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nastyaromatherapy · 6 months

Note

can we get dark ethan where he takes reader’s virginity through non con? sorry if this request is too dark only if you’re comfortable with it 💜

Unwanted encounter (18+)

Ethan your econ partner, loves the idea of taking your virginity.

pairing - ghostface!ethan landry x cheerleader!fem!reader

one shot length, 2.2k+ word fic

warnings: non con, first time, minimal knife play, hair pulling, creampie, reader is smart w an airhead personality, pervy ethan

read more cut isn't working so sorry for that 🌚

Your professor partnered up you and Ethan for an Econ project. Ethan at first, was not at all thrilled. You were popular, didn't care much about grades, and had the douchiest boyfriend.

He on the other hand, actually wanted that A, and didn't have many friends outside of the core four. He wasn't that close with them either. You wanted that A too, he just wasn't aware of that. He already created a version of you that was untrue in his mind.

But when the day finally came, and he was over at your house, he realized how wrong he was about you. He realized that you were actually really smart, nice, and funny. You actually had a personality.

He asked to see all of the research you've conducted, and you showed him pages of notes. "You're smarter than you look y/n," he teased. You rolled your eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" You asked, taking offense. "I mean you look like the average cheerleader that's fucked more then half of the football team."

You gawk at him and his incel driven ignorance. "I haven't even fucked my boyfriend on that team," you corrected, annoyed. "I'm a fucking virgin- you know nothing about me." He went silent not knowing what to say, but the thought of you never being taken like that before made him throb in his jeans.

"Fuck I'm sorry, it was just a joke." He apologized, voice getting quieter the more he spoke. "Joke," you repeated, clicking your tongue. "Just get the fuck out of my house, my boyfriend 'll be back soon. He's not going to be too happy with you here. He doesn't like dogs on the bed," you snark, pointing to the door.

He looks at the ground and apologizes under his breath again before leaving the room.

Your boyfriend didn't come home. He texted you, "Gonna be out a little later than usual, emergency with the guys." You believed him, Ethan knew he was out fucking some girl. Guys like him can't live with abstinence.

Ethan sat at home, jerking off to videos of you on the sidelines in football highlights. He groaned whenever your skirt lifted up when you jumped, exposing some of your dark navy panties.

He had to know how it felt to be inside you. How tight you would be, never been stretched before. He imagined your moans, begging to be slow your first time, loving the way he impaled your cunt.

He pumped himself faster, getting closer to the edge, imagining his hands were your soft, delicate ones. Then his mind wandered to other places, how would your lips feel, wrapped around his tip? He came just at the thought, shooting ropes onto his grey sweats.

He just had to feel you, he had too. So, he put on his black robe and mask, the one he planned to use to execute Sam, Tara, and the rest of their friend group with. But today, he had other plans.

He creeped to your rich boyfriend's house, seeing you in bed reading a book in the window. You were listening to god knows what with your airpods, bopping your head to the music while highlighting pages of the book. He gave your phone a ring, and he watched you doubled tap the earbud to answer. "Hello?" You asked with that sweet voice of yours he relished in. "Hello y/n," he asked using the voice changer. "Hi!" You respond bubbly and obliviously.

"Watcha listening to?" He asked huskily. "Ariana Grande," you giggled out. "Who's this?" You ask the mystery caller. "Oh only your biggest fan," he replied, voice smooth. "I look forward to seeing you every game, you're my favorite." You blush at his creepy compliment, continuing to annotate the quotes in the book. "Thank you, I work hard. But seriously.. who are you?" You repeat.

He chuckles to himself, "What? You want to see me? Want me to show myself?" You shake your head giggling, unaware of the danger coming your way. "No, I just need your name." You said.

"Need," he repeated. "Y'know what I need at a time like this? A warm cunt I can stretch out," he groaned. Bewildered, you check your phone to see who called, no caller ID. "Uh, what?" You awkwardly chuckled, growing uncomfortable.

"You're a virgin, right y/n?" He asked. You nodded, unaware you were being watched, but you did it subconsciously anyways. "You ever thought about it? Getting fucked by a cock?" He asked through the phone. "Of course I have. But it's never been the right time, y'know? I want my first time to be special."

