lube.

“This is your office?" 

She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or disappointed, it made her wonder what his office at the club looked like. She considered the possibility that his office might be lined with mirrors; he walked that fine line between vain and confident. 

"Obviously," She replied with a hint of sarcasm. She pushed herself off the desk and walked over to where he stood, to see what he was looking at.

"You've never brought me here before," 

"Didn't trust you," Belladonna answered matter-of-factly.

"Trust me now?" Roman asked, glancing over at her.

"Enough to know you won't kill me, at least," She said, her tone suggesting she was joking. When Roman didn't react, she felt… bad? What the hell was going on? She added more seriously, "Yes, I trust you."

He still didn't respond, instead turning his attention to other photos on the wall. They showed Belladonna in happier times throughout her life, laughing with friends or posing with Daisy at work events. 

One, in particular, caught his attention. It was a selfie-style photo of a teenage Belladonna, scrawny but still very pretty in a school uniform, with one arm wrapped around a woman in a maid uniform her eyes crinkled in happiness, both of them smiling warmly.

As Roman's eyes lingered on the fragments of a past life, Belladonna watched him, a flicker of concern softening her otherwise steeled exterior.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness as he realized he hadn't experienced that same warmth with Belladonna. The photo only served to highlight the falsehood of their relationship, making the ache in his chest grow.

Roman's hand reached out, his fingers inches from the glass that protected the past—a past that wasn't his to touch. 

"Roman." Her call snapped him back to the present, and he noticed the crease of worry between her brows. 

"You have your mother's smile,"

The words threw her off so far, that she swayed slightly, unsure of exactly how to respond. It was a simple thing to say but the way he said it was just so…

"Thank you," She acknowledged, a softness in her voice that belied her usual guarded nature. She took it as a compliment and opened her mouth to speak again, presumably to probe further into his uncharacteristic silence, but he cut her off.

"We should have some pictures together. You know, to sell this farce a bit more convincingly."

Belladonna paused, the warmth she’d just felt evaporated, his use of the word ‘farce’ seemed a bit cold and unnecessary, her lips parting slightly as she processed his abrupt change of subject. Sure, what they had was fake but, he didn’t have to say it like that. Like he had better things he could be doing. 

"We don't have any photos, Roman." 

“I’ll handle it," 

His voice was so hollow as if reciting a well-rehearsed line rather than engaging in their usual dance of wits. His detachment seemed to settle over them like a persistent fog, and in the quiet that followed, Belladonna thought she understood what was going on. There was no hidden turmoil lurking beneath his surface, nothing bad had happened; that this was simply Roman being Roman—moody, unpredictable, and a bit angsty.

His moods usually left her with whiplash but she almost preferred that to what she was seeing now. Usually, the catalyst behind Roman’s sour disposition wasn’t hard to find. The smoking gun often being something small and innocuous but this left her feeling exasperated as she folded her arms across her chest, leaning back against her desk taking another grounding sip of her coffee. 

"Roman, what's going on?" She asked once more, her voice taking on a terse edge.

"The papers and rags have gone quiet on us," He finally said, his words tumbling out hastily. 

"Fashion week is over, and the club shoot was successful. We need to make some news again, make sure people haven’t forgotten about us, especially after our visit to the precinct. Won’t be long before our names are mad epublic in connection with the case, we need more public favor."

She wasn’t prepared for his calculated response, and the way he delivered it with such indifference was a bit off-putting. But she didn’t disagree, at least he was talking to her. It could have been the reason for his sour moon but her bullshit detector wasn’t quite silenced.

“What did you have in mind?”

An idea had already formed in his mind on the ride over, a way to use Fashion Week to their advantage, he saw an opportunity to merge their personal and professional lives. 

"Hosting another event at my club to celebrate the end of Fashion Week, invite your coworkers; they’ll give the gossip rags plenty to talk about. It’ll be a chance for us to let loose together."

Fat chance at this rate.

"That's it?" She asked incredulously.

"You don’t like it?" Roman replied defensively, seemingly surprised.

Her expression softened with her irritation temporarily fading away. "No, it's a great idea," She admitted, nodding."Trust me, everyone's crawling the walls looking for a reason to party. Everyone loved being at the club yesterday, those who didn't go were jealous as hell, it’s all anyone’s talking about. With the end of big projects, people are itching to blow off steam.”

Roman allowed himself a small smile, but it faded when he saw the hesitation lingering on Belladonna's face. 

“So, then, what’s the problem?"

Oh sure, now he wanted to talk about problems. She stared hard at him for a minute before shrugging her shoulders and taking a step toward him. 

"What's really going on, Roman?"

He tried to roll his eyes and brush off her concerns, but her unwavering stare made him falter for once. 

"Do you think Zsasz and Daisy are off fucking somewhere?"

"Of course they are," 

“Why do you think that?” He asked folding his arms across his chest.

She scoffed and mimicked his stance which seemed to put him back a step. “Because I have eyes.”

She was unfazed by the question but the sharpness and accusatory tone in his voice had given her pause, it also gave her flashbacks of his little tantrum back in the penthouse earlier that week. 

“There’s plenty of unused studio space and offices, models, and staff use them all the time, I wouldn’t be surprised if the only lunch Daisy is having is Zsasz’s dick.” 

His upper lip curled and twitched, unintentionally betraying the source of his frustration and the brief silence between them was all Belladonna needed to figure out the source. In a cartoon-esque lightbulb moment, her contemplative expression transformed into one of realization, followed by relief and amusement. Roman's intense gaze returned to Belladonna as he prepared to deflect any further questions; he didn't know why she was grinning, but it made him uneasy.

Oh, so that was it…

He didn’t like not knowing what was going on, and the sight took him by surprise, momentarily erasing the annoyance from his face. She let her arms fall from their defensive position across her chest, and her whole posture seemed to soften and relax as if they were back at the penthouse instead of this odd little spot of wherever the fuck they currently were. He swiftly turned away, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation.

"Roman, you seem frustrated.”

He didn’t miss the sudden sweetness in her voice and he looked back, intrigued but still guarded. Experience taught him that when irritated and angry women suddenly turned sweet that was usually the moment when you got stabbed in the back at best, or kicked in the balls at worst. Stab wounds left scars, being kicked in the balls just sucked.

“Very astute.”

She let out a deep, weary breath and cautiously moved closer to him. He didn't move away, but his shoulders tightened and he stood up straighter with an air of tension around him.

“Baby, I know this week has been stressful, but,” Her voice lingered on that word, that one little term of endearment that only seemed to hold sway over him when Belladonna said it, “are you trying to tell me that you're feeling... neglected?"

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, acknowledging the cleverness hidden within her gentle teasing.

"Congratulations," He drawled, smirking at her. "You’re as smart as you are beautiful."

With a cool and unaffected stride, Belladonna brushed past him without a second glance, making her way toward the large windows that lined one wall of the room. She pulled the blinds closed with a sharp tug, making the room a little dimmer but also ensuring that no prying eyes could see in. Then she turned towards the door and firmly pressed the lock into place, relishing in the resounding click that filled the room.

He’d known he was well on his way to pissing her off, so the sudden 180 surprised him and left him curious. He slipped his hands into his pockets and tilted his head like a curious puppy as he watched her with newfound interest and his sour mood began slipping away. 

With the plastic hairclip removed her hair fell down around her shoulders with a little bounce, something he’d grown particularly fond of when she let her hair down, he liked it that way. She ran her fingers through it, occasionally getting caught on a few stubborn tangles, but she brushed them out nonchalantly. As if the two of them hadn’t just spent the last five to ten minutes in a angsty teenage stalemate trying to figure out what the hell his problem was. And when she looked up at him, it amused her to no end, how his gaze would shift away from hers at least once with each step she took towards him. Was he also feeling a bit guilty? Maybe embarassed? God, she could only hope, it would make what she was about to do that much more satisfying.

Her smile wasn’t quite a real smile, it was the sort of smile someone gives when they’re about to call someone else an idiot. A sympathetic one. A pitying one. The type of smile that screams ‘Oh, bless your sweet little heart.’

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pouty little bitch when you’re sexually frustrated?”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him a bitch. He wasn’t even sure it had ever happened. For one of the few times in his life, he was rendered completely speechless, but that never lasted long. Now, he liked Belladonna, sure, she was as entertaining as they came, but it seemed his little angel needed a lesson in proper behavior. He wasn’t about to let her walk away without consequence. However, before he could speak up, to deliver his warning words they were cut short when she grabbed his pristine white shirt and jerked him forward into a forceful kiss.

It sent him back immediately to that first night in her kitchen to when they’d first discussed how they’d outfox the police by faking a relationship. When he’d nearly thrown her onto her table and fucked her right there.

“I’m Belladonna-fucking-Black and I give as good as I get.”

He’d been so sure he could easily manipulate her there and then, that she’d be like just another other toy for him to play with. Until that moment when she kissed him, she’d been so full of fear and uncertainty, but now, like then, she surprised him. Which had been something he’d liked about her from the moment he met her. 

She was in charge. He wasn’t kissing her, she was kissing him, laying siege on his mouth, taking what she wanted and leaving Roman breathless and caught up in the moment. And despite his initial shock, he found himself enjoying the ride under her command.

His lips were tingling when she let him go, a little redder, undeniable proof he’d been kissed by someone who knew how.

