#roman sionis imagines | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imaginingmarvelandeverything · 2 years

Text

The Gala

Pairing: Jason Todd (version unspecified) x F!Reader

Warnings: jealous Jason, jealous Dick (platonic), reader has a panic attack, mentions of crimes, make out session verging on smut but not quite, Jason and reader both have trauma

Word count: 4734

A/N: Here’s part 5 of Castle of Glass! Lot of characters being introduced in this one, though neither of the villains in this part are going to be the main villain of the series (I mean it’s a Jason series, there can only be one main villain). But anyway, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Ko-Fi

“I’m off.” Y/N called as she walked towards the front door, her dress bag slung over one arm and the bag containing everything else she could need in the other hand.

“Bit early to be heading out, isn’t it?” Jason said from where he was lying on the sofa holding a book above him.

She turned to face him to find his blue eyes surveying her. “I’m gonna get ready at Dick’s. Means he doesn’t have to come here to pick me up. And I’m going to crash in his spare room tonight, so don’t worry about where I am when you get back from patrol.”

He frowned briefly before covering it with a smirk. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“God, do all of you siblings have the same thought process?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Honestly, I think you can blame Dick for that, sweetheart.” He smiled.

She shook her head with a smile, trying to ignore how the nickname always sent her heart stuttering. “The offer still stands for you to come too.”

He hesitated and she thought he might be considering it. “No, I’m good.”

She turned to face the door so he wouldn’t see her face fall. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Jay.”

“See you.” He called as she walked out.

***

Y/N adjusted her dress for what felt like the hundredth time as she waited for Dick at the bottom of the Wayne Manor staircase after he had decided he didn’t like his tie and went to grab another from his old room. The dress fit like a glove, just like all the others he had brought her over the years when he needed her to come along as a cover, or required her skill set. But that didn’t mean she felt like she belonged. This world had never been hers, and no matter how many times she accompanied him to galas, it never got any easier.

“Ready?” Dick asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs and offered her his arm. He looked dashing in his tux with his dark hair styled away from his eyes for a change, and she was well aware that even though she was on his arm, people were going to be gushing over him all night.

She took a breath and linked her arm with his. “Not really.”

“Four hours, tops. I promise.” He said as he led the way through the winding corridors towards the ballroom.

“I’ve heard that before, Grayson.” She said under her breath as they reached the doors. He huffed out a quiet laugh and shot her a look, resting his hand on the door handle. She took a breath and nodded, and Dick opened the door.

They were swarmed by people as soon as they entered the room. As always, people wanted to talk to Dick; the charismatic oldest son of Bruce Wayne. Some people involved her in the conversation, complimenting her dress or asking her about how she had come to be on Dick Grayson’s arm, but she knew it was either to be polite, or to figure out how much of a threat she was to their prospects with him. She managed to endure about an hour of him dragging her around to meet different people before she took advantage of spotting Damian stood on his own in a corner.

“I’m going to check on Dami.” She whispered in Dick’s ear so the couple talking wouldn’t hear her.

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on the mark.” He whispered back, pressing a kiss to her cheek as a cover.

“Excuse me.” She smiled at the couple and squeezed Dick’s arm before walking away.

Damian looked miserable as he tried to stay out of sight over in the corner of the ballroom. She couldn’t have imagined anything worse when she was twelve years old.

“Not having fun?” She asked as she came to a stop next to him.

“Father wouldn’t let me bring Alfred.” He said, glancing up at her briefly before looking towards Dick, who in her absence had had a gaggle of people descend on him.

She hoped he meant Alfred the cat, although she doubted this would be actual Alfred’s scene either. “Well, Dick wouldn’t let me bring my computer so I know how you feel.” She smiled when it caused the corner of his mouth to tug up. “Who else is here besides you?”

“Father, Stephanie, and Tim.” He told her before his eyes darted between her and Dick again. “You and Dick are working.”

It wasn’t a question, so she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. “Would I be here if we weren’t?”

“No, I suppose not.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“But I’m not telling you what we’re doing, Dick made me promise not to tell anyone else.” Jason didn’t count, she told herself.

“Please. I am bored.” He stuck his bottom lip out.

She chuckled. “Not happening, Dami.” She ruffled his hair as he huffed and started pouting.

Until something caught his attention. “What is Todd doing here?”

Y/N’s heart seemed to stop as she turned to follow Damian’s gaze, and sure enough, Jason was stood awkwardly in the main entrance to the ballroom. He was wearing a tux that fit his large form perfectly, clinging to him in all the right places, and his hair was perfectly styled for the first time since she had met him. He looked incredible, and all she wanted to do was cross the room and kiss him.

“I might have invited him.” She told Damian, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry.

“You and Todd do not like each other.” Damian said, narrowing his eyes once again.

“We’ve got to know each other.” She said, watching as Jason walked further into the room, his eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. “I better go save him, he looks a bit lost.”

She didn’t wait for Damian to answer, well aware that the kid was watching her every move as she navigated the crowd towards where Jason was standing with his back to her and a glass of champagne in his hand. “Thought this wasn’t your scene?”

He turned to face her, his eyes dragging down her body before moving back up to meet her eyes. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah, well, my roommate invited me and I didn’t want to force her to spend the night with Gotham’s rich pricks with only my brother for company.”

“Well, I’m sure she greatly appreciates that.” She smiled.

“She better.” He said, downing his drink and then returning her smile.

She raised her eyebrows. “You planning on getting hammered?”

He stepped forward, so no one could overhear him. “One of the few perks of the pit, it takes a lot of alcohol to get me drunk now.”

She struggled to keep her eyes on his with him standing so close to her. “Dance with me?”

His eyes flickered behind her, where quite a few people were dancing in the centre of the room. “Only to piss Dick off.”

“Why would you dancing with me piss Dick off?” She asked as she took his hand and led him into the middle of the dancefloor. He took her hand in his and rested the other on her waist as she rested hers on his shoulder.

“You’re telling me you’ve never noticed how protective he is over his friends.” He whispered as he started leading in time with the music. “You should have seen the way he reacted the first time I met Roy.”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed.” She said with a smile, making sure she wasn’t going to step on his feet in her heels. Jason could dance, he led her effortlessly across the dance floor. He had clearly learnt while living with Bruce, and she wondered if it was any harder now he had practically tripled in size.

He was clearly thinking about her dancing ability too. “This isn’t the first gala you’ve been to, is it?”

“No. Whenever Dick needs a cover, really doesn’t want to be bored, or needs my skillset, I have to endure being his date for an evening.” She said as he spun them around. Speak of the devil, the new angle meant she could see Dick over Jason’s shoulder. His mouth was hanging open slightly as he stared at them. “Speaking of, he’s currently staring at us.”

Jason spun them back the other way and she watched his mouth twist up into a wolfish grin as he winked in Dick’s direction.

“Now you’re just trying to piss him off.”

“Got to have some fun sometimes, sweetheart.” He said, before ducking down to speak directly into her ear. “Has he swiped the guy’s phone yet?”