As you spoke Ethan snuck his way into the house, making his way towards the room where you basked. "Trust me," he spoke, breath heavy. "It will be," he finished, stepping his way into your doorframe.

You screamed out, scared, shaking uncontrollably. "Oh my god! Get the fuck out I swear to god, my boyfriend will be back soon, and he will not be happy with you." He tilted his head, knife in hand. "And you think he's happy with you?" He asked, plunging onto the bed, mounting the top of you, struggling to hold you down. He started to graze the blade of the knife against your jaw. "Every weekend," he drags out, still using a voice changer through the mask. "He goes missing. He goes to the sorority house and knocks up a couple of sisters."

You tear at the news, not wanting to believe it. "You're lying!" You spit, trying to escape his grasp to no use. "No, doll. I am telling nothing but the truth." You reach up to try to pull the mask off to no use, he pinned your arms down onto the bed. He sighs and gets up off of you, pointing the knife at you so you stay put.

He places a camera on the dresser, facing the bed. "What'd you say we get back at him, hm? We make him a little movie, and he see's how good I fuck you?" He said, climbing back onto the bed. You cry, "Please no." You shake your head with tears streaming down your red cheeks. "Please fucking yes," he mocks, reaching up your nightie.

You gasp when his gloved hands grasp your body, making their way up to your breasts making you whimper. "Your boyfriend ever touch you like this?" He asks. You shake your head a no in response, sniffling a little.

His hands moved down to your delicate lacy panties, slipping them off swiftly. You gasp as the cold hair hits your pussy. He takes the gloves off of his hands and tossed them onto the floor before toying with your folds. You weren't soaking but you were getting there, wetness dripping out of your pussy.

He attempted to slip a finger inside but you were so goddamn tight. You whined having nothing ever been in there before, not even a tampon. He finally got one in and you moaned out, kicking your foot a little. "Easy," he whispered, trying to make room for another finger. You were much wetter on the inside then out. "Please, if you want to live just s-stop. My boyfriend will actually kill y-" You were cut off by your own moan when he slips in his second finger.

You moaned at his big fingers, extremely sensitive. "No, stop- Ethan," you moaned out. His face shot up when you said his name. You noticed his reaction. "You don't even have to hide it," you said breathily, chest heaving. "I've never told anyone I'm a virgin." With that he slips the mask off, revealing his cute but devilish face and sweaty curls. He bit his lip and curled his fingers deeper inside you making you screech.

You shook your head a no as you felt yourself grow close, but your body was going against your protests, molding itself against his touch. "Ethan please s-stop," you pleaded as your thighs started to clench. Your hips completely contradicted your words, bucking into his fingers before letting out a final scream and secreting fluids onto his fingers and your sheets. He inhales before leaning down and sucking your clit, extending your high.

You huff and puff, chest rising and falling. Ethan pops off of your clit and goes for your lips, kissing you. You don't kiss back, trying to retract your lips as much as possible. You couldn't deny he was a good kisser, but he broke into your house and fingered you against your will, and made you orgasm.

"Come on, baby," he grunts into the kiss. "You can't deny I'm the best you've ever had." You shake your head when he finally pulls away. "You're the only I've ever had! Please Ethan, I love my boyfriend, I don't want this." You cry, but he keeps groping you through your dress anyways, making you throb again. "Well maybe I don't care what you want. I care what your cunt does." He says, kissing at your neck as he continues to toy with your heavy, cloth covered tits.

Your nipples grew perky and you moaned as he sucked on that sweet spot on your neck. He left a mark on your neck and pulled away, then he started to pull down his pants. After that he took off the whole costume, leaving him naked on your bed. "You look so sexy in that dress, but you're going to have to take it off." You shook your head a no. "No?" He mocks. He picked up his knife from the side. "Guess I'll have to cut it off." Your eyes grow wide, not wanting to ruin the expensive gift from your boyfriend. "No!" You yell, stopping his actions. "I'll take it off," you say weakly, pulling it over your head.

"Good girl," he cooed. "God you're beautiful." He groans, pumping himself in his hand, eyeing your pretty, dainty tits. "Come on, try it," he urged, guiding your hand to his length. You wrapped around him perfectly, hand more gentle than his own. He groaned as you jerked him, feeling disgusted with yourself. On your boyfriends bed, giving your econ partner a handjob.