“Roman, if you needed some attention, all you had to do was ask.” 

She couldn’t know that her use of the word ‘ask’ would have any sort of effect on Roman but it did. He pulled back sharply and his lips curled in a sneer.

“I. Don’t. Beg.” 

His words were pointed and sharp but it didn’t seem to register with Belladonna, with another yank of his shirt she tugged him back into another kiss, one that was a little more ferocious. His anger dissipated in an instant with the warmth of her tongue slipping back into his mouth. 

He’d snapped out of her spell and was now determined to take over this little game of theirs, her first move was a good one but one of her faults in strategy was Belladonna’s inability to look past her opponent’s initial shock and form a second move accordingly. 

He quickly seized her hands that had latched onto his shirt, folding them into a tight grip within his own. Removing her leverage over him, his face split into a wolfish grin.

“Nicely played angel, but we’re going to have to work on your followthrough.”

However, to his surprise, she didn't resist or look displeased; instead, she smiled at him and ran her tongue along the length of his neck

That was unexpected.

“Roman,” With a nudge of her lips on his chin he tipped his head back, giving her unfettered access to his throat, his eyes closing involuntarily a pleasant haze washing over him. He still had control over her, right? Of course. He swallowed hard when she sucked softly on his Adam’s apple.

Maybe. 

“Does your club have cameras?”

A smile stretched across his face as he gazed down at her. “Dozens.” 

"In the storage room?" 

He confirmed with a playful, singular nod.

"Were they on the night you told me to wear the dress?" She continued, nuzzling into his neck.

Her warm breath tickled his skin. Again, he nodded with a devilish grin. Judging by the way her lips lightly grazed his neck, he could only assume she was pleased by his confirmation. 

“Show me.” 

Her unexpected request jolted him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his grip on her hands loosened just enough for her to slip free. With a sly, feline grin, she hooked her fingers into his belt and using it like a leash to pull him toward her desk, then hopping up on the surface, her provocative silhouette radiating a sense of command and control over the situation that Roman thought that had been his. 

"Play the video," she whispered against his lips, her breath mingling with his.

Her hands roamed up from his chest tracing the outline of his pecs beneath the crisp shirt before settling on his solid shoulders. 

"Now?" Roman asked, incredulity lacing his voice. 

This was an unexpected move from the usually guarded Belladonna, but the surprise did little to quell the desire radiating from him. The dream he had that morning about her haunted him, making him desperate for her touch, and the now throbbing of his balls firmly told him this was no dream.

She hummed, sliding her hands up his chest. "Mmhmm." 

His lips twitched. "Minx." 

His own hands weren't idle, exploring the expanse of her legs before encircling her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the desk. He leaned in for a kiss, but Belladonna stopped him just short, her breath hot against his lips. 

"Let me see it," she insisted again, kissing him lightly on the lips before pulling away. Her teeth and tongue teased him. 

He didn’t want the video, didn’t give a fuck about it. No, he had something else in mind. Something that involved the contents of her desk scattering to the ground and more than likely HR being called and the two of them being escorted off the property by security, but he conceded. 

"Alright, you win,"

After a brief pause, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone, thumbing the code into the device with a familiarity that spoke of many locked secrets. He found the folder, a virtual Pandora's box, and tapped the screen. The video sprang to life, casting its glow across their entwined forms.

Her hands slid from his shoulders, coaxing him to turn around, the unexpected shift sent a jolt of irritation through him, yet it evaporated as swiftly as it came when she began to massage the tension from his back. 

Her fingers worked with practiced ease, kneading knots along his spine before gliding upwards to cradle his neck. They threaded through his hair, pulling a shiver from deep within him. Roman let out a sigh, a sound that hovered somewhere between relief and surrender.

When the video started playing, her hand moved over his shoulders and down his arms. He leaned back into her touch. The room was hushed, and she could hear herself perfectly. But it wasn't enough. She shook her head and nuzzled her nose against his ear.

"Turn up the volume, I want to hear everything." 

With a tap of his finger, the noises of their breathing and Roman's low voice grew louder. The camera above them captured every moment as she watched over his shoulder, her hands caressing him through his suit in teasing little touches.

"Roman," She purred, her lips brushing over the shell of his ear, hands working the buttons of Romans dress shirt, and exploring the hard planes of his stomach and chest. 

"Did you enjoy teasing me like that? Pushing my dress up and slipping your hand into my panties..." She paused, savoring the feeling of his body tensing under her touch. "Because I did."

His breathing quickened and his chest rumbled low with the sound of satisfaction.

"Mmm, is that so?"

With a delicate, almost sensual touch, her hands glided down his body and slipped effortlessly into the depths of his pockets. Her fingers spread wide, eagerly exploring the soft fabric that covered his firm thighs. 

“I did.” 

“Tell me more, kitten.”

“You were so sweet with me, making sure I came, you know exactly how women like to be touched, don’t you?” 

That he did. He let out a relaxed chuckle as she playfully searched through his pockets, her fingers brushing against something long and hard that responded to her touch with a twitch.

“You like being rough too though, don’t you? You like teasing, making a woman want you so much that she begs for it.” She added as her nails scraped against the fabric, the sensation slightly dulled. “I like that.”

“Naughty girl, you like being teased?”

“Makes it so much better when you want it that badly.” The room grew warmer, his cock stirred from the gentle anticipation.  “Roman, how many times have you made yourself cum to this?” 

He looked over his shoulder, looking cocky and self-assured. “A few.”

“Just a few?” 

She withdrew from his pockets and he briefly mourned the loss of her hands until he felt her reaching to unbuckle his belt, opening the clasp of his slacks and lowering the zipper slowly. His head fell back against her shoulder, eyes drifting shut once more. 

“Keep watching.” She murmured to him, and he looked back to the video “Remember that day you came to the studio, you were mad at me for ignoring you?” 

He gave a deep ‘Mmhmm’ smiling at the memory, she’d told him no and he’d respected it but he could read her body language and everything about it told him she wanted more that day.

“You asked me if I was thinking of you at two am?” She paused, gently biting his earlobe. “Do you want to know what I was doing at two am?”

He released a heavy breath and focused, forcing himself to keep his concentration on the video; her moans continued playing over the phone becoming more desperate and light-sounding.

“What were you doing, kitten?”

“I was thinking about you,” She responded, her hands slipping under the waistband of his boxer briefs. His cock was hot and throbbed against her touch “I was thinking about how good your fingers felt on my pussy.” She continued, her fingers teasingly trailing down his length. 

Fuck. Roman groaned. 

“Kitten… What did you do?” he pressed, needing to know every detail. 

“I thought about this,” She confessed squeezing his cock, drawing a deep groan from him, “I was stressed about Fashion Week and I wanted to cum; I even thought about calling you.”

Fuck, he could have had some fun with that. His mind raced with all the things he would have done to her if she had only picked up the phone. Shame she didn’t call, he was about to tell her as much.

“It’s ok though, I started by playing my nipples teased, pinching and pulling, thinking about your mouth was on me. I thought how much I wanted you between my legs.” 

She had no idea what kind of effect she had on him. Scratch that, she probably knew damn well. 

“I held that little purple vibrator against my clit till I almost came, then I stopped, I forgot how good the joys of masturbation were,” Romans’s shoulders rose and fell in a labored breath. “Bet you’d have loved it if I called you right then. You’d have all kinds of things to tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Roman’s cock throbbed as she continued to describe exactly what she had done while thinking about him. He could feel her warm breath on his neck and her hand moving up and down his length in soft almost touches.

“Put your hands on it.”

“Put my hands on what, Roman? Where do you want me to touch you?”

He growled and leaned his head back against her shoulder. “Kitten… put your hands on my cock.”

He bit back a groan as her fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him firmly. He watched in silent fascination as she rubbed the tip of his cock against her thumb, spreading the pre-cum that had leaked out. She was teasing him, and he loved every second of it.

“Fuck…” 

“Do you like that?” 

Roman nodded, his eyes glued to the sight of her hand working his cock. He couldn’t help but imagine how good it would feel to be inside her right now.

“Tell me,” She pressed, stroking him a little faster now, feeling the hesitation in how his body stiffened up briefly, an admission of desire on his part seemed on par with him begging and that wasn’t what she wanted. “Tell me you love what I’m doing to you.”

He relaxed into her and growled out, “I love it.” May as well let the lady know she was doing alright.

She chuckled softly and squeezed him tighter, rewarding what she knew to be a difficult thing to say. But just when he thought he couldn’t take any more of her teasing, she suddenly stopped. He let out a frustrated growl and looked back at her over his shoulder.

She felt him jerk with the loss but a gentle ‘shh’ from her settled him back down. She pulled her head away from his and he could hear the wet sound of her sucking on her fingers and an accompanying soft moan. Her saliva-slicked hand against his lips pulled his attention 

"Lick," 

Without hesitation, Roman took her hand and ran his flattened tongue across her palm, flicking at her fingertips as if trying to communicate all of the other things his mouth was capable of. 

When she was satisfied with the wetness on her hand, her fingers danced down his chest inch by inch. She swirled her thumb around the tip of his cock, rubbing against his slit. Then, finally, her fingers wrapped around his shaft and began to slide along easily with their combined saliva acting as a lubricant. Every movement sent waves of pleasure through Roman's body, making him crave more of her touch and he groaned.