She followed his lead and leant forward, speaking in hushed whispers into his ear. “Not yet, but he’s keeping an eye on him for when the opportunity presents itself.”

“Which one of these assholes is the mark then?” He swung them past another couple who were getting a bit too close.

She scanned the room before turning him in the right direction. “Full black tux, red carnation in his button hole.” She felt his entire body tense up as he spotted the right man, his muscles curling as if he was going to launch himself across the room. She tightened her grip on him subconsciously, unwilling to be the reason Dick didn’t get what he needed.

“That’s Roman Sionis.” His voice dropped further and took on a venomous edge.

“I know, he’s a mob boss. Me and Dick have been tracking him for a while now. He’s moving into arms, we think-”

Jason cut her off, pulling her closer against him as he continued leading them through the other couples. “He’s not just a mob boss, Y/N. He’s Black Mask.”

She pulled back so she could look at him, finding worry and anger burning in his ice blue eyes. “How do you know that?”

He clenched his jaw before sucking a breath in through his teeth. “When I first got back and was trying to establish myself, I did a few jobs for him. He’s worse than most of the other fuckers, and he’s not just into arms, its human trafficking as well.”

“All the more reason to bring him down then.”

His hand on her hip shifted to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. “He’s dangerous, Y/N. Really dangerous.”

“Me and Dick have been doing this a long time, Jason. We have strategies in place if something goes wrong. It’ll be fine.” She slid her hand up his shoulder and cupped his jaw to get him to look at her. He reluctantly dragged his eyes over from Sionis and once he met hers she could see that the outside of his irises were tinged green. "Jay-”

“Mind if I cut in.” Dick practically shoved himself in between them and sent a scathing glance at Jason over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Dickhead, I’m not trying to steal your best friend.” Jason took a step back and met Y/N’s eyes again. “If you need me, I’ll be by the bar.”

She watched him walk off and hoped that meant he wasn’t going to get involved. She turned back to Dick, who had already started tugging her towards one of the exit doors that led to the bathrooms. “You get it?”

He nodded and held the door open for her, following quickly behind as she walked through. He did the same for the bathroom door and locked it behind them. He handed over the phone as she reached into her bra and pulled out the small memory stick hidden in the sewn in pocket. She plugged it into the charging port and clicked through the prompts on the screen before placing it down.

“How long?” Dick asked, looking over her shoulder as the upload bar appeared.

“Ten minutes, tops.” She turned around and pushed herself up to sit on the bathroom counter. “Perfect amount of time to pretend we snuck away for a quickie in the bathroom.”

He snorted and leant back against the wall across from her with his arms crossed. “You want to tell me why you were dancing with my brother?”

“I wasn’t aware I couldn’t.” She said with a smile.

“You don’t like Jason.” He pointed out.

She resisted the urge to laugh. “Incorrect. I didn’t use to like Jason.”

“What changed?”

“I don’t know, might have had something to do with the fact you dumped him on me for four days when he could barely walk. Oh yeah, and then he saved my life.” She watched Dick’s expression and snorted. “I can’t believe he was right.”

“Right about what?”

“That you’re very protective over your friends and think he’s trying to steal them.” She smiled wider as he somehow managed to look even more offended. “It’s alright, Dickie, you’re still my best friend.”

“I better be.” He said with a pout. “He is closer to your age than I am though.”

“Seriously Dick, we’re not in high school anymore, your friends don’t all have to be the same age as you.” She smiled and glanced down at the phone to see it was halfway done. “We better make it look like we did sneak away for a quickie and have tried to hide the evidence.”

“Yeah, we better.” He said with a sigh before running his hands through his perfectly styled hair to ruffle it up. She followed suit, jumping down from the side and using the mirror to carefully mess up her own hairstyle to make it look like it had been pulled out and hastily put back together. He loosened his tie and undid the second button as she dropped her dress more off one shoulder than the other. She slightly smudged her lipstick on one corner of her mouth and had an idea.

“Come here.” She said and he turned to look at her with a confused expression. She tugged him forward by his lapel and dragged her bottom lip on the edge of his shirt collar. She pulled back and admired the slight drag of colour against the stark white.

“Good thinking. I’d give you a hickey but I think then Jason might kill me.” He said as he looked at the mark she had left.

Her lips parted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you seriously not notice the way he was looking at you when you started dancing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jason look at someone that way. I think my baby brother has a crush.” His blue eyes lit up with mischief and not for the first time she wondered how him and Jason weren’t actually related.

“I think you’re seeing things, Nightwing. You did hit your head pretty hard last night.” She unplugged the memory stick and stashed it back in its pocket before handing the phone back to Dick.

“My head is fine.” The pout was back.

“C’mon, I need another drink.” She unlocked the bathroom door and grabbed his hand before dragging him back towards the ballroom.

It seemed like all eyes turned to them as they walked back in, so it wasn’t hard for her to look sheepish and him to plaster on his signature smile. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side as he led them towards an empty spot in a corner.

“He’s by the bar, I’ll slip his phone back while I get you a drink.” He said.

“I hate this part.” She muttered as people continued staring.

He ducked down and pressed a kiss under her ear as part of the show. “I know. Half an hour to avoid suspicion and then we’ll leave. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Grayson.” She said, and watched as he walked away.

She scanned the crowd for familiar faces and found Bruce talking to a group of people with his hand firmly on Damian’s shoulder, probably to stop his youngest from bolting for the exit, Steph was dancing with a guy around her age Y/N didn’t recognise, and Tim was sat huddled up with Bernard. She was so preoccupied with looking for people she knew, that a hand on her hip made her jump out of her skin. She turned around and resisted the urge to smack Jason’s chest.

“The lipstick on his collar was a nice touch.” He said, moving to perch on the edge of the table in front of her.

“Yeah, well, we had to make it look believable.” She said, glancing over to where Dick was standing at the bar.

“You used this as a cover before?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She sighed. “Couple of times. He’s a known womanizer, remember, so it’s expected.”

He snorted before glaring at something behind her. “Demon spawn.”

“Todd.” Damian said.

“Hey, that’s mean.” She turned to Jason and whacked his arm. He narrowed his eyes at Damian, who was looking smug at her coming to his defence. She turned back to face Damian. “Everything okay?”

“Father won’t let me leave.” He complained.

“Why’s that our problem? Go bug someone else.” Jason scowled.

“Jay!” She shot a glare his way.

“You should be glad Y/N was kind enough to invite you, no one else would have.” Damian shot back.

Y/N resisted the urge to just go and join Dick at the bar. “Can you two not get long for five minutes? I mean, you both probably have more in common than any of your other siblings.” She fixed her gaze on Jason.

“Fine.” Jason finally said moving his eyes towards Damian. “Truce?”

“Only for Y/N’s sake.” Damian nodded his head once.

“Thank you.” She said before turning back to Damian. “How’s school going?”