He groaned and grew more desperate, needing to be inside of you more than anything. He removed your hand from him. "Turn around," he spoke, motioning you to face the headboard. You choked on tears, complying worriedly. He pushes your face into your pillow and guides your ass up. He grabs the knife and grazes it along your back, making your spine shiver.

"Ethan please, we can forget about this, I swear." You beg, but it doesn't stop him. Ethan teases your opening with his tip making your mouth agape. You involuntarily start to push back against him, scooting your ass back to meet his cock. "Slut," he remarks, slapping your ass cheek leaving it a bright red.

He grips your ass with his hands, making you suck in air a little, before he pushes in a little more than the tip. You groan at the stretch, face contorting uncomfortably. He let you adjust a little, only using the tip for a solid minute. "Ethan please stop, it hurts s'much," you whined. "Hurts? I'm not even halfway," he chuckled out, continuing to fuck you with his thick, pink tip. You cried, stomach bubbling up from the stimulation.

Your wetness seeped onto his cock, making it easier for him to ease his way all the way in, slamming his hips against your ass making you bite your pillow, screaming into it. "That's it," he whispered, slowly thrusting in and out of you. You moaned into the pillow, arching your back.

He grunted and started to get rougher, slamming his hips against yours, every thrust making the bed frame hit the wall. He gripped your hair and pulled your head out of the pillow, your face covered with tears. You moaned, gripping the sheets behind you while taking him from the back. You felt yourself getting close again, stomach tightening as you felt the sensation of having to piss. He felt you clench around his length and whispered in your ear, "Cum on my fucking cock, slut."

In response to his words you screamed out as you came around his cock, leaving a creamy ring around his base. He let go of your hair, letting you collapse back onto the bed. He continued to hold your ass up, continuing to hit it roughly, groaning at every one of your throbs. You started to salivate a little against the pillow due to your excessive whines.

He wiped the sweat off of his forehead while panting, getting close. His thrusts through sloppy and less uniformed. "Gonna breed this pussy, and you're gonna wish I was in you every second of every fucking day," he spat out, huffing and not being able to hold back any longer. With a final thrust, he came deep in your cunt, shooting spurt after spurt inside you. After he pulled out, his cum dripped out of you followed by the sound of flatulence.

You laid there and didn't even realize how much time has passed. Ethan disappeared through your window that was now open with his camera with everything documented. Through the window, you saw lights of a car, and soon your boyfriend stumbled in, eyeing your cum dripping cunt.

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littyhoney · 11 months

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Right Person,Wrong Time (part 1)

(Part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

BIG SPOILER WARNING TO ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE!!

Earth 42 Miles Morales x Reader

Chapter summary: you have always been there for Miles,will your long time crush ever pay attention to you…or not?

Warning: Spoilers for the movie Across the Spider-verse, slight angst

Guys this is my first time writing this be gentle with me <3 enjoy!

“Alright so lets do this one more time, Hey! Im (Y/N) (L/N) and Im one of the well-known spiderman/spiderwoman of Brooklyn,New York.” you swing through the city using your web as some of the civilians took out their phone to take picture or video of you. You land on top of a rooftop before speaking into an invincible camera “But im not the only one,im with my close friend Miles Morales who is also a spiderman of Brooklyn,weird huh?”

comes another person swing by you as he parkour through the rooftop in his black and red spider suit “keep up (n/n)!” Miles laugh as he jumps and swings away. You let out a chuckle as you follow him “Yo Miles wait up!”.

For the last few months after the collider incident with Kingpin,you and miles get closer since both of you share the same responsibility to keep the city safe and life is not easy even after you wear the spider mask. Balancing your life as a student and as a hero is not..easy,at all. At one time you could be in class try to catch up to your academic and the next thing you make up an excuse to go to the rest room to go out and fight crimes, comes back with few bruises and scrathes. But both of you manage to pull through the day,together.

It is Sunday as you and Miles are hanging out in his room listening to music, you are sitting on his bed bopping your head to the song as you scroll through your phone while Miles is sitting at his desk with his sketchbook,drawing. Suddenly the silent breaks as Miles stop his drawing and ask “Hey..(n/n)” he turn his chair towards you.