She chuckled and leaned in to press a kiss against his neck. Her fingers slid down his length before circling back up to the head and repeating the motion. Each time she reached the tip, she would pause for a moment and give it a gentle squeeze before starting again.

The video continued to play, his hips lulled forward with each gentle stroke she gave his cock, the video was not as interesting as it had been in the past, hell, he wasn’t even watching it anymore.

He was far too preoccupied with the present; standing in Belladonna's office in the middle of the day, his pants undone, his hard cock in her hands, the sounds of her moans and heavy breathing on the video provided a perfect soundtrack to their act. One hand held his phone the other clutched the desk, he went back and forth from watching the video to his head rolling back against her shoulder, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. 

“You’re not watching, I want you to watch me come while I rub your cock.” 

Fuck. He didn’t give a shit about the video anymore, he was ready to throw the phone across the room but each time he looked away or closed his eyes she directed his attention back to it. Which, he had to admit was pretty fucking sexy. 

“You know how long it had been since I had my pussy touched?” 

Fuck. He didn’t think his dick could get any harder. Seemed his Angel liked dirty talk. His ability to answer her questions with in-depth answers was waning as her grip tightened and she stroked him faster. 

“How long?”

He wasn't sure if she was honestly expecting an answer because Roman's mind couldn't focus enough to do the math. Any measure of time would be criminal to have a woman like Belladonna in your bed or life and not take full advantage of that. Months? He had no idea, at worst, he expected her to say something mildly offensive like; six months. He wasn’t prepared for the reality.

“A year.”

His eyes snapped open and the wheels turning in his head screeched to a halt. She’d had a boyfriend for at least six of those twelve months. What kind of idiot didn’t touch this fucking goddess of a woman for six months? Roman had many questions as to precisely how such a thing was even a possibility, but wording them was a bit more difficult.

The revelation of Belladonna having had a boyfriend who hadn’t touched her in a full fucking calendar year was practically a war crime. “What kind of fucking idiot…”

“He didn’t know how to touch me anymore, couldn’t give me what I needed,” 

Roman closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of her touch before opening them again to watch the video.

“You knew exactly what I needed, didn’t you?” 

His hand wasn't quite shaking, but it trembled slightly as he looked back at the video.

The combined footage of the two of them against that wall, the way her head lulled back as he kissed her neck and brought her closer to that first orgasm, coupled with the sight of her hands wrapped around his cock, stroking him faster-sent sparks of pleasure through him every time she added a new twist of turn to her movements.

Her other hand delved into his pants, expertly massaging his balls with a teasing touch. The video continued to play, filling the room with sounds of their passionate encounter. Her breath was hot on his neck as she whispered seductive words in his ear. The combination of visual and physical stimulation was almost overwhelming overwhelming. Fuck, she’d be the first woman since he was a teenager to get him to cum so quickly from a fucking hand job.

“Roman… I wanted you to fuck me there. I was so wet, it would have been so easy to slip this,” She all but growled that response, her teeth seizing his ear, she gave his cock an exceptionally hard squeeze, “Into my pussy.”

The video was reaching its climax, marked by Belladonna's breathy moans. He remembered the last time she had come for him, her breaths were light and airy while her moans reached a feverish pitch. His eyes fluttered shut and he could feel himself getting closer, despite not being a fan of handjobs, Belladonna's touch was as skilled as his own. His primal instincts kicked in, urging him to ravage her right there on the desk, but he knew she wouldn't allow it, besides it would spoil the fun. As he struggled to control his rising desire, sweat beaded across his forehead and his chest heaved with each ragged breath.

Belladonna looked down at the video recognizing the sounds of her own impending orgasm, remembering the feeling of it crashing over her. 

“Roman, watch the video, you’re about to make me come. Watch it.” 

Roman huffed out a breath and he looked down at the phone enjoying the additional view of her hand squeezing his cock, precum leaking from his slit, her thumb swirling it around his sensitive head. He breathed shallow breaths as he watched Belladonna in that short, tight red dress throw her head back against the wall. He remembered how her hips rolled against his hand and how she soaked his hand, each time she twitched as his thumb slid over her silky clit. Fuck. He should have dragged her out into that filthy alley and fucked her against the wall.

“Kitten… Not that I’m not enjoying this, but these pants are Armani…” His breath was heavy and his voice thick with lust. 

“Armani’s a classic. Can’t have you making a mess, can we?” 

She pulled her hands out of his pants, slipped off the desk and sank to her knees before he had time to sulk, eagerly pulling the fabric of his slacks down further. She subconsciously rubbed her thighs together as a shudder ran through her just thinking of how good the stretch would be from Romans cock. Gothams criminal underworld and legitimate world probably hated him but God must have loved him at one point to bless him with the piece she was looking at. Long, thick and weeping. 

Her tongue swirled around his head, savoring the salty taste of precum like she were enjoying hte first lick of an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. He held his breath and bit down hard on his fist as Belladonna licked his cock slowly from base to tip. 

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

He slammed his fist onto her desk, sending several papers and pens to roll and scatter to the ground. He threw his head back, growling. “Kitten… Suck it. Suck. My. Cock.” 

The perfect wet heat of her mouth and her velvety smooth tongue licking up and down his shaft had 

the phone tumbling from his grasp as he clutched at the edge of the desk for support. His hips involuntarily rolled forward and he bumped the back of her throat unable to control himself, and the moan that spilled out belonged to a seasoned porn star.

"Kitten," he gasped, "Fuck. Fuck!" 

Two fucking months surviving off jerking off had him ready to cum like some shithead teenager getting his first blow job. Jesus Christ, Roman had stamina for days, he’d built it up over the years and it was all gone out the window in the two months he’d comitted to this charade with Belladonna.

He looked down to take in the sight, her lips wrapped around his cock and her tongue expertly swirling around the tip, he couldn't deny that she knew exactly what she was doing. Each lick, suck, and swirl of her tongue sent electric shocks through his body, making his muscles tense and relax in chaotic harmony.

There was probably some special level of hell created by the feminists for men like him; but some women were just born to suck dick.

She was relentless, her hands working in tandem with her mouth as she stroked and squeezed him, her nails digging into his thighs. Every upstroke hollowed out her cheeks, drawing out a guttural groan from him, while every downstroke saw her relax her throat to take him even deeper.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this turned on before, and it was all because of her.

She increased the pressure of her sucking, using her tongue to tease and flick at the sensitive underside of his shaft. She loved the way he tasted, salty and masculine, and couldn't resist taking him deeper into her throat.

"Shit," Roman groaned again, his grip on her desk tightening they could both hear the metal and glass creaking.

She smirked at his constant string of curses. His cock twitched in her mouth, no wonder he’d been in a shitty mood. If he was this close to coming then he must have been suffering for longer than he let on. She’d had him on the ropes in minutes, and she wasn't about to let him stop now. Oh, no. She was going to suck that bitchy attitude right out of him.

He knew he was close to losing it completely but he didn't want it to end just yet. Not that he had much say in the matter.

"Suck it hard, kitten," he managed to say through gritted teeth. "I want to feel your lips tight around me."

She didn’t need him to tell her how to get him to cum, she’d already decided that he would, right here in her office. She sucked harder and faster, he twitched and throbbed in her mouth, his hands dug into her hair pushing her down. His breathing growing shallower and more erratic, holy fucking shit. Roman's body was humming, his breath coming in ragged gasps, it was good. So fucking good, the woman didn’t have a gag reflex, she just might swallow him whole.

He had been trying to hold back, to maintain control, and his restraint was impressive, she had to give him that, but it was time to make this man moan and cum for her.

With one hand still working his shaft, twisting and stroking in perfect rhythm, she brought her other hand up to massage the heavy weight of his sac. She caressed it in her palm, feeling the firmness and heat of it against her skin. And then, with a daring move, she brushed a finger just barely beyond it in a featherlight touch. And then she did something that nearly sent him over the edge. She moaned around his cock and drew lazy circles on that little sensitive spot behind his sac with her finger. Game over.

The coil snapped. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. With a guttural cry he came hard and fast down her throat, no longer caring who heard him, they could fuck all the way off.

His hips jerked as he emptied himself down Belladonna's throat. He heard her choke slightly, electricity shot throughout his body, his eyes rolled back into his head as he dissolved into pleasure and his body shattered with the power of his orgasm. 

“Swallow it, fucking hell, swallow it!”

He groaned and buried a hand in her hair, pulling on the black strands, pushing them out of her face, watching as she swallowed every drop of his cum. Milking him through his orgasm, only releasing him when he had nothing left to give. 

His body went slack against the desk, his muscles finally relaxing after the intense pleasure. He panted heavily, trying to catch his breath as the aftershocks of his orgasm still pulsed through his body. He looked down at her with half-lidded eyes, watching as she licked him clean, and her lips softly grazed his pulsing cock as a teasing farewell. 

The near-painful sting of overstimulation began creeping up on him yet he didn't want her to stop, craving the satisfaction of pushing himself to the limit. Even when the sensations became almost unbearable; reveling in the rush of pain and pleasure. The groans that escaped his lips were now tinged with a hint of discomfort.

He could take it.