Damian got straight to complaining about already knowing everything they had to teach him, only requiring the occasional prompt or hum of agreement from Y/N or Jason. Dick seemed to have been distracted at the bar by an old friend, so she assumed she wasn’t getting another drink. She was considering just going to get one herself when Damian stopped mid-sentence.

“What is he doing here?” Damian said it like it was a personal offence, so both Y/N and Jason turned to look at the door.

Y/N’s heart stopped and she found herself fighting to get air into her lungs. Lex Luthor was standing in the main entrance to the ballroom, two men flanking him who were clearly bodyguards. She swore she could feel the knife tearing into her skin again as Jason practically growled and shot to his feet as if he was going to run straight across the room and tackle Luthor. She reached out and grabbed his arm before he could get too far away from her.

“Jay.” She choked out as her breathing became more erratic.

He spun to face her, his eyes immediately softening. “Fuck, okay. Let’s get you out of here.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and started leading her towards the door her and Dick had entered through two hours ago. By the time they reached it, her knees were so weak he was practically holding her up. He didn’t seem to mind, however, and practically carried her up the stairs into the main body of the manor. Her thoughts were too jumbled to pay any attention to where he was taking her, but he seemed to realise that, as he didn’t try and say anything. He hesitated briefly outside of a door, so briefly she barely noticed, before he pushed it open and walked inside.

He gently set her down on the edge of a bed and dropped to his knees in front of her. He cupped her face in his hands, simultaneously forcing her to look at him and allowing him to wipe away the tears that had started streaming down her face with his thumbs. His hands were softer than she was expecting, and she raised hers to circle his wrists, resting her fingers over his pulse point and feeling the steady beat.

“You’re okay.” He said softly. “He’s not going to hurt you again, I promise.”

“What’s he doing here?” She asked as her breathing finally started to even back out.

He sighed. “I don’t know. But Bruce won’t be happy he is, and I don’t think Bruce will let him stay.”

She nodded and pulled back from him slightly, but still kept her hands wrapped around his as she moved them from her face. Her vision had started to clear, allowing her to finally take a look around the room they were in. It was clearly the room of a teenage boy; posters littered the walls, a record player and a stack of vinyls sat in one corner, a tv and a bunch of DVDs in the other. The bedside table was covered in old magazines and the bookcase on the far wall was crammed with paperback and hardbacks alike.

He noticed her looking and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. “This- this was my childhood room. Barely anyone comes in here now, so I knew we’d be left alone.”

She stood on shaky legs and walked over to the book case. He had a small book case in his apartment, but it didn’t have nearly as many books on it as this one did. As far as she knew, most of the books she had seen him reading came from the public library around the corner from his apartment. She heard Jason move and when she looked back, he was sat on the bed watching her.

“I knew you liked to read, but damn, you could have started your own library.”

He chuckled and laid back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “You sound like Alfred.”

She walked back over and laid down next to him, hands so close together that either one of them could shift slightly and tangle their fingers together.

“You know, the worst part is, I don’t even think Luthor would know who I was. I mean, he’s tried to have me tortured and killed twice, but I bet I was nothing more than a name on a piece of paper.” She whispered, keeping her eyes on the ceiling.

He shifted his hand, wrapping his pinkie around hers hesitantly. “Men like him are worth nothing. If Bruce wasn’t downstairs and I had my helmet, I’d put a bullet between his eyes before he could blink.”

She turned her head to the side to find him already looking at her and squeezed her pinkie around his. “You were right about Dick, by the way. He was jealous.”

“Is that so?” His face broke into a grin.

She hummed. “Seems to think that because me and you are closer in age I’m going to trade him in for the younger model.” She smiled when he laughed. “Why did you come tonight?”

“I already told you.” He whispered, dropping his gaze from hers again.

“Jay.” She said softly.

“You were right when you suggested it, I need to start trying more. I can’t keep blaming everyone else for not trying, when I’m not either.” He admitted. They laid in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. “You know, teenage me would be ecstatic if he could see me now, lying in this bed with a pretty girl.”

“You’re telling me you weren’t popular with the ladies in high school with this pretty face.” She shifted forward slightly and ran a finger along his chiselled jaw.

He leaned into her touch “You know I died at fifteen, right? And I was a pretty scrawny kid before that.”

“I think teenage me would have been into teenage you.” She whispered.

“Really?”

“I mean, from the looks of this room, you were just the right level of nerd.” She smiled.

“And what about now?” He breathed out, subconsciously shifting forward until there was only an inch or so between them.

“I don’t think current you is half bad either.” All it took was his eyes flickering down to look at her lips for her to close the gap between them. His lips were soft against hers as he responded almost immediately. She turned her body into him as he did the same, brushing her fingers along his cheek before she tangled her hand in his curls as he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. The broke apart briefly, eyes searching each other for some form of hesitancy before he surged forward and kissed her again.

His hands moved to her hips and he pulled her on top of him with an ease that took her breath away. Sometimes she forgot how much the pit had actually enhanced him, on top of the muscles he worked for himself.

He sat up, keeping his lips on hers as he shifted her so she was straddling his lap. She buried her hands in his hair and tugged, causing him to groan and part his lips so she could deepen the kiss. She pressed herself closer to him as his hands moved up from her hips to knead at her chest through her dress. He swallowed the noises she made easily as she kept one hand in his hair and moved the other to start loosening his tie.

That’s when he finally seemed to realise what he was doing because his whole body went rigid and he gently pushed her back. “Fuck- I-I’m sorry. Fuck. I c-can’t do this. I’m sorry.” His eyes were glassy and her lipstick was smeared all around his lips.

“It’s okay.” She whispered, quickly clambering off of him to sit on the bed again. She adjusted her dress to cover her properly again as he struggled to get his breathing back under control.

He stood from the bed, looking anywhere but her. “I’ll send Dick up. You can go home with him as planned.” He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve as he walked out, leaving her staring after him.

She pulled herself together enough to stumble into the ensuite bathroom to try and sort her face out before Dick arrived. Her lipstick was smeared all around her lips and tear tracks were visible in the foundation on her cheeks, but luckily she had the foresight to wear waterproof eye make-up, so at least she didn’t have to deal with mascara everywhere. She wiped off the lipstick, but knew even if she took the rest of her make-up off, Dick would be able to tell she had been crying from how red her eyes were.

“Y/N?” Dick called as the bedroom door was pushed open.

She took a deep breath to steel herself and then walked out of the bathroom. “Hey.”

“You okay?” He asked, taking in her appearance.

She nodded, biting her lip as she tried to figure out what to say. “What happened with Luthor?”

“Bruce nearly lost it, I honestly thought he was going to go full on Batman on Luthor’s ass, but he stopped himself. He had him escorted out because he didn’t have a ticket. I think Luthor only showed up to gloat about a bad business deal though.” Dick said. “Jason seemed… off, I mean, more than normal. Did something happen?”

She shook her head. “Other than me having a panic attack on him, no.”