“Hm? What is it coco head? Something on your mind?” you turn your attention to Miles,notice his sad demenor. You stand up from the bed and walk towards him put your hand on his shoulder.

“Do you..miss the other spiders? Like Peter..Peni and..Gwen” Miles speak,his voice is low as he look up at you. You sigh and nod your head “Yeah I do Miles, but they are in another dimension” you tilt your head slightly “They are out there living their lives,I wonder if Peter B ever have a child ya know” you chuckle,trying to lighten up his mood

Miles chuckle before he look down at his hands on his lap “I just…miss Gwen a lot actually” he sigh as he wipe his face with his palms slightly frustrated “Ya know it is hard I miss her and she is not even from here man”

you lean on the table beside him,hunch down slightly to look him in the eyes,with sympathy “Miles,you know the rules right,they cant be here nor we can be there, we can dissapear and so are they”

“I know that (y/n)…I know,if only I could just met Gwen one time” Miles lean back on his chair looking at the ceiling,in his head he is hopping maybe a portal would just pop out so he could go to Gwens dimension..

You look at your friend sadnes fill your heart to see your best friend seem so down,you know Miles have been missing the spiders ever since the first week they went back to their dimension and for the past time you have try your best to be there for Miles and keep him company listening to whatever problem he is facing. For the years you been friend with Miles you slowly start to develop feelings for the ball of sunshine. His creativity in his talent,he is smart in academics,his warm honey brown eyes that seem to always take your breath away and such a sweet smile..it would be a fool of you to not fall for the boy.

You lick your lips slightly before you stand up and face to the desk,trying to change the subject “what cha drawing Miles?” you pick up his black sketchbook and go through the pages. “Oh just some uh,sketches of..” Miles voice trail off not wanting to finish the sentence.

“Of..?” I trail my question as I keep flicking the pages before stopping on the page he was currently drawing on and look at the figure he drew with such great details, my breath hitch slightly before finish my own sentence “Gwen..” I look at the drawing..a pang of jealousy fill my heart before I shake my head slightly and close the book turn to look at Miles with a small smile “It looks awesome Miles,you really get her smile and suit on point”

Thanks man” Miles smile at you before you could say anything Rio voice muffle through the close door of Miles bedroom “Miles! Dinner is ready! Tell (y/n) she can join for dinner!” Miles turn towards the doors slightly “Okay mom! Be there in a sec!” Miles turn back to you before nudge his head slightly towards the door “You joinning (n/n)?” You shake your head slightly before move to get your jacket and phone “I have to go home Miles,il see you later okay?” Miles stand up from his chair making his way to you before giving you a hug “Thank you for being with me (n/n)”

You smile sadly knowing that Miles need your support more in this tough times of his.. you pat his back before making your way out of his room saying goodbye to mama Rio and walk out the street with both of your hands in your pocket…you cant help but though of how many times Miles have mention Gwen whenever you two are together…how many times he have drawn her in almost all the pages in his sketchbook, heck he didn’t even draw you even though you have been friends for so long..maybe you could try to be better…maybe be like Gwen..?

To be continued...

(AAAA IM SO NERVOUS LEMME KNOW IF YALL STILL WANT CHAPTER 2)

Tags:

@kissmxcheek @otaku-degenarate @matthiashelvarsgf @usernamepasswordsstuff @s41ntf4m3 @bath1lda @jared-oranges @papilioism @pinkprettyroses @marumareloer

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #prowler miles #across the spider verse spoilers

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hezekiahwakely · 9 days

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After spending literally multiple days and nights listening to hours of new music, here are my thoughts on what the Protocol playlists might tell us about the characters. I'm gonna break it down by large themes and I'm putting it under a read more bc I don't know how to not ramble about this. its SO MUCH

Gwendolyn Bouchard 👁️

Hers is the most self-explanatory. Girlboss is girlbossing and paying for it. But I did pick up several nuances.

Gwen is: Cold, power-hungry, and ambitious (you should see me in a crown, Are You Satisfied?, Severance theme). Suffering from her own hubris (Oh No!, Gasoline). Resentful and envious, especially about family, wealth, and power (Family Jewels, 24 hours, Warriors). Touching the dark and being supernaturally influenced (Mr. Bonzo theme, Evil Eye, We Don't Talk About Bruno, Making Love to the Dead).