That wasn’t her goal, not this time anyway, though she wondered just how far he’d let her go. Seemed Roman liked a little overstimulation. A man of excess, in every sense of the word.

She gently tucked him back into his boxer briefs and zipped his pants up, fastening them and his belt. His cock was still semi-hard, throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

Casually grabbing his discarded phone from the desk, she slipped it back into his pocket before tucking his shirt in for him. All the while wearing a look of pure fucking sex on her face. 

Belladonna crawled up his body, her slender frame fitting perfectly between his legs as she claimed his lips in a searing kiss. He could taste himself on her tongue, musky and bitter, but it only made him groan even louder.

She pulled back with a wicked grin. “You taste good,” She purred, trailing her fingers lightly over his chest, soothing out the wrinkles she’d put there.

This woman had just blown his mind…and everything else for that matter. He looked up at her with dazed eyes as she stood up and straightened herself out. 

His eyes went black, she thought she was walking out of this room as put together as she was? 

How cute.

She wasn’t prepared for the ferocity with which Roman pulled her against him and forced his tongue into her mouth, but she wasn’t surprised by it either. After constantly feeling dominated and submissive under his control with the orgasms he’d given her, seeing him lose control was addicting. The power of giving him that orgasm was enough to keep her in good spirits no matter how bad the day got. 

“On the desk, right now.” 

Roman's voice was laced with a mix of hunger and aggression as he snarled at her, his blazing gaze fixed on her like a predator about to deliver the killing blow. He threw his shoulders back almost angrily, hastily removing his suit jacket in an attempt to rid himself of any barriers between them. 

With a bruising grip, he grabbed her hips and spun her around, all but throwing her onto the desk.

“Why? What are you going to do, Roman?” Her heart raced with both fear and excitement as she braced herself against the smooth surface of the desk.

“Kitten,” He growled, leaning down to nip at her earlobe. “I’m going to suck that sweet little cunt of yours until you’re thrashing and begging me to fuck you.”

Her eyes hungrily traced the path of his tongue as it flicked out to moisten his lips. She couldn't help but think of him as the big bad wolf that her mother warned her about and for a moment, she considered giving in to him. 

It would have been all too easy to let him throw her down on the desk, strip off her jeans and panties, his rough hands exploring every inch of her body. Her desk suddenly seemed like the perfect place for their passionate encounter. 

Damn, did she want him. And she had no doubt that he knew how to use that filthy tongue of his to make her scream with pleasure. 

But.

Roman was sppiled enough and as good as she knew it would feel, not letting him have what he wanted was way more fun.

She understood what he meant when he said control was his ultimate thrill. He had made her cum for his pleasure multiple times, yet he remained cool and unaffected. Yeah, she got it now. That was fun.

She smiled a devious smile and looked at the clock on her wall, then with a sad little sympathetic look, she shook her head. Shoving herself off her desk and fixing her slightly tangled hair she straightened her appearance.

“Lunchtime is over Roman, time to get back to work.” 

“What?” Denial.

That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he didn't like being told no. He wanted her naked on the desk with her legs spread but for one of the few times Roman wasn’t going to get what he wanted. 

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Anger.

It wasn’t real anger in his voice but the outrage was certainly genuine. He began shaking his head, seeing him so frazzled was funny as hell, and the sense of power she felt, despite being pretty desperate to cum herself, well, the two were competing for first place.

“You got your treat.” Belladonna told him smugly. 

“Then let me treat you,” Bargaining. “Kitten, let me taste you.” Roman was all but begging but She shook her head, “Kitten… Give me what I want.”

“I did give you what you wanted. Didn’t you enjoy it?” She asked coyly. Roman groaned of course he had, “Didn’t you like how I sucked your cock on my knees?”

Roman groaned, his frustration boiling over into despair, this little temper tantrum of his was fun. “Yes, but I-” Depression.

“No, you got what you wanted. I need to go back to work and you have a party to plan, don't you?”

She smirked, Roman looked down at her and licked his lips, he looked the most pitiful she’d ever seen him. 

He didn’t want her so he could fuck her, he wanted to make her come to have that power over her, the power she’d just enjoyed over him. Oh, this was as good as any drug.

Despite the fact that she’d just sucked his dick and swallowed his rather impressive load in her office during her lunch, it still felt like she was denying him somehow. It was precarious the teasing nature of the moment but emboldened by what she’d just done to him she decided to push her luck just a little bit further. What was the worst that could happen? He’d rip her jeans, make her cum and she’d have to live down the fact that her coworkers all would probably hear her orgasmic screams? 

How awful.

She cautiously turned to leave, surprised that he was actually going to let her. But as she stopped and turned around, her thoughts shifted. It was always good to reward good behavior, right?

“Maybe just a taste…” 

Romans's intense gaze burned and he grabbed her hips, drawing her closer, maybe thinking she was about to give in, but not quite. 

With a swift, forceful push, she sent him tumbling back into the chair behind him. His wide eyes and gaping mouth betrayed his shock at her sudden action. Ignoring his stunned expression, she slowly began to unbutton her black fitted jeans, revealing a tantalizing hint of smooth skin and a flash of vibrant red fabric underneath.

Slipping her hand inside, she closed her eyes and let out a deep, shaky breath in anticipation. 

The intensity in his gaze sent electric currents coursing through her body. Slowly, she teased herself, tracing circles around her aching clit before plunging two fingers deep inside, and she shuddered visibly. Thinking of how good it would feel if it were Roman doing this to her. And it was exciting knowing he was watching her and he wanted it to be him touching her, to feel the wetness of her folds against his fingertips. She moaned, imagining his fingers joining hers, working together to bring her to the brink of ecstasy.

Roman's muscles tensed as he fought the urge to pounce on her, his body held back only by the iron will of the most stubborn man alive. He gripped the arms of her chair tightly, his hands feeling like stone against the smooth surface. 

He had seen and done far dirtier things, but the fact that Belladonna was his, even if only temporarily, kept him where he sat. 

She was toying with him. Despite his dislike for other people’s rules, he made it a point of pride to only break them when he couldn't come out on top. And in this game with her, he knew he could win; all he needed was patience beause the payoff would be so worth it.

Her moans were soft and sensual, such sweet little sounds, the sound of a woman in control. His grip on the arms of the chair tightened into a white knuckle hold as he eagerly watched her pleasure herself for him, her hips rolling just enough to make him question his sanity. But just as quickly as it began, she stopped and withdrew her hand, fingers glistening with arousal. 

"Don't stop," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice low and gritty with need. His own pleasure was now intertwined with hers, dependent on her release as much as his own. 

With trembling hands, she reached for him, beckoning him with her wet fingers. In a flash, Roman was out of the chair and pressing her against the desk, his hands gripping her hips in a primal claim. His need and hunger radiating from every pore. And it only turned her on more.

She licked one of her fingers but was stopped by a nearly feral Roman, seizing her hand. 

“That's for me.” 

With each of her fingers, he delicately slipped them between his lips, savoring the sweetness of her arousal. His tongue swirled over each digit, drawing out a moan from her lips. Slowly, her fingers slid from his mouth and he planted hungry wet kisses along the way until he reached her neck. 

He nipped at her skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in his wake before moving up to her ear.

“Belladonna, let me have you. I’ll make you cry with how good I’ll make you feel. I promise it’ll be like nothing you’ve ever felt before.”

Fuck. 

A man like Roman Sionis didn’t make idle threats or promises. If he said he’d make her cry, she believed him.

She was so close to agreeing, caught up in the intense moment and overwhelmed by the incredible desire they shared. This was by far the sexiest thing she had ever done, and having this kind of power over someone as powerful as Roman was both exhilarating and terrifying. But for now, she couldn't give into it completely. Maybe next time. Let Roman sulk, truth be told the man needed a little humbling, and besides, he would come around, as he always did.

Acceptance.

The afternoon light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio cast a warm glow on Belladonna's face as she strolled in, head held high and a subtle smug grin playing at the corners of her lips. She had won this round with Roman, and she knew it. He was right behind her every step of the way back into the studio only whispering a mildly suggestive promise of:

“Enjoy this while you can, Angel.”

As soon as eyes were on them, he put his boyfriend mask back on and as usual, it was so convincing that almost none could tell that it was still, just a mask.

Daisy looked up from where she stood with Zsasz, raising an eyebrow at Belladonna's expression, then finishing up her conversation.

"Alright, I'll pass the news along to Belladonna. Thanks," Daisy hung up the phone with a decisive tap of her thumb. "That was Laura. I’ve got some news that’s gonna make you happy."

Belladonna perked up at the mention of her name, curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell."

"First, our point of contact for your one o’clock isn't returning calls, they’ve been super pissy each time we’ve tried reaching out and Laura is fed up so she wants to handle it on Monday.” Belladonna nodded in approval, she didn’t know about good news because that was just more work later instead of today, but it was far from bad news.

“Second, Adrain Blackwood, just called and rescheduled the meeting to look over the proofs. Apparently, he's off to LA to start his weekend early." Daisy paused, her expression turning thoughtful. “Word is, he was in quite the hurry to get to the airport and I’m guessing it might have had something to do with two of the models from yesterday’s shoot being no-call no-shows…."

"Scandalous news indeed," Belladonna replied sarcastically, her grin widening. 