He nodded. “Must be the room then, I think this is probably the first time he’s actually been back in here since he got back.”

“Oh.” Her heart clenched painfully and she tried not to think about what had just happened. “Can we leave now?” She asked, her voice breaking.

Dick didn’t hesitate to walk forward and wrap his arms around her. She screwed her eyes shut and buried her face in his shoulder. “Yeah, of course. Let’s go.” But he didn’t actually move until she did. He squeezed her arms before taking her hand and leading her through the corridors to his car.

Part 6

Taglist: @fives-coffee-cup @xnorthstar3x @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @literally-a-ferret

(shoot me a message to be added/removed)

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #dc #dick grayson #bruce wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #lex luthor #roman sionis #castle of glass

642 notes · View notes

jasontoddenthusiastt · 8 months

Text

Batman: Death In the Family Interactive (2020)

You know what scares a criminal? It ain’t a guy dressed like a bat.

#imagine letting your son who just barely survived a murder attack out of your sight a second time #let’s see who gets to Bruce first. me or Jason.#jason todd #roman sionis #black mask #batman: death in the family #death in the family (2020)#ditf #dc #dc edit #gifset

59 notes · View notes

gilverrwrites · 6 days

Text

Morning After

Black Mask/Reader, 1.5K words

Request Info || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

13 notes · View notes

welcometohellweofferimagines · 2 years

Photo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucius. A word?”

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

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

God, you disliked this man.

In the revolution, you hoped to eat him first.

“Good evening. [Mx/Miss/Mr] ...?”

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

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

Now was your cue to exit.

Mr Fox began, “This is [Y/N]—”

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

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

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

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

“[Y/N], what the fu—”

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Alfred?”

“Pennyworth.”

“From?”

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

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

Luca relaxed into a grin. “Butler.”

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

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

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

“Hate that guy”

“Me too.”

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

Luca nodded.

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

“Home?”

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

“No. I handed in my notice—”

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

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

“[Y/N]!” he shouted after you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alas, you were now in between them.

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

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

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

“Did Bruce not pay you enough?”

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

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

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

“Didn’t I?” he asked.

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

Yes. Very much so.

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

“Then why leave?”

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

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

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

“Yeah?” countered the CEO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you liked that sort of thing.

Which you didn’t.

Ugh.

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

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

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

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

“Good choice,” Mr Fox nodded in approval.

You raised your almost empty champagne flute to him.

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

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

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

Or maybe you should shoot your shot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, ha, too late for me.”

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

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

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

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

(You'd only really done it once.)

(Not that it mattered.)

(Once was hard enough.)

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

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

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

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

Yes, that made sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, [Y/N].”

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

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

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

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

The lift continued to ascend.

“Let me pay fo—”

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

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

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

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

Silence. Then—

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

The doors finally dinged open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You took a moment to gather your breath.

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

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

Some time passed.

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

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

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

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

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

An empty man with hollow eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” you demanded.

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

“Huh? I said I—”

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

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

But you were drunk. He frustrated you.

So, eventually, you tried.

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

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

He was too real here, now.

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

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

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

“Type in your address, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bad choice...

You muffled past your palm, “Could you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tchaikovsky?” He smiled a little.

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

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

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

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

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

You curled in on yourself.

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

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

He thought, then began, “You—”

But your voice held his tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say Bruce.”

You froze.

“Huh?”

“Say Bruce right now.”

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

You murmured out a “No...”

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

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

You shrugged.

“Okay.”

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

“Is this not Taylor Swift?”

You simply stared.

“Hang on, I think you’ll like this.”

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

“Wait, what?”

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

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

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

You willed yourself to go back to sleep.

Morning came without mercy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And much too grand to be your roommate’s.

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

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

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

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

That had to be it.

It just had to be.

[Y/N] —

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

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

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

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

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

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

Certainly not as interesting as being shouted at by you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, come. Please.

Yours,

Bruce.

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

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

It began with:

Dear Bruce, —

164 notes · View notes

stardancerluv · 29 days

Note

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

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

Still love and adore him!

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

Here is the proper order.

Part one

Part two

Part three

PS…

⭐️⭐️A Night Out, Club 44…

timeline wise goes before

Gotham Lockdown 2020…⭐️⭐️

I was inspired after seeing The Batman ‘22

Part Four

And…well this is just miscellaneous Roman Sionis fics!

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

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

11 notes · View notes

tarrenterror25 · 1 year

Note

hey, tarren! congrats on 100! that’s amazing! may i please request roman sionis with medieval/fantasy & “I feel things for you that I shouldn’t”? thank you!!!

Thank you so much, Kara 💕 Oh, my heart leaped at this request!! I hope you like what I've written up for you!

100 follower celebration

Roman Sionis x F!Reader

Roman Sionis + Medieval/Fantasy + "I feel things for you that I shouldn't."

"I'm tired of you avoiding me, my lady," the knight says from atop his mount as it trots beside you.

Your ladies-in-waiting giggle at Ser Roman Sionis' approach. The Black Death, many called him for his armor was pitch black like the night and his helmet he had fashioned into a skull with its teeth bared. He's known for being ruthless as well as quite popular with the fairer sex. This is not the first time he has approached you, in fact he was relentless in pursuing you. You've had some chaste stolen moments with him, but at the behest of your better judgement you have since ceased giving him your attention.

But Ser Roman is not one for taking no for an answer.

"It's better this way," you say nonchalantly as you continue to walk. He follows beside you trying tot navigate his steed through the streets.

"I don't accept that answer," he replies. "I don't accept that that is what you desire."

"You're right, I don't," you admit glancing up at him. "But I feel things for you that I shouldn't and that's why we cannot continue this."

"Call me a guilty pleasure then," he says with a sly smirk. "Indulge a little, my lady."

"You are guilty of pleasure, Ser," you quip. "How would I know your feelings are true? There are whispers of your prowess on the battlefield as well as off."

"Only whispers, my lady," he says dismounting his steed. "Fruitless rumors."

He stands in front of you, imposing even without his armor. His face is handsome though scarred, his dark hair framing his features.

"I can assure you," he says. "That were you mine, then no other would matter. You have my word."

You dismiss your entourage of ladies and turn to face him. "And what is your word worth?" you ask with all seriousness.

Oh yes, you know the Black Death's reputation; he is not known to be the noblest of knights, he has a history of dishonesty as well as other things. You've heard stories about how he toys with his enemies and how he doesn't strike them fatally so he can watch the life leave their eyes. Oh yes, you shouldn't feel things for him, but you do.

"Say you're mine and you'll see," he replies with a devilish grin. "I won't accept any other answer.

He's moved in close now, very close. His eyes bore into yours and flick down to your lips. He looks like he's ready to pounce on you like a vulture to carrion. You're stunned into silence at his intense aura, your heart drums loudly in your ears. He smirks and leans in close to whisper, his breath warm on your neck.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he purrs. "But you should know that in the end, I always get what I want."