Special mention to the 'daddy's money' reference in 24 hours.

Samama Khalid 😶‍🌫️

Sam makes ridiculously long playlists, like me, so this entry is gonna be long, but the emotional vibes were pretty easy to pick out once I got through it.

Sam is: Straight chillin' to some lo-fi beats, desi hip hop, and melodic bops (literally too many to list but, Remind Me, Forgive the Mess, 93 'Til Infinity, Magpie, Fire Sale, Iniesta Flow, I Guess, Prarthana, Hai Hai, etc., etc.). Rebellious (The Adults Are Talking, Reptilia). Bonded with someone (Halo Flip, soulboy). Yearning, romantic, and playful (Girl Like You, Mr. Sandman, New House, Meteor, You Only Live Once, Be Your Girl, Dear Jean, Say The Word, My Girl/Hey Girl, Smiley, The Real Sugar). Reminiscing about a break-up (Oui, Afterparty Lover, Last Nite, Stick Season, Turn off the Lights, Jessie (i miss you), WONDERING, Afterthought, I Love You, I'm Trying). Full of regrets, pain, and melancholy bitterness (Seasons, Can't Call It, Let It Go, nightmares, Pretty Insane, different tomorrow..., Cigarette Daydreams, CABIN FEVER, Self destruct, Go Back, Stuck Here With Me, Bliss City). Alienated, yet wanting to be alone (uh-oh) (Creep, Alone, Stone cold., Paint it, Black).

Special shout-out to all the implications about the old Sam/Alice relationship. And I'm especially worried by the potential meanings of Downside Up, Let It Go, Go Back, and Stuck Here With Me.

Also, interesting that there's a lyric-free track just called 'drained' at the end of his playlist. I'm sure that's fine.

Alice Dyer 🌀

Oh my girl. What is going on with you. She has impeccable and predictable taste, at least. But... then there's the Ominous Implications again...

Alice is: Rebellious, anarchic, and irreverent (Underclass Hero, Toxicity, Tribute, Buddy Holly, Dragostea din tei, Feel Good Inc., Piss Off, Rebel Rebel, Ghost Town, Brimful of Asha, Surrender, Uncle Walter, United States of Whatever). Blasting high-confidence power anthems (Material Girl, Therefore I Am, Jump, Bad Reputation, The Middle). Depressed behind a mask of high energy and false cheeriness (SugarCrash!, Mad World, Bathroom Floor). Yearning after someone's love (A.M. 180, Zombie Love Song, Nearer Than Heaven, Save Tonight, Ms. California, Because I Love You, Fell In Love With A Girl, Take Me Out). Reminiscing about a break-up (Ciao!, Built This Way, Kidz 'N' Stuff, FRIENDS, Free Fallin', Not In Love, Who Knew, Song for the Dumped, When It All Falls Apart, Laid, Complicated). Feeling crazy and overwhelmed (uh-oh) (Basket Case, In Too Deep, Bonkers, I'm A Robot, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, 19-2000, Wonderland, High, Undone, Cosmic Castaway). Creeped out and brushing up against the supernatural (Walking On Air, The Blue Wrath, Pet Sematary).

Oooh. Oh, the implications. The Sam/Alice break-up. The potential for feelings that remain. I HAVE to know what happened between them.

Also, here are some select lines from five Alice songs presented without comment: "Yeah, I'm a zombie, baby," "I'm a robot, I'm a robot/I don't have any feeling in my heart," "I don't wanna be buried in a Pet Sematary/I don't want to live my life again," "Take me down, six underground/The ground beneath your feet," "Walking like a zombie, like a zombie."

I'm sure that's all fine.

Celia Ripley 🕸️

The most mysterious new member of the OIAR, her music choices are appropriately enigmatic. The Vibes make me excited to see what she's hiding under the surface.