The fashion world was rife with drama at every turn. Belladonna leaned against the nearby table, crossing her arms and watching Daisy as she relayed more news.

"Since those meetings have been canceled and rescheduled, you're actually getting off about four hours early today," Daisy informed her.

"Really?" Belladonna raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. She couldn't help but feel that fortune was truly smiling upon her today.

"Yep! Oh, and Laura splurged on catering from that little restaurant down the street," Daisy added, gesturing towards the food spread across another table. "You should grab something before it's all gone."

Belladonna glanced at the array of dishes but shook her head with a mischievous smile. 

"I'm not hungry, actually. Roman got me this really amazing vanilla protein shake, it was so good I might just go for another one later."

Her tone was laced with innuendo, and Roman tensed subtly beside her. Daisy, however, seemed oblivious to the underlying message. Roman's gaze intensified for a fleeting moment, a flare of something primal before he reigned it back in. He slid his arm around Belladonna's waist, pulling her close with proprietary ease. His whisper brushed hot against her ear, 

"Be a good girl now."

"I thought I had already been a very good girl." She replied back playfully, batting her dark lashes innocently, lips curving in mischief before she pressed a quick kiss against his.

"Speaking of lunch," Belladonna turned to Daisy, shifting the subject with seamless ease, "what did you and Zsasz end up having?"

It was Zsasz who answered, his voice low and casual, though there was a hint of something mischievous lurking beneath. "Tacos."

The word seemed to linger between them, laced with a hint of private amusement. Daisy's cheeks pinked, and she darted a glance to the side, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, clearly flustered yet striving for nonchalance.

Amidst the soft clatter of keyboards and the murmur of designers debating fabric choices, Daisy looked up again, curiosity alight in her eyes as she changed the subject. 

"Are you two going to do anything fun tonight, since it's Friday and Belladonna's getting off early?"

"Actually," Roman interjected, suddenly sounding more like his usual self. Belladonna could practically see him slipping on the charming boyfriend mask once more, and it put her at ease. "I'm glad you asked, Daisy."

Before Belladonna could muster a reply, Roman stepped in, the timbre of his voice smooth as silk, the charming persona snapping into place like a well-oiled mask. "Glad you asked, Daisy."

Belladonna could almost hear the click of the lock as Roman transformed before their eyes. His dark charm was a blanket, soothing yet smothering, and in some twisted way, it comforted her—this familiar dance of shadows they played.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have everyone’s attention for a moment!" 

Roman stepped forward with the commanding presence that had silenced more raucous crowds than this. His voice carried across the studio, smooth and assured, pulling heads from their work. 

"Thanks to the tireless efforts during fashion week to keep the rest of this city looking as good as we do— trust me, I've seen the chaos and I don’t know how you people do it—" A ripple of laughter broke through the room, quickly hushed as they hung on his every word.

"I'm opening Masquerade Noir tonight, exclusively for you beautiful, hardworking souls. From the top dogs to the ones keeping this place spotless, bring your partners and significant others, you're all invited. Come celebrate, you’ve all certainly earned it.”

A wave of excitement surged through the room, applause breaking out like sudden rain, cheers punctuating the air. Conversations sparked to life, buzzing with anticipation as energy levels soared, the studio now a hive of animated chatter.

“No cover charge, first round's on me."

The announcement crashed over them like a wave, pulling a surge of excited whispers and spontaneous applause from the crowd. People clapped each other on the back, their relief palpable in the charged atmosphere.

Belladonna's heart drummed a fierce rhythm against her ribcage as she watched Roman bask in the adoration, the master of ceremonies reveling in his own generosity. His eyes moved, catching the fluorescent lights with a charming glint as he focused on Daisy. 

"And, as for you, Daisy, my dear, it is about time you receive the VIP treatment for all your hard work in keeping my angel on track at work. Consider it done," He purred, his voice smooth like a fine-aged whiskey. "Just show up tonight."

Daisy's eyes sparkled with uncontainable excitement, her hands clasping together as if in silent prayer. "Does this mean I get to pick out Belladonna's outfit?" she asked, her voice riding the crest of anticipation.

Belladonna opened her mouth to assert that she could choose her own outfit, but Roman was quicker. "Absolutely," he cut across her, authoritative and final. "I’m counting on you to make my angel breathtaking," he commanded an edge of challenge lacing his words. “Seriously, I expect my jaw to drop.”

"Got’ya covered, Roman," Daisy beamed, already lost in a reverie of sequins and silk, "but to be fair, making Belladonna look stunning is the easiest task in the world."

Belladonna couldn't help but smile at Daisy's enthusiasm and Roman's playful encouragement. Daisy's eyes gleamed with excitement as she flicked through her mental catalog of fashion ideas. Belladonna couldn't help but be drawn in by her infectious enthusiasm, even as Roman prepared to leave them to their work.

"Alright, I'll leave you two to scheme, Zsasz and I have a party to plan," Roman announced. He approached Belladonna, capturing her hand and pressing a deliberate kiss to her palm. 

Then, without missing a beat, he pulled her in for a more public display, a kiss to the lips that seared with possessiveness and drew a chorus of hushed murmurs from their audience. 

"Lloyd will pick you up," he promised against her mouth, the echo of danger lingering like smoke. “Don’t keep me waiting angel,”

"Don’t let me down, Daisy.” He added, his farewell almost an afterthought as he turned on his heel, his figure radiating authority and allure in equal measure, Daisy gave an adorable little salute and nodded.

With a final nod, Roman strode away, Zsasz followed suit, the tall, lean man cast a lingering, devious glance back at Daisy, patting his pants pocket suggestively before disappearing through the door, a subtle signal that carried an undercurrent of mischief. They exited the studio, leaving behind a trail of whispered speculations and the electric charge of anticipation.

As the quiet settled over them as things went back to normal albeit with a hint of excitement in the air now. Once the men had exited, Belladonna turned her attention to Daisy, catching her mid-fidget, fingers smoothing down the fabric of her skirt.

“So, tacos huh? Didn’t know there were taco stands around here.” She added teasingly, her brows arching in mock curiosity.

"Vanilla protein shake, huh?" Daisy shot back playfully, expertly deflecting the question.

Both women had a chuckle at the other’s expense.

"Okay, let's talk shop for the rest of the day," Daisy pivoted quickly back to business, her earlier enthusiasm undiminished. But before Belladonna could respond, Daisy launched into a whirlwind of outfit possibilities, each idea more daring than the last. As Daisy's words tumbled forth, Belladonna's mind drifted, tangled in the web of what the night might bring.

Daisy wasted no time in diving headfirst into her plans for the outfits she had in mind for tonight.

"Okay, so hear me out," Daisy began, her words tumbling over one another in her eagerness. "I'm thinking something sleek, maybe a little daring? You look incredible in a deep red or black, but I’ve got an idea, remember that little black open-back number from New Year’s?"

Belladonna listened to Daisy's suggestions, her thoughts a whirlwind of images and colors. She wondered what Roman would think of Daisy's choices, and if they would truly make his jaw drop, as he had requested. A part of her was curious about exploring this new side of herself that Roman seemed so intent on bringing out.

The throb of bass reverberated through Masquerade Noir, a pulsing heartbeat that matched the electric current of excitement crackling in the air. Lights danced across the sea of faces like fireflies at dusk, igniting an atmosphere charged with the heady buzz of fashion week's finale. It was a sensory overload of conversations, with guests revealing in the conclusion of the post-Fashion week chaos their excitement as tangible as the glasses they all toasted with. True to Roman's word, the club had been closed to the general public, accommodating Belladonna's coworkers for an exclusive party, turning away anyone not on the guest list at the door. 

People dressed up for a VIP event stomped off, whined, begged and tried to bribe their way in but security had seen to it that the event stayed exclusive.

"Roman knows how to throw one hell of a party" Daisy leaned close to Belladonna, her voice barely audible over the music and chattering crowd. 

"Trust me, Daisy, I’m sure we haven’t seen anything yet," Belladonna replied, her gaze scanning the throngs until she found him at the epicenter of it all — Roman Sionis. 

As Belladonna and Daisy made their way through the throng, she spotted familiar faces from the fashion industry, her coworkers, designers, assistants, fellow photographers and even the nice receptionist lady, all drawn to the event by Roman's generous invitation. They gushed about what a great time they were having as she passed by, complimenting Roman's club and urging her to 'hang onto him.'

Roman held court at the center of the room, commanding attention without even trying to; effortlessly working the crowd with his charm. And dammit he looked good; his suit was a dark, tailored masterpiece that hugged his frame with calculated precision, his hair a study in deliberate tousle. He lifted his glass in a toast, smile genuine, eyes sparkling with the thrill of conquest as he conversed with a cluster of enraptured guests.

Roman hadn't spotted her yet, so she watched him in his natural habitat, entranced for a moment by the way his charm seemed to weave an invisible net, drawing everyone into his orbit. Then, as if sensing her stare, he turned, and their eyes locked, lighting up with unmistakable desire. The glass paused midway to his lips, his expression shifting from convivial host to something far more intense.

He excused himself with effortless grace, leaving a trail of reluctant farewells in his wake, and made his way towards Belladonna. His approach was smooth, a predator's prowl disguised in the guise of a gentleman. Without a word, he took her hand and spun her into an elegant twirl, his gaze sweeping over her outfit appreciatively. His lips curved into a satisfied smile. The movement sent her black dress swishing around her thighs, its fabric catching the light and casting prismatic reflections.