#100 follower celebration #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis x f!reader #black mask x reader #black mask x f!reader #roman sionis #black mask #roman sionis imagine #black mask imagine

50 notes · View notes

more-cardigan-than-woman · 2 years

Text

Bait the Beast.

Summary: You misbehave at a party, embarrassing your boyfriend and he doesn't take it super well.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Roman Sionis

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, stabbing (not each other), chocking, pet names (Kitten), Bratty reader, Daddy Roman, is glove kink a thing?

You can’t believe that Roman made you come to another one of these parties, they were so fucking boring. Not to mention that all the so-called important people here are lame! Just old dudes playing cards and drinking whiskey, while you sit at the bar alone. Normally you’d at least have one of the girls to keep you company, but since Harley and Ivy shacked up they never come to these stupid things anymore. Lucky them you think, swallowing your third cocktail and trying to read your book when you feel slime incarnate slither it's disgusting way towards you.

“Aren't you the hottest little spitfire in the room,” Oswald says, sliding his hand behind your back and making you want to puke.

“Hands of Os. You know how Roman gets,” you protest, trying to worm away from him.

“That asshole, I could treat you better than he ever could. You’d be my queen,”

“I would rather die,”

“I could arrange that, Princess,”

“Enough,” you stab into one of his hands that was creeping close to your ass, your other hand holding your favorite dagger to his face, “Want to see just what I learnt from Roman?”

"Kitten!" Romans loud voice echoes from across the room, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Who me?" You stare up innocently at him, pulling the knife from Cobblepots hand as you go.

"Were leaving," his gloved hand wraps around the top of your arm, pushing you out in front of him, "Kitty, we have talked about this!" He screams in your ear, snatching the knife from your hand, turning to sneer at you and bringing the knife to your chin when you reach the door. "Always go for the face,"

"Fuck you, Harley said hands where easier,"

"Again with fuckin Quinn,"

"Oh, fuck off. What is your problem with her anyway?"

“She turned you into this fuckin bitch," Roman says, his gloved hand harshly grip's your forearm, the leather burning as he twists his fingers around. His rings dig in while he leads you from the party, his feet kicking at your heels to get you to move faster. Anger seething from his pores, his eyes focusing on the door while he directs you to the parking lot of the old club.

"Oh fuck you. You asshole," you say, ripping your arm from his hand so fast his rings leave scorch marks in their wake.

"Get in the fucking car!"

"Where the fuck do you think I'm going?" You yell back, flinging the car door open, climbing into the front seat and slamming the door closed behind you.

Roman just stands there staring at you, you glare back. Smirking at him and tapping on your imaginary watch, "well- are we going or what?"

He strides around the car, silent and deadly. Not saying a word to you, he starts the car. His eyes focus on the road but you decide that well, this is just too much fun. So continue to antagonize your scary ass boyfriend all the way home in the car. You can tell by the way his veins start to pop on his forehead and the thin line of his lips that it's working exactly the way you want it to.

"You need to watch your mouth whore," he says, shoving you through the door to your apartment.

"Or what?" You spit back, “I'm not afraid of you,”

“You should be,”

“Oh get fucked,”

“You're about to. You insolent little bitch.”

“You think you can just boss everyone ‘round,” you shout, your arms failing by your sides, “I ain't one of your goons Roman.”

He was upon you before you even had a chance to flinch, taking your face in his hands, raising one eyebrow at you. His fingers grip tightly on your chin. His rings pressing patterns into your cheeks, “what happened to the sweet girl you used to be, Kitten?”

“I am what you made me,” you spit back, jerking your face to the side and pushing your hands against his hard chest. Roman leans down right next to your ear, his voice almost a whisper, “Run, before I do something I regret, Kitten,”

You didn't need more warning than that. Kicking your heels off, you take off as fast as your feet will carry you. You head towards the bathroom, not chancing a look behind you, knowing that he is totally following you.

Rounding the corner to the ensuite you hear the snap of his belt, a thud as his Chanel boots hit the wall. He was closer than you thought. You slide into the bathroom like it’s home base, slamming the door closed and flipping the lock shut.

Leaning back against the door you take a deep breath and try to steady your heart beat, but it's no use. You can feel it hammering like it's just joined a fucking marching band.

“Open the door Kitten,” Roman says, jingling the door handle. “open it now and I'll think about forgiving you for what happened at the party,”

“I don't want your forgiveness,” you shout standing up and moving back from the door. You knew what his next move world be, “Cobblepot fucking deserved it”

“Now Kitten, we've talked about this attitude of yours,” the door handle stopped moving. You watch the steel of Roman’s favourite knife slice through the gap in the door.

“I ain't got an attitude problem!” You stomp, keeping up the pretense, while you hastily start removing your clothes. "You're the one with the problem," It would only be a matter of seconds before he stormed through the door, sitting down on the counter now full nude you waited a millisecond.

“Kitten, you fucking brat I can’t” he cut off seeing you sit on the sink your legs spread apart your aching pussy on full display for him, the door in splinter’s behind him. Romans eyes dancing along every inch of your exposed skin.

“You were saying,” you tease running your hand up your thigh, your nails leaving red marks along your soft skin.

“Yes,” he blinks a few times, "I was saying,” He straightens himself up, stalking his way over to you, “you've been such a bad girl tonight,” his hand harshly grips your face, “don't think this display will ease your punishment Kitten,” he pulls you in for a harsh kiss that is all teeth and tongue. A warning of what's to come.

“Sounds like you're all talk to me,” you mumble into his mouth and when his eyes open into a glare, you wink at him.

“That so?” his hands dig into your thighs radpily throwing you over his shoulder and his hand slams on your ass, “I'm going to have to fuck this attuide right outa you,” he slaps you again.

You hold the moan in, not wanting to give him the satisfaction before your own hand hits him in the ass, a deep growl coming from his throat.

“You're asking for it,” he growls, throwing your body into the plush silk blankets. His hand wraps around your throat, the other working quickly to undo his pants.

“Get fucked,” you snip kicking him in the leg making his body fall atop yours, crushing you down even further. His grip tightens on your throat, his eyes menacing when he looks back at you.

“You're about to be,” he slams his cock into you from behind. Filling and stretching your tight pussy. “You still want to be a bitch?” he growls, thrusting deep within you and grinding his cock down.

You turn to spit in his face, his tongue immediately darting out to catch it. “Take that as a yes,” he pulls out, filling you until you feel like you might actually burst from pleasure. His hand slapping into your ass, the stinging sending a whole different type of bliss down your legs.

“I'm gunna fuck you like I own you,” he growls his teeth sinking into your neck, “Because I do. Don’t I Kitten?” he lathes at your neck, “Tell me I own you.”

You can't help the moan that escapes your lips, your urge to comply growing with every harsh thrust. His hand slaps onto your ass, “say it. Be a good girl and tell me I own you,”

“Yes, yes. You own me,” you pant as he pushes your face into the pillow,

“Tell me your my bitch,”

“Yes, fuck,” his hand slides between you rubbing at your clit,

“You going to be a good girl for me?” His hand slides up your neck pulling you back by the hair, your back is pressing into his hard chest.