Celia is: Raring for a fight (Seven Nation Army, Rumble, know your place, Run from Me). Fed up with the system (Blood//Water, Run You). Bold, sexy, headstrong, and self-confident (Creature, Took A Trip, River, Do It For Me, Aerials, Uber). Struggling against supernatural influence, feeling trapped and helpless (Mama! There's a Spider in My Room, Where Is My Mind?, I Feel Like I'm Drowning, Closer, Space Dementia, Rain)

So we've all but confirmed the theory that she's from the OG Archives timeline and that she has continuing ties to the Web from passing through Hill Top Road. I think we have hints here that she's manipulating the others, but I also think there are signs that she's fighting her own battle against an evil trying to take her. There also seems to be an overarching theme of water in many of her songs for some reason 🤔

I can't wait to get more of Celia. Even if she is lying, I'm rooting for her (<hoping this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass)

In conclusion, I love them all already your honor, and I want to thank the cast for putting such loving care into crafting these for us. Thank you for such great food to feed our wild theorizing.

#i think i had the most fun listening to hindi rap for the first time #theres just something about following the flow and beat when you cant understand the language. its really fun #sort sort i love to arbitrarily sort #also i assumed these were songs /about/ the characters and not under the conceit that these are songs the characters are listening to #just play in this space with me #tmagp #the magnus protocol #gwendolyn bouchard #gwen bouchard #alice dyer #samama khalid #sam khalid #celia ripley #tmagp theory #also i started writing this a few weeks ago and since then ive been listening to KR$NA obsessively lol. thank you Shahan

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neonovember · 1 year

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Bourbon Decision’s

Steve Rogers mafia!au

summary: In light of your reappearance in New York, Steve makes a decision that begins the road to the relationship between you both. And you, begin to remember some familiar faces.

warnings; mentions of death, murder, angst and violence

a/n: so, this chapter gave us a little bit of a back story on how the reader ends ups in Brooklyn, and who her husband truly is. Your girl is a fighter! More parts coming soon…

The cursive lettering burns a hole through your chest, the edges cracked and plastered as you shove accusation down into your pocket. It almost feels poisonous, like simply touching it will make him come around the corner, reminding you that you would never be alone, that you were never going to escape him.

You’re able to hide your shaking hands from Caroline, who takes your silence as simple exhaustion, you fill ill, the bile rises from your throat and you pinch your arm to stop yourself from gagging.

You’re able to conceal your emotions well, your entire life and marriage has been holding up a mask, it was a dance that was all you knew, and all you would ever thank him for.

“You alright there sugar” Caroline looks towards you, eyes filled with concern and she takes notice of your wobbly legs. She reaches with a hand to steady you, but you ignore it, holding onto the granite counter, forcing your downturn eyes to look up at Caroline, you straighten your back.

“Yep, fine, I just need to use the restroom” You reply catatonically, a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes has Caroline looking at you even more strangely.

You turn down the hall, passing David, his auburn black bun bopping to the tunes chirping out of a beaten-up purple stereo he gaggled a 17-year-old in exchange for a pack of Marlboros.

The smells of bacon grease and butter that causes the insatiable monster taking camp in your stomach to growl now has you running into the staff bathroom, the door slamming behind you as you dry heave the entire contents of your breakfast.

Wiping the spit falling from your mouth you turn on the tap, scrubbing your face clean and running a wet hand across your hair. The reflection staring back at you looks nothing like the woman just mere hours ago, a woman who thought she had escaped the biggest tormentor in her life, a woman who thought she was finally free. This woman, the one whose eye bags now seem deeper than before, whose skin looks dull and pulled across her body like skin on bone is bound and shackled by the haunted past that never seemed to wretch its fingers off of her.

Each time she thinks she has a chance at life, the chain wrapped around her neck tightens, and it pulls her back until she's dislocated and bruised. It shakes her violently and spits in her face, laughing and cackling, staring down at her in disgust because how could she have been so stupid? So foolishly naive?

You don't escape men like her husband, you just end up dead.

An overwhelming desire engulfs you, the need to survive and flee fills you strong, and for a second you glance at the back door that leads to the alleyway hidden from the main road. You've got enough cash on you to skip town, maybe hunker down in a dingy yellow motel for a bit until you feel

But what's the point? There was no plan B for what you did, your escape itself was a fucking plan B, and your head is still pounding from the success of it. You had gotten lucky, for the first time in your life, you had gotten lucky. You wouldn't get this chance again, this was it for you. Skipping town would do nothing, but prolong the inevitable, there were no steps ahead with the men you knew, at least let you die with your dignity.