"Well, how'd I do?" Daisy's voice broke through the momentary spell, eager for acknowledgment. 

“Does she look amazing or what?”

Roman's focus remained tethered to Belladonna, his appraisal lingering on every detail of her dress, from the figure-hugging shimmery fabric to the long fitted sleeves, down to the open back secured by a thin delicate chain around the back of her neck. A soft whistle escaped his lips, the sound both appreciative and possessive, but he ultimately grimaced and shook his head, looking disappointed. 

“No.” Both women froze unsure of what to say or if they’d even heard him right. 

He let them twist for a minute then grinned and pulled Belladonna into his arms. 

“Amazing isn’t a strong enough word, nor does it do this creature justice. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sensational. Bewitching. Utterly ravishing.” 

Both women smiled from ear to ear, though Daisy rolled her eyes a bit, it was all in good fun and she agreed, amazing wasn’t a good enough descriptor.  

"Well done, Daisy. My compliments indeed. Going to have to have you style a look or two for me." he murmured, before turning to Zsasz and clapping him on the shoulder. "Zsasz, why don’t you take Daisy for a drink? Poor thing looks thirsty."

Daisy beamed, a touch of color adorning her cheeks as she followed Zsasz toward the bar, content with the small victory of being noticed. 

Left alone with Roman, the world narrow to just the two of them. The club's vibrant hues blurred into insignificance, the din faded, and even the music seemed to hush in deference to the moment. Roman leaned closer, his breath a whisper against her skin as he traced the line of her palm and wrist with his lips, each touch sending tendrils of heat spiraling through her veins.

"Angel, you look positively breathtaking," he breathed, voice threaded with velvet darkness that promised things unsaid.

"Are you ready to give my coworkers something to talk about?" she challenged lightly, eyes gleaming with mischief.

A spark of remembrance flashed in Roman's eyes, reminding him of the performance they were there to stage. His lips curled into a confident smirk, his aura swelling with the assurance of a man who never played a game he didn't win.

"Always,"

The music throbbed through the soles of Belladonna's heels, each beat a pulse that echoed in her chest as she swayed among the sea of gyrating bodies. Laughter bubbled up within her as she talked and danced with her coworkers, the energy of the club was infectious. The clinking of glasses wove an intoxicating tapestry around her, and despite the shadows that often clung to her thoughts, tonight they were banished by the sheer vibrancy of life within Roman's club.

Everything that had brought about this entire night was based on a triple homicide with plenty of menacing, fear, and frustration thrown in but despite that she smiled and laughed more freely than she had in ages, the sound mingling with the music, bright and untethered. 

More than once, she caught Roman watching her from across the sidelines following her every move. His smirk was a silent conversation, filled with admiration and something darker, possessive. This was the kind of night she had wanted those months ago when she had first crossed paths with the human personification of the black cat that was Roman Sionis.

She twirled on the dance floor, her dress shimmering under the vibrant lights, arching her back slightly, letting the silver chain at her neck catch the light.

It was thrilling to know that even if she couldn’t see him that he was watching her, feeling his magnetic pull even from across the room.

As the hours slipped by, the weight of her world—the looming investigation, the shadow of her family's legacy, the ever-present threat of Cobblepot—all of it faded into the mosaic of lights and champagne. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe and free.

It was Zsasz who eventually found her, his presence slicing through the revelry, and she felt him before she saw him. She also saw that dark bruise on his neck, and she distinctly remembered his shirt had been buttoned up all the way, funny how it wasn’t now. 

"Roman would like to see you in the VIP room," 

Zsasz directed her attention up to the balcony where Roman stood becoming the focal point of the glittering room, he extended a gloved finger, beckoning her to join him.

Belladonna nodded, about to follow when a disturbance at the entrance snagged her attention. Through the thrumming crowd, she spotted the disgruntled figures she knew well, those of Craven and Ramirez, arguing with the coat check attendant. They were like crows at a peacock parade, their sour moods clashing horribly with the festivities. The coat check attendant, flustered and apologetic, seemed to be collapsing under the weight of what had to be subtle threats.

"What're they doing here?" She muttered to Zsasz.

His expression darkened, a frown creasing his brow. 

"Get Roman," 

Zsasz disappeared as if obeying an order from Roman himself. With a newfound confidence that could only come from the slight buzz of champagne bubbles coursing through her veins, and knowing that Roman would be right behind her Belladonna marched toward the detectives.

"Detectives, fancy seeing you here," Belladonna greeted coolly, stepping up beside the attendant. "But I don’t think your names are on the guest list."

They turned to face her, their expressions hardening, seemingly holding particular malice toward hers.

"The club’s closed tonight, ‘fraid you’ll have to drink elsewhere."

The two men looked around and their gaze settled back on the woman who was quickly becoming as cocky and arrogant as her scumbag boyfriend, and a greater thorn in their side than first expected.

“Is it? Looks pretty open to me, maybe we’ll just have a drink at the bar.” Craven's lips curled into a sneer, his reply tinged with bitterness. “Looks like quite the party?"

"A private party," Belladonna corrected sharply, feeling Roman's earlier confidence fuel her own. 

For a moment, tension coiled tight, the detectives' frustration a tangible thing. But Belladonna held their gazes, her spine straight, daring them to escalate. In the safety of Roman’s club with all these witnesses, she felt untouchable.

High above the revelry, Roman Sionis surveyed his underworld from the VIP balcony, his nightclub pulsed like a living heart, each beat a note in the symphony of night's temptations. And there, slicing through the crowd with purposeful strides, was Belladonna—his Belladonna—but she wasn’t coming to see him. Hell, she wasn’t even going in the right direction, she was headed toward the entrance.

"Boss," 

Zsasz's voice sliced through the cacophony, a blade of urgency that rarely touched the man's composed tone. He leaned into Roman's space, his words a hushed whisper against the backdrop of electronic beats and human merriment. 

"We have an issue at the entrance."

His gaze fell on the cloud trying to roll in on their fun and he scowled. His features twisted in a mix of fury and frustration. The muscles in his jaw visibly flexed as he gazed out towards the balcony where Belladonna was holding her ground against the detective.

The glass in his hand, a delicate vessel for his aged scotch, responded to the tightening of his grip. A hairline fracture snaked along its side, proof of the dark energy coursing through him. No one trespassed into his club, least of all two detectives who thought they could barge into his carefully curated world uninvited.

Roman barely acknowledged Zsasz with a nod, his attention still locked on Belladonna as she stood between the unwelcome guests and his club. The intensity of his stare never wavered, not even as he registered the information. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the scenario playing out—a chessboard where every piece moved precisely as he dictated.

"Keep an eye on the floor," Roman instructed, his voice low and dangerous, the growl of a beast disturbed. His command was absolute, brooking no argument or delay.

Without another word, he descended from his vantage point, the cracked glass forgotten in his wake. Each step he took towards the confrontation was measured, his presence undulating with silent fury and anticipation. Power emanated from him, an aura visible only to those attuned to the ruthlessness it represented. 

The night belonged to Roman Sionis, and he would tolerate no disruptions.

Chapter Eighteen

Well, now, that is certainly not the spiciest thing I have written yet but I'll be goddamned if it hasn't been a long time coming. See what I did there? I realized the other day that it's almost been a year since I started writing this story and I cannot believe how far it's come, and I especially can't believe the wonderful support I've gotten from you wonderful people. You guys keep me motivated to keep telling this story so a big thanks to all of you who have liked, commented, reblogged, followed, or ever said a kind word to me. I truly love y'all. As promised, the next chapter or two will be pretty much straight smut. Let me know what y'all think!

@keffirinne @tarrensbookmarks @supernatural-lover @daenerys-skywalker @gilverrwrites @tarrenterror25 @hereticpriest

Stay toxic my friends.

[hereticpriest]

Masterlist

MDNI

Series

Mercy

Rating: Explicit 18+

Relationship: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

To begin with, some warnings about this story: A/B/O Dynamics, Female Alpha, Male Omega, Some chapters may involve messing with the whole 'alphas are always dom and omegas are always sub' because I think nuance exists even in A/B/O dynamics, Fucking with the timeline (this is a blend of Canon, Legends, and original lore), Minimal use of Y/N (Explained in the first chapter), Reader is an alien species of my own creation and thus has a physical description, Familial bonds explored heavily, Clone rights explored heavily, Violence is more graphic than canon-typical however any graphic descriptions will be noted, AFAB reader, Not beta-read so I apologize for any mistakes.