“Whatever you want,” you moan feeling your climax approaching

“That's right,” he pounds deeper and harder, feeling your walls clenching around him, “such an obedient little whore with my cock deep in you.”

“Fu-” you cry. He flips you, dragging you underneath him without pulling you out.

“Kitten, wrap-” your legs locking tight behind his, pulling him back into your sopping pussy, “Just like that. Good girl,”

“You need it,” he thrusts, “crave it,” he leans down to kiss you, “it's all you think about,”

“Yes! Yes! Yeeess” you scream.

“Then cum on my cock, my perfect whore,” your whole body shakes like a jenga tower on the last block when your orgasm crashes into you. Romans gloves hold you tight so you don't slip away as he continues to fuck you senseless.

Chasing his own release with his head buried in your neck, “please Daddy,” your voice still breathless, “please fill me up,” your brain still goo as you try to coax his release from him, “I need it,”

“Fuck” he stutters his hips faltering as his hot cum floods you so full that it starts seeping down your leg.

Collapsing onto you, your fingers glide down his back as you both try to remember how to words. Sweat pool’s between you, both your legs sticky and covered in your release.

“Should I stab people more often?” You joke, smiling up at Roman when he leans back.

“If someone tries to touch you again. Yes, stab as many of them as you want, Kitten.”

#roman sionis x you #fem reader x roman sionis #reader x black mask #fem reader x black mask #black mask x you #black mask reader insert #black mask smut #black mask x reader #black mask #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis imagine

167 notes · View notes

moonlit-imagines · 4 months

Text

warnings: guns/violence

a/n:

requested by @jokekinsjoke505

The gunfire from outside the car was deafening. You really didn’t know what could have started it, but knowing your fathers it was probably deserved. You opened your car door and followed the sounds of bullets being fired before you stumbled upon two gangs and their leaders—Roman Sionis and the Joker. “Dad!” You shouted over the noise, which suddenly ceased. “You said five minutes! Why am I still waiting in the car.”

“Daddy’s almost finished with his meeting, love. Please just stay in the car.” Roman replied, nudging Victor to do the same.

“Yes, y/n, we’re sorry it’s taking so long.” Victor added. You looked over to the tattooed, green-haired Joker from the other end of the alley and glared.

“Oh, that one is trouble. You know, I could finish our little meeting a bit early with just one…shot.” Joker pointed his gold-plated gun towards you and you rolled your eyes, reaching for your own gun hidden under your shirt.

“So could I.” You pointed it back at him. “Maybe you guys could finish some other time.” You shot your gun off to the side of the Joker haphazardly, startling him and his backup. “Can we go now? We’re gonna be late!” Roman and Victor turned to each other, both slightly shocked and impressed, and decided to leave like you had ordered. The Joker stood idly by, equally stunned to see you calling the shots to the point where he didn’t dare get involved. You were right, this could be solved another time.

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @randomfandomimagine // @summersimmerus // @bad4amficideas // @xoxobabydolls // @evilcr0ne // @amirahiddleston // @sydknee624 // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 //

#roman sionis #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis x child!reader #victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz imagine #dc comics #dc comics x reader #victor zsasz x child reader #dc comics imagine

57 notes · View notes

bi-bard · 1 year

Text

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

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

Pairing: Roman Sionis X Reader

Based On: Karma

Word Count: 1,222 words

Warning(s): violence, mention of criminal activity

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

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

MIDNIGHTS - TAYLOR SWIFT WRITING CHALLENGE

------------------------

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

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

A delicate game.

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

I played the game well.

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

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

His second deal didn't do much better.

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

I went to see Roman in his club.

It was... an interesting place.

Not a place where I liked to spend my time.

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

"Roman," I grinned.

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

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

"Oh, you can discuss anything out here."

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

"Fine, fine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quite the accusation-"

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

He glared at me.

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

No response.

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

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

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

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

He glared at me.

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

"Get out of my club."

I smiled at him before turning around and heading out.

The next few weeks were quiet.

I was rebuilding.

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

It was very beneficial.

I made some amazing moves for myself and my group.

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

"(Y/n)!"

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

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

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

"Why should this concern me," I asked.

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

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

"We're partners. We work together."

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

"Oh, come on-"

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

He rolled his eyes.

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

"What?"

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

He didn't respond.

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

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

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

"You son of bitch-"

"Language, Romie!"

He paused.

"Search him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw clenched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stared at me silently.

"Your choice," I shrugged.

"(Y/n), wait-"

"Nighty-night, Romie."

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

And I smiled.

Never had there been a more satisfying sound.

------------------------

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

------------------------

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

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

93 notes · View notes

house-of-slayterr · 1 year

Note

have you ever been thinking of worst ships in Gotham? Canon and not canon. For me personally oswald x zsasz could never happend, love them too much (it's also an open challenge to change my mind hehe). Do you have yours? Who do you think Maggie could never, in a billion years, be together with?

AN: I know you only said Maggie, but I’m on a roll now 😈

Maggie:

Clearly the “friendship” has sailed in many many directions for this girl. But if we’re talking romantic/sexual relationship, there are a few people she wouldn’t work well with.

Got starters, Oswald. Not just for the fact that he’s gay, but I simply don’t think they could ever have anything healthy there. She tolerate Oswald’s Yandre tendencies as a friend, but I don’t think she could handle it if that energy was romantic, let alone sexual. It would get toxic pretty quick.

Edward. Why? Because of the Riddler. For the most part, Maggie has really only interacted with his Ed persona. She’s heard of the Riddler through the others, but they don’t interact much. I don’t think she enjoys that side of him, she thought Ed was perfect and adorable as his little scientist self. In a universe where he never becomes a villain, maybe it could work. But she wouldn’t be able to stomach Riddlers ego and brash comments.

Not the question, but I do think if Ivy and her were introduced in a better way, they could have been a fun couple. I mean they both adore their plants, Maggie is just not willing to sacrifice Gotham for them. (This is also if we just ignore the plot line where Ivy is the same age as Selena because Ew, I’m still mad they did that to us)

Basil, obviously. I mean now we see it has blossomed into a Big Sister, Wise Little Brother sort of thing. But Basil couldn’t give her what she wants, what she needs. At least not without sacrifice on his part and she would NEVER ask that of him. Basil thinks he’s “incapable of love” but he’s just incapable of romantic or sexual love, clearly he has a familial and platonic love style. She’s not opposed to people younger than her, as long as their legal obviously. (For instance since she met Bruce and Selena when they were teens she would never in a million years try to justify anything after they turned 18. That’s just gross, and she was groomed as a kid so she would rather die) Maggie loves too passionately and fiercely while Basil is guarded and distant. It just wouldn’t work for either of them.