You can't help but laugh at your stupidity, it racks through your body and has you bent over, gripping your stomach, before your shoulder shudders with cracked sobs, a hand muffles your wails as you run the tap, the last you wanted was for adiora to hear you.

You were just so exhausted your body weighed down with the fatigue and stress of your escape, the bruises and injuries you've accumulated over the years that never fully healed took a toll on you. You'd never gone a day without seeing how your body would look without the yellows and purples colliding, some ragged and large while others were small and deliberate. It made you walk funny, your manager had asked if it was a limp, if you'd be able to waitress with all the walking it included, you rushed to tell her it was nothing, just a fall that didn't heal right.

You needed this job, and youd do anything to get it

Caroline had told you you could get benefits for it, to help with rent and supplies, you smiled and told her you'd look into it, you didn't think it would be appropriate to tell her it was years of abuse.

Could the government pay you for that? Or would you be met with an officer at your door ready to drag you back to your husband because of course he had the governor on speed dial and the NYPD in his front pocket?

A tiny bubble of anger begins to set place in your chest, how dare he? He didn't even want you, the nights he’d bring home countless women told you enough. Why did he so adamantly want you then? Keep you chained and locked in the palm of his hand?

You've seen the other marriages in this line of work which were much like yours, transactional and strictly business. Except most of them had an agreement, you have yours and I have mine. Show up like you both are in love, clutching onto each other and keeping your lovers to the side.

Not him though, no, he wanted it all, you think he craved the power it gave him, to see you at his feet below him, your escape was the one time you felt like you had gotten him beat. You knew it wouldn't last long but damn did it feel good.

That man with golden hair looked at you so strangely, like he knew you from long ago, you'd shaken the sense of familiarity from your mind before it even began. This was New York, not Washington, no one knew you here. You were just a face, like any other, so why did he look at you like the sight of you broke him?

The fact of the matter was, your husband was an unstable lunatic who fed off the fear of others, he’d probably shot a few women who even slightly resembled you during the time since your escape, so why didn't that man drag you out of the diner and into one of your husband-marked vehicles?

There was only one explanation, one you couldn't bring yourself to entertain, but it still remained in the back of your mind, next to the hopes and dreams you had for yourself at 13.

The sounds of your name being screeched from the counter can be heard echoing towards you, the diner was horribly understaffed and don’t doubt that there is a mountain of things that needed to be completed since your meltdown.

You need this job, you were not about to lose it.

So just like the years you have been trained, you shove the impending emotions down your stomach, straighten your back, and practice your smile before slamming the staff door behind you.

It’s well past 11 when you finally finish cleaning up after the last of the patrons that exited the diner, the moon was cloaked behind deep grey clouds, providing little light to your walk home. David had offered you a ride, but you had declined quickly, the thoughts circling your mind would be too loud for a car ride. You didn't like walking home, especially this late at night, but you had no choice. You would not want to incapacitate someone else's day, especially now with a target on your back.

The flickering street lights provide a tiny sliver of direction to the beaten path cracked with concrete and dirt. A loud truck filled with men slowed as they neared you, you kept your head down, fingers pressed into your palm as you tried to avoid any confrontation. They screamed obscenities, before zooming past you, the smell of burnt tire lingering behind them.

There was a shortcut to your apartment complex, though the back alleyways were hidden from the main street, and you made a sharp turn to follow the insecure path through the suburban houses. It doesn't take long before you notice the unmarked car following shortly behind you, just a few streets back, enough to not look conspicuous but still get a clear view of you.

You tense, unsure of what to do, you push your house keys between your fingers, silently praying to god that it wasn't him. And it seems that god is on your side today, as the car pulls into a dark street, leaving you breathless and releasing your grip on your keys.

You don't waste any time running the rest of the way until the dingy apartment complex comes into view, your neighbour, a sweet middle-aged lady whose smile never quite reached her eyes and who let you use her gas was screaming at her son, a cigarette hanging from his mouth in open shock.

You smiled to yourself as you passed them, he looked towards you with raised eyebrows, pleading for some support. You weren't about to tell her how to raise her kid, she looked even more exhausted than you.