Read on AO3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Nine Point Five - Part Ten -

Miniseries

The Typist - Laszlo Kreizler and his Bitey Wife

Bite - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia

Chew - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia, prequel to Bite

Swallow - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft odaxelagnia, prequel to Bite and sequel to Chew

Gulp - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft lactation and mommy kink, sequel to Swallow

Alpha Mine - Laszlo Kreizler x reader ft Omegaverse, AU to The Typist series

Bokeh - Niki Lauda and his Photographer Wife (Mouse)

Muse - Niki Lauda x photographer!reader ft soft femdom and bondage and breeding

What Happens in Ibiza - Niki Lauda x photographer!reader x James Hunt ft threesomes, double penetration and anal

Life and Death - Niki Lauda x photograhper!reader x James Hunt ft heavy hurt/comfort and mild petplay

Brûlée - Dirk Brûlée and his Single Mama

Sriracha - Dirk Brûlée x single mom!reader ft sex toys/sybian

Red Carpet - Dirk Brûlée x single mom!reader ft breeding

Victory - Helmut Zemo and his Super Soldier

Pyrrhic - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader ft 14k of HYDRA being the worst and Helmut Zemo being a consent king

Clutch - Helmut Zemo x Reader ft daddy kink, Hydra hunting and impact play

Oneshots

The Bath - Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader ft cockwarming

Ctrl and Power - Ernst Schmidt x Reader ft rough sex and secret relationships

Ganache - Tony Balerdi x Original Male Character ft food play and body worship

Requests and Prompts

Reader likes to come up behind Zemo and kiss or bite him

Roman Sionis fucking reader in his club and being a show off about it (and also he's a total switch)

Roman Sionis making female reader cockwarm him during a gang meeting

Obi-Wan Kenobi noticing female reader's tattoos after sex and pausing to enjoy them

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Pretty Please

by SightlessWriter17 Pretty please, come on over and ruin my life Take my hand while we dance on the edge of a knife - She didn't like Gotham City, but she was here for a job. However, complications mean that Aria can't seem to shake one former Boy Wonder, which makes doing her job a whole more complicated than she originally intended. She just wants to find these missing people, shut down this human genetic experimentation operation, and get back home. But when has Aria ever gotten what she wanted? Words: 8047, Chapters: 1/21, Language: English Series: Part 3 of Aria's Multiversal Misadventures, Part 1 of Of Fangs, Fins, and Feathers Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), DC Extended Universe, Nightwing (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Original Characters, Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Roman Sionis, Oswald Cobblepot Relationships: Dick Grayson/Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson/Original Character(s), Minor or Background Relationship(s) Additional Tags: Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, BAMF oc, OC needs a hug, Non-Graphic Violence, But also, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, Violence, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Torture, Other Specific Tags In Chapter Notes, Temporary Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, not by any of the batfam, but the story gets dark at times, Human Experimentation, Human trafficking mentions, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Protective Jason Todd, Non-human characters, Swearing, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Tags May Change, Tags Are Hard via https://ift.tt/CX1o9yO

[littleoddwriter]

Rules, Guidelines, etc.:

[Used to be: ronaldrx]

I'm a hobby writer and mostly write (x Reader) FanFictions and Headcanons. But I am also working on my original story whenever I can, so that I’ll hopefully publish it as an actual book someday. My Ao3.

Here’s a link to my Ko-Fi, in case you want to support me financially. It would mean a lot to me! (Obviously no obligation whatsoever! You never have to pay for anything on my blog, it’s merely an option for donations.)

Also, here are my sideblogs if you’re interested:

Dead Poets Society

Horror

Raúl Esparza

The Simpsons

Only ask for the characters I’ve got listed, please. I’ve written down all of the ones I actually write for, and the list is being updated regularly, as I often find new (actors, whose) characters I write for! (And yes, I always write for every character, so don’t ever worry if you wanna ask for one I haven’t written for in a long time, or ever, it’s fine!) Please always be patient with me. If I haven’t outright declined your request, it’s definitely in the works; even if it has been weeks or months since you’ve sent it in! And only send your requests via ASKs. No DMs or comments, please.

If you have a request, send an Ask to my inbox.

NO sexual NSFW requests, please (more details further down).

Requests = CLOSED (Max. Limit: 10)

Current number of requests: 10

Last updated: October 29, 2023

Masterlists are linked with fandoms/actors/characters below. I WRITE FOR:

ALFRED MOLINA characters:

Doctor Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus

DAVID DASTMALCHIAN characters:

Abner Krill/Polka-Dot Man

Bob Taylor

Denham

James Lewis

Johnson

Kurt Goreshter

Lonny Crane

Murdoc

Philippe/Abra Kadabra

Simon Lynch

Thomas Schiff

ETHAN HAWKE characters:

Arthur Harrow

Ellison Oswalt

Goodnight Robicheaux

James Sandin

EWAN MCGREGOR characters:

Alex Law

Catcher Block

Christopher Robin

Curt Wild

Dan Torrance

John Bishop

Mark Renton

Obi-Wan Kenobi 

Roman Sionis/Black Mask* (Birds of Prey - Masc!Reader only) [Any other version of Roman Sionis/Black Mask can be with a Gender Neutral/Female!Reader.]

HUGH DANCY characters:

Adam Raki

Cal Roberts

Luke Brandon

Executive ADA Nolan Price

Will Graham

KARL URBAN characters:

Billy Butcher

Black Hat

John Kennex

Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

Markiplier EGOS:

Darkiplier

Illinois

Wilford Warfstache

Yancy

PAUL DANO characters:

Alex Jones/Barry Milland [Platonic only!]

Dwayne Hoover [Platonic only!]

Edward Nashton/The Riddler

Eli Sunday

Jay (Okja)

Joby Taylor

Klitz

PEDRO PASCAL characters:

Agent Whiskey

Dave York

Dio Morrissey

Eddie

Ezra

Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Marcus Moreno

Marcus Pike

Max Phillips

Maxwell Lord

Oberyn Martell

Ricky Hauk

RAÚL ESPARZA characters:

Bobby

Dr. Frederick Chilton*

Jackson Neill

Jonas Nightingale

Rafael Barba

Characters from 9-1-1 (Lone Star):

Carlos Reyes*

Eddie Diaz

Evan “Buck” Buckley

Howard “Chimney” Han

Josh Russo*

Mateo Chavez

Paul Strickland

Bobby Nash

Tim Rosewater

TK Strand*

Characters from Law and Order(: Special Victims Unit):

Detective/ADA Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, Jr.

Sergeant Mike Dodds

Detective Nick Amaro

Executive ADA Nolan Price

ADA Peter Stone

ADA Rafael Barba

Deputy Chief William Dodds

Little Miss Sunshine:

Dwayne Hoover [Platonic only!]

Frank*

Our Flag Means Death:

Edward Teach/Blackbeard*

Frenchie

Izzy Hands

Stede Bonnet*

Prisoners (2013):

Alex Jones/Barry Milland [Platonic only!]

Bob Taylor

Detective David Loki

Renfield (2023):

Count Dracula

Robert Montague Renfield

Tedward “Teddy” Lobo

SLASHERS/Horror Film Characters:

Asa Emory/The Collector

Ash J. Williams [I will usually default to Ash from the TV show, unless requested otherwise!]

Billy Lenz (1974)

Billy Loomis

Bo Sinclair

Brahms Heelshire

Bubba Sawyer/Leatherface (TCM 1974 and TCM 2)

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

Chop Top Sawyer

Corey Cunningham

Dewey Riley

Drayton Sawyer

Herbert West*

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

Lawrence Gordon

Lester Sinclair

Luigi Largo

Mark Hoffman  

Nubbins Sawyer

Pavi Largo

Stu Macher  

Vincent Sinclair

William Easton

Star Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Qui-Gon Jinn

The Girl Next Door:

Klitz

Eli

Characters from The Simpsons:

Cecil Terwilliger*

Fat Tony

Frankie the Squealer

Grady*

Jack Lassen

Johnny Tightlips

Julio*

Legs

Louie

Moe Szyslak

Ned Flanders

Otto Mann

Seymour Skinner

Sideshow Bob

Sideshow Mel

Snake Jailbird

Timothy Lovejoy

Waylon Smithers*

What We Do in the Shadows:

Anton (Movie)

Deacon

Guillermo de la Cruz*

Laszlo Cravensworth

Nandor the Relentless

Viago

Vladislav

* Please note that an asterisk (*) means that these characters are Male/Masc/GenderNeutral!Reader only (including non-binary, of course). Platonic relationships with Female!Reader are possible, but no romantic ones.

If it’s a character that is open to all Readers, and you do not specify in your request what you want, I’ll usually opt for a Gender Neutral Reader by default.

SHIPS, such as:

BlackBonnet (OFMD)

SteddyHands (OFMD)

Black Pete x Lucius Spriggs (OFMD)

Buck x Josh Russo (9-1-1)

Dracfield (Renfield 2023)

Buddie (9-1-1)

Eli x Klitz (The Girl Next Door)

Nandermo (WWDITS)

Herbert West x Dan Cain (Re-Animator)

McKirk (Star Trek: AOS)

Oluwande x Jim Jimenez (OFMD)

Barisi (Law & Order SVU) 

Renfield x Teddy Lobo (Renfield 2023)

Sickrent (Trainspotting/T2)

Stobotnik (Sonic Movie)

Tarlos (9-1-1: Lone Star)

AnderPerry (Dead Poets Society)

ZsaszMask (Birds of Prey)

Lastly, I would like to add things I will NOT write (about):

Sexual NSFW fics/headcanons (I used to write those as you can see in my Masterlists, but I have my reasons for not writing them anymore. Any hints at sexual topics are fine).

Anything related to death as the main subject (this includes deadly diseases, anything fatal, really, etc.).

Anything that romanticizes Mental Illness (my Vent Fics about my own disorders obviously do not romanticize any of it and I do not stand for that).