Theo Galavan. Oh boy, does she fucking hate him at the very least for how he treated Tabitha. Even if she never had relations with the girl, she still would hate how he treats women. Again, he’s Ego is too big for her to handle. I feel like this would be her snapping point in an alternative time line. She would 100% end up killing him and feeling nothing for it. That’s how insane he would make her with his “women belong in the kitchen attitude.” I’ll also tag on Hugo for the same reasons.

Victor Freeze, he’s devoted to his dead wife and she wouldn’t want to feel like second place in someone’s heart. She deserves more than that.

Two more henouable mentions for things that could have been fun. Fish or Carmine. We all know Maggie has daddy issues. She’s thrown herself at Roman Sionis just to help her friends, she would have pulled a Lisa and shared affections for Carmine. Sure it would start out as a “business” thing, but I feel like she’d enjoy his attention. It would be more on the romantic side of things. But with Fish, yeah, no self control. Maggie would think she’s hot as fuck. And she would have slept with her.

Victor:

As far as Victor and Oswald, I’m afraid you’re right. At least romantically they are not compatible. Don’t get me wrong, Victor CAN be romantic, but not in a way that Oswald deserves. Oswald wouldn’t settle for him. Also it would be inappropriate power dynamic, Oswald is his boss. If there were anything there, it would legit at best be a friends with benefits. Victor would see it as a way to blow off steam and “help” his boss out a little.

I shouldn’t have to say it, but all the adult characters are off limits.

I think Martin is a tad younger than the others, so she wouldn’t do anything there either.

So that really only leaves Bruce. And while they make good friends, I don’t even think Bruce would consider her in that way, like he did Selena. I mean Selena is just a trouble street kid, V is a Zsasz. Alfred is tolerating barley of the friendship, that poor man would have a heart attack if Bruce and V started seeing each other. But also, V isn’t interested in boys. So her and Selena are destined to be together 😂, it’s all she’s got.

But, I also don’t think she would work well with Silver St. Cloud. She’s a rich girl, and Theo’s blood. V would resent her so much.

Basil:

Literally anyone. Oh dear god, don’t let this man date you.

Y/N:

Y/N barely works romantically with her husband 😂

But I guess Harvey. She sees him as like and uncle/father figure. Y/N is a weirdo with questionable morals, but family is important to her. She wouldn’t fuck up the good thing they have.

Again, Theo, she would kill him like first day.

I don’t really think Butch or her could ever be in a healthy relationship of any court. She looks down on him. He wouldn’t trust her, it just wouldn’t work out.

But on the flip side, relationships that could be fun are Alfred or Oswald. I know earlier I said the boss employee things is bad, but Y/N likes bad. She clearly cares deeply for the man, as he, her. If Oswald wasn’t gay, I could see them having something there. While inappropriate it would be fun. But with Alfred, she would be treated like a queen. Man’s love language is acts of service and he’s good at some many things. If she wasn’t a villain, I think Alfred could have fallen head over heels for the woman. She’s strong, confident and beautiful and that’s exactly his type.

Tag: @flaysthings @howl-fantasies

#magnolia blossom #Maggie #basil zor el #v Zsasz #y/n zsasz #victor zsasz #Bruce Wayne #Gotham #gotham imagine #Gotham ocs #theo galavan #oswald cobblepot #Ed Nygma #roman sionis #Ivy pepper #fish Mooney #carmine falcone #victor freeze #silver st cloud

26 notes · View notes

gilverrwrites · 8 days

Note

Hi! Here I am with a Black Mask request 🖤. Could you write something where someone is threatening towards the reader and Roman gets protective about it?

Possessive Roman is great too but I wanna see this man go full protective mode!

You don't have to be sorry, Sweetheart.

Black Mask/Reader, 1.8K words

Request Info || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

Rubbing my hands together like a hungry little racoon being fed. I forgot how feral this man makes me. I took me a while to find my Black Mask head space again, but my Roman is almost always based on an amalgamation of his 60-2000s-ish comic appearances, for reference. Oh and the mask, that does NOT come off. 🖤

Roman doesn't take kindly to an ex employee affronting you, after leaving you alone in a bar. Rated: 18+

CWs: Swearing, blood, spit, threats of violence, actual violence, and some more violence, switchblade, derogatory names: bitch, petnames: sweetheart, failure to wear seatbelts (- please don’t do that irl), protective Roman, somewhat possessive Roman, unhealthy relationship/toxic dynamics.

Please remember: You are stronger than your fears and doubts

Roman Sionis is no stranger to getting his hands dirty. In fact, anyone who’d worked close enough with him, himself included could tell you that Roman thrills in dirty work. However, there are some essential jobs that even Roman won’t touch. When these errands come up, there’s only one place to go to find a runt with morals low enough to get it done.

Noonan’s is the worst bar in Gotham, at least in your opinion. Roman didn’t seem to care much for it either. In fact, the first time you’d accompanied him on a business meeting there he’s told you; “This place is dicey at the best of times. Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as fuckin’ looks at you the wrong way, you come get me, alright, Sweetheart? I’ll set 'em straight.” And hadn’t let you leave his side until you’d sworn to come find him at the first sign of trouble.

Usually, you didn’t run into any real problems during the scarce amount of times you’d been there. Roman would conduct his dealings in a function room out back while you tried to keep to yourself. Most people knew who you were, who you were with, and were smart enough to keep to themselves. Nursing a drink in a dark corner typically didn’t draw any more issues than a few side-ways looks. Looks that didn’t seem worth mentioning to Roman. You love him, but he knows how to make a scene, and a scary one at that. It isn’t always worth the fuss. Usually.

It seems somebody was feeling unusually gutsy today. From the moment you’d entered, a familiar face had been watching you. You didn’t know their name, honestly, you likely couldn’t name a single person in this place. But you knew a lot of their faces, Noonan’s always seemed to draw the same crowd of washed-up and bitter ex-goons. Moments after Roman had taken his leave, your watcher approached, tripping over drunken feet until he was close enough to slam his drink onto your table, splashing you with beer in the process.

“Hey, you.” He leans over, pointing a finger in your face, far too close for comfort.

Careful to avoid elevating the situation you remain as still as possible, only moving your eyes in order to get a better look at him. Up close you can see smatterings of scars, and tattoos. He’s clearly tried to pay his dues with a lot of Gotham’s crime bosses and villains. A question mark, a penguin, a black skull.

“Yes, may I help?” You ask cordially, offering a smile.

“You’re Sionis’ bitch ain’t ya?” He slurs as he speaks, spit dripping onto his chin, and ricocheting towards you. “I got a bone to pick with that asshole.”

“Well, I’m afraid he’s busy.” You’d tried to be amicable but now your hospitable tone is gone, replaced with as much nonchalant venom as you can muster. “And his ‘bitch’ doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you want.” He bangs a fist against the table. Luckily, you’d seen it coming and had had the foresight to grab your drink. But whoever this fucker was, had not. More of the amber liquid spills out onto the table. “That bastard fucked with the wrong guy when he laid me off. Do you know who I am?”