(Recreational) Drug Use

Extreme Possessive Behaviour and/or Jealousy

Yandere

If you have something you would like me to write for, but you do not see it listed anywhere, please ask me before requesting it, so we can talk about it. I hope you enjoy yourself on my blog and have a good time!

My Asks and DMs are always open for any questions or simply to talk!

- Jesse

[ao3feed-sladedick]

Merry family bonding time!

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/iRsYSwh by zox_hates_basketball (manbat_called_batman_a_poser) (that's a big word) Bruce's sons introduce their partners. (I was too weak to resist, I like this trope so much.) Words: 3010, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Tim Drake (DCU), Ra's al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent, Jason Todd, Original Female Character(s) Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Roman Sionis/Jason Todd, (mentioned) - Relationship, Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul, (ambiguous) - Relationship, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Awkward Family Meeting, Arguing, Crack, (rather less than more), Background Het, (kinda?), Ambiguity, Ambiguous Relationships, They all know who is who unmasked, Secrets read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/iRsYSwh

[ao3feed-jaydick]

Clipped Wings

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44317714 by GraveTiger "What the actual..." Hood can't believe what he's seeing. Deathstroke grins, "We caught us a Bat." ---------- In which Nightwing gets captured by several members of the Rogues Gallery and the world suddenly doesn't make sense (or) Red Hood walks into a nightmare and he's not sure he'll ever wake up Words: 1979, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Categories: M/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Roman Sionis, Jonathan Crane, Slade Wilson, Jervis Tetch Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Roman Sionis (Minor), Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson (implied), Dick Grayson/Original Female Character (Minor) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, But also, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because what is DC Canon, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Jason Todd, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Bitching, Omega Dick Grayson, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Dubious Consent, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, alternating povs read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/44317714

[ao3feed-obikin]

The Golden Path

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41972226 by Mywitchcultblr Obi-Wan kidnapping by space pirate when he was a mere toddler and eventual rescue by The Jedi set the motion into a very different fate for the galaxy, Obi-Wan himself, Anakin, Stewjon, and Obi-Wan's younger twin; Roman. Part 1 Anakin accompanied his Master to attend a family gathering. Along the way, through the celebration and chaos, they finally admitted their feelings for each other. Anakin also discovered many things about the Kenobi family (This is an alternative universe of the main Stars and The Dark series/universe) Words: 2534, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Stars and The Dark Fandoms: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi's Mother, Obi-Wan Kenobi's Father, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Roman Sionis Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker/Other(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker Additional Tags: Recreational Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Stewjoni Obi-Wan Kenobi, Planet Stewjon (Star Wars), Crossover, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Man, Fluff and Angst, Polyamory read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41972226

[ao3feed-harleyquinn]

To Excess

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ixPstKz by TrustTheToad Soulmate identifying marks au with vigilante self insert character. First chapter is just character context, the good stuff starts in chapter two Words: 12981, Chapters: 6/6, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jonathan Crane, Selina Kyle, Original Characters, Reader, Joker (DCU), Harleen Quinzel, Salvatore Maroni, Carmine Falcone, Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot, Roman Sionis, Leslie Thompkins, Victor Fries, Garfield Lynns Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Original Female Character(s), Jonathan Crane/Original Character(s), Jonathan Crane & Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Self-Insert, Superpowered Reader, Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Weird Gotham City, Vigilante Reader, Southern Jonathan Crane, POV Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma is the Riddler, The Iceberg Lounge, Canon-Typical Violence read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ixPstKz

[ao3feed-timkon]

Stepping Stones

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/eilMdxu

by xSeeingStarsx

Jason Todd has finally come home. Red Hood is intent on staying in Gotham permanently, even if it means playing by Batman’s rules. But Gotham has changed since he left, no more so than the dynamics at play at Wayne Manor. Who are the Williams siblings? And how are they connected with one of Black Mask’s clients?

Petra Williams' life didn’t feel like her own, hell, even her name wasn’t her own, it was a carefully-crafted facade to keep her and her brother safely hidden. But maybe there was a way to get her life back, and Red Hood was going to help her, whether he liked it or not.

 Fic updated every 3rd Saturday of the month

I would also like my lovely friend m_e_winters here on AO3 who has put as much work into this fic as I have with my consistent pestering them, bouncing ideas off of them, and their reliable help with editing.

Words: 2185, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Bat - Fandom, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Young Justice (Cartoon)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Original Characters, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Batfamily Members, Roy Harper, Talia al Ghul, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Clark Kent, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Lois Lane, James "Jimmy" Olsen, Roman Sionis

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Red Hood/Original Female Character, Batfamily Members & Original Character(s), Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Batbrothers (DCU), Batbrothers Bonding (DCU), Batfamily (DCU), Slow Burn, Falling In Love, no graphic smut, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, Fade to Black, Implied/Referenced Child Torture, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Get In We Are Finding Love And Emotional Healing, Everyone Needs Therapy, Only once character actually is in therapy, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce is a tired dad™ trying, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is an Unreliable Narrator, Projecting my mixed feelings about Bruce Wayne, Vigilantism, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Tim Drake and Jason Todd are Best Bros, Talia Al Ghul as a Maternal Figure, meta-humans - Freeform, Metahumans, unethical medical experimentation, Child Soldiers, Puts Favorite DC Media in a Blender: Cannon? What Cannon?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/eilMdxu

[honeysidesarchived]

— THIS IS HEAVEN IN HIDING.

“Here you are, proving my point. Not a good girl at all, are you, Varya Astakhova?”

“No,” she replies playfully, “not in the least.”

incoherent screeching / taking a lap around my living room / staring at this for the rest of eternity etc etc and so on because @terlebarts did the most INCREDIBLE job bringing my evil, evil wretched babies to life!!!!! i cannot believe how lucky i was to have have gotten my first commission of these two dreadful creatures from someone so lovely and talented. if you get the chance, i can only highly recommend alëna; everything about this process was so easy and as y'all can see, the result is just stunning. anyway i'm going to go lay down and gaze at these two awful disgusting beautiful monsters forever. (ꈍᴗꈍ)

[thegreatwicked]

WIP Title Game

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Thanks for the tag @split-spectrum! Lord, my WIPs are not quite out of control BUT there are quite a few of them! I'll divide them up into two categories; fanfiction and original!

Fanfiction:

Armitage (Hux x OC)

In Service to the Night Sisters (Opress Brothers x OCs)

Moonlight Rendezvous (Maul x OC)

Padawan (Obi-Wan x Reader Insert)

50 Shades of Obi-Wan (Obi-Wan x Reader Insert)

Unbreakable Bonds (Obi-Wan x OC)

The Generals Wife (Hux x OC)

Shadows of Deception (Roman Sionis x OC)

Take off the Mask, Baby (Roman Sionis x Reader Insert)

Healing Hands (Jason Todd x OC)

Claiming the Red Hood (Jason Todd x OC)

Bayou and the Burrow (Charlie Weasley x OC)

Read to Me (Matt Murdock x OC)

We Were Cursed (Jefferson/Mad Hatter x OC)

It's No Good (Soldier Boy x OC)

Second Son (Soldier Boy x OC)

Tribute to the Horde (Dothraki OC x OC)

1001 Nights of Mischief (Loki xOC)

Professional Courtesy (DC Captain Cold x OC)

Forgive Me (Malik x OC)

Binding (Malik x OC)

Originals:

Call Me Love

Thanks for the Ride

Eternally Yours

Dive

Not your Fucking Grieving Widow

All works listed above are smut and not meant for anyone under 18. Lord give me strength to get through these WIPs before more appear!

No pressure tags! @hereticpriest @decembermidnight @burnthecheshirewitch @keffirinne @daenerys-skywalker @chaotickimchi @viskarenvisla @maulfvckers

Lets see those WIPs!

[consumedkings-archive]

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

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

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Batman wips I dont know how to continue

by trash_asylum Compilation of works I either didn’t know how to continue or just didn’t have the energy to write and forgot what i wanted for it. So I give them to you all to enjoy and maybe inspire your own stuff. Words: 3177, Chapters: 7/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series, Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Multi Characters: Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU), Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Edward Nygma, Jim Gordon (DCU), Roman Sionis, Victor Zsasz, Victor Fries, Bane (DCU), Original Batfamily Member(s) (DCU), Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Slade Wilson, Floyd Lawton, Oswald Cobblepot, Jonathan Crane Relationships: Dick Grayson/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Harvey Dent/Edward Nygma, Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma Additional Tags: i’m not proof reading this, so sorry in advance, we die like Jason, Maybe OOC, I Don't Even Know, Both first and third person writing (probably) via https://ift.tt/WNUtvJ5

[ao3feed-sladedick]

The club and the show

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/vfneOJp by Recycleyourself “Speaking of the two, suddenly Roman has a lap full of drunk Sugar. And it looks like Slade is in the same position with Dick holding on tight enough to bruise if Slade was normal.”   I had ideas and jelly is so cute and I needed to gift this to her cause Sugar is her babygirl Words: 1303, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson, Roman Sionis, Original Female Character(s), Sugar - Character Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Roman Sionis/Original Female Character Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Good Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Sugar is Romans baby, Creampie, Foursome in a vague sense, more of a they fuck in the same bathroom, Bathroom Sex, Slade is a fool for Dick, Roman is heart eyes for sugar, Light reference to murder read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/vfneOJp