Do you know who he is? No, and you relay that information by staring at him with a pointedly blank glare.

“I said, do you know who I FUCKING AM?” Spit fires from his lips, hitting your face, you feel your already simmering blood begin to boil with each drop. “I’m. Henry. FUCKING Byrne.”

“Good for you, ‘Henry fucking Byrne’ but…” You shouldn’t say it, you know you’ll only provoke him, but he’s on your last nerve. “I. don’t. FUCKING. care.”

“You don’t care, I don’t bleeding care, I don’t care who cares! But he’s gonna care…” Your comment has set him into a long, drunken, incomprehensible ramble, you presume the ‘he’ in reference is Roman, but all other thoughts are cancelled out by the sight of Henry removing a switchblade from his back pocket. As he leans in closer, pointing the blade in your direction, the gravity of the situation sets in. If you don’t act soon, you might just meet your maker in fucking Noonan’s. Tragic. “He’s gonna fucking care when I wreck his bitch.”

Searching for a defence, an exit route, anything, your eyes dart around the bar, quickly locating your salvation.

His pristinely tailored suit highlights him amongst the crowd, the waxy polish of his mask glowing under the dingy low-handling lights. He advances with confident, assertive strides. Instant relief floods through you, followed by a completely different brand of panic.

Relieved to know that you’re almost certainly safe, panicked by the thought of whatever mess he’s about to make.

Despite the tap of Roman’s shoes and your obvious stare, Henry is too wrapped up in his own anger and babblings to notice the impending danger. Like a frantic school of fish being advanced upon by a shark.

He doesn’t deserve your kindness, but you offer it anyway, sliding your chair back, out of his reach as you shout; “Roman, don’t.”

“I just wanna talk.” He spits, holding both hands up, feigning innocence, showing that he’s unarmed. As if he needed a weapon to be dangerous. It’s a lie, you both know it.

Alerted to Roman's presence, Henry begins to turn but is stopped by a leather-clad hand fixing to the soft spot on the back of his head. With rapid force, he’s pushed face-first against the table. Once, twice, three times. Blood is pouring from his nose, mixing with the already murky puddles of spilt beer. Stray chunks of what you can only assume are broken teeth jump with every collision.

Henry’s knife clatters against the floor, narrowly missing your foot. You grab it, holding tight.

“Roman stop.” You say, certain you’re no longer at risk. “He’s had enough!”

Roman's brown eyes bore into you as he slows, gripping tight to your almost attacker's neck, guiding him back into a standing position.

“Do you think you’ve had enough?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes sir. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Henry’s already slurred speech is muffled even more by his own fluids.

“Oh, you’re sorry.” Roman mocks, his neck is red with rage, his mask creaks as he juts his jaw back and forth, a habit you’ve learned is a calming mechanism, something he’d picked up since getting his pacemaker fitted. It isn’t working. “See ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it, you need to be taught a lesson.”

Using his free hand, Roman reached over to you, pulling the switchblade from your clutching fingers.

“Cause you see, when you mess with what’s mine, you mess with me.” Tension hangs thick in the air, every patron is watching, waiting to see how this unfolds, what the infamous Black Mask will do next. “And nobody messes with me.”

“Roman.” You warn, standing and placing your hand on Roman's shoulder, gently tugging at him, urging him to cool off.

“Fine, I’m gonna let you go.” Henry’s face hits the table one last time with a hard smack, followed by the sickening crunch of his own blade being stabbed through his hand, pinning him to the table. “But be grateful, and know that if I see your face anywhere near us again, I won’t be so gentle.”

All eyes remain on you both as you turn to leave. Roman doesn’t care. He firmly wraps a hand around your upper arm, leading you between tables, past the bar, and toward the door.

“Let that be a lesson to all of you.” He chides the onlookers in one last display of warning, before making his exit.

The time passes in a blur as Roman guides you outside, summons the car, herds you inside, and informs the driver to take you home, all the while his hands never leave your form, but once the car starts running time rapidly slows.

You sit together on the back seat, in silence. Roman is not traditionally expressive, for obvious reasons, but you’ve been together long enough to pick up on his emotional tells. He’s rolling his jaw again, and flexing his hand in and out of a fist shape, trying to cool off, trying to prevent himself from snapping at you.

In an effort to help soothe his anger you manoeuvre closer, until your sides brush together. You move to place your hand on his chest, but he grips your wrist, denying you.

“What did I say?” He isn’t yelling, but there’s still an anger to his tone, and a hardness in his eyes that you’re not accustomed to being on the receiving end of. Before you can respond he continues; “I told you, if anything happens, you come get me. What was that?”

“I know, I know, but I’m fine.” You reassure, nudging your arm until he releases you. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle him, but it just escalated so quickly.”

His look softens, never able to stay mad at you for long. He lets your hand fall against the soft fabric of his blazer. In a quick, practiced motion he lifts your legs up and over his own, positioning you into a cradled position. Removing his gloves before resting one hand on your lower back, and the other on your thigh where he strokes his hand in slow circles.

“You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart, just promise me, next time you sense trouble, you come to me.”

It would be easy to lie to him, to make an impossible promise, he tells white lies all the time. But you know he values your honesty, he has expectations for you that he does not hold himself to, you’re the light to his darkness. “If I can, I will, I promise, but it’s not always that simple Roman. I’ve got to defend myself sometimes.”

He lets you talk, but he’s shaking his head, disagreeing before you can finish.

“This isn’t up for discussion.” He speaks in the gentlest tone, a voice that is reserved for your ears only. “I know you’ve had to look out for yourself in the past, but you’re mine now, and always. You don’t have to do that anymore.”

Your back hits the plush upholstery of the car seat, contrasting with the hard wood of Roman’s mask pushing against your lips. You welcome the familiar mahogany smell, the taste of spice that invades your senses. Kisses from Roman are never gentle, they’re harsh and cold against your skin, no matter how gently he runs his hands along your body.

When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, just enough to get a good view of your face, to look into your eyes. The coolness of his forehead presses to yours.

“Nobody is more important to me than you.” His voice is sharp and gritty. He holds you just a little bit tighter. “I’d burn this city to the ground before I let anything happen to you.”

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

11 notes · View notes

justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years

Text

Love Potion - Roman Sionis X GN Reader

Title: Love Potion

Roman Sionis X GN Reader

Part 1 (Could be read alone)

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

WC: 2,380

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You came back..."

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

"I did." You spoke softly.

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

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

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

You nodded, "Yeah, they are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm glad." He spoke softly.

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

"I am." He confirmed.

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

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

You blushed, "Thank you."

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

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

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

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

"Where are we going?" You asked curiously.

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

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

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

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

You just loved his personality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yours?" You asked, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

You bit your lip, "Okay."

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

You nodded, "I'd like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You forgot about them.

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

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

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

"I'm sorry," He spoke softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe," You answered softly.

He smirked, "Good."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled at him, "I hope so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed, "What look?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

58 notes · View notes