Jimming the door handle a couple times, you finally shoulder your way into the safety of your small but safe apartment. The soft caramel walls were chipped away at the edges, and the wallpaper was peeling but it was home. It was the closest thing to something that was yours, and only yours.

You quickly made yourself some time, to help calm the storm beginning to write inside your mind again, you hated coffee, it left you jittering and cold and you just wanted to sleep at this point.

After jumping into the shower, your waitressing clothes left sweaty and seeped with oil in the basket you finally found the solace of your cold bed. You invested good money into a solid mattress and covers, and it payed of by the softness and ease that engulfed you.

You reached for the book left on the side table, its spine broken in and countless stains and markings left on its pages. You had never gotten the chance to read, you'd been told it was a useless waste of time that could instead be used for more important things.

Now though, with the threat of your safety looming around the corner, you felt you needed to finish every book you started, in fear you mightn't ever again.

Your mind, however, was running 50 miles an hour and it so happened to find him, golden boy, again. He looked so different from the henchmen of your husband. They were all short and stoic, egregious muscles bursting through tight shirts, fingers dirty with blood and sin. They all had that hungry insatiable expression, like rapid dogs, they salivated every time they were given a task, to murder, to steal, to torture.

One particular night, when you left down the hall to the section of the house you weren't permitted to enter, the blood-curdling screams and moans followed by their laughter had you bolting out, they heard you anyway, and your husband had forced you to watch.

You just needed scissors.

This man though, his eyes shone with a different kind of darkness. One possibly more intricate and deeper than the sleazy men near your husband, and, it should have scared you. But it didn't, it pulled you closer like you wanted to dip your foot in and see how far it went. The sense of familiar you'd refused to feel filled you once again, a part of your mind was screaming at you, itching and shoving its fingers between bordered wood to get you to see.

Shaking your head you flicked to the dog-eared page, one thing you knew about the world you were married into, was all the men were obsessed with one thing, power and money, and they'd do anything to get it.

All of them.

The brown liquid sloshes against the ice as steve raises it to his lips, finishing it with one gulp. The familiar burn of liquor eases the tension in his shoulder, as he leans against the mahogany desk, hands folded against his chest.

“All I’m saying is that we have to act fast and we have to act now, every day that passes is another risk to the dominion, he's getting more and more erratic by the day” Sam murmurs, sitting on the plush velvet coach situated to the left of the expansive office, the high ceiling lights cast a glow across the room that does little to ease the tension.

Steve rubs his jaw, scratching at the stubble that has begun to grow, he's gotten so busy that he'd forgotten to shave. Steve’s mind is scattered, bits and pieces here and there, Sam was right, Matthews was getting even more unstable than he ever was, killing mercilessly without a second thought, leaving finger prints and blood and bodies. Sooner or later, he’d get the entire underworld exposed if he kept up with this.

“I know, I know, I just- I need to think” Steve begins, before Bucky interrupts quickly, his eyes roam Steve, squinting as he notices something off.

“It’s different this time, Matthews, it’s more than just his greed and psychotic tendencies, he’s lost something. And I have a feeling you know exactly what it is”. Bucky replies, eyebrows raising and he looks towards Steve.

Sam looks up rapidly, a grim look on his features as he takes in Steves silence

“Steve…what is it?” Sam replies, Steve was apprehensive to reply, eyes shutting for a few minutes, mind racking over the moments before, when he found you. Selfishly, in a way, he wanted to keep you hidden, a secret only he knew, but Sam and Bucky knew him long enough where they’d eventually find out.

“You know Matthews wife” Steve begins, Sam and Bucky lean in closer as they take in Steves tighten jaw and deep seated anger behind his eyes. Steve was a man of decorum, he’d rarely show his true anger, always hidden behind canine smiles and wolf like hunger, he was precise and meticulous with his rage. It’s what made him so powerful.

“The girl from your home town?, The quite one right?” Sam replies, confusion covering his features as he tries to connect the picture Steve was sewing in front of them.

His cracks as he remembers you, before Matthews and before he stamped out the light that always shone through your eyes, the oblivious innocence you carried that seemed to suck him in and ruin him for anybody else.

“Yeah, yeah, that one” Steve coughs before straightening his back

“Poor girl, I heard she didn’t even get a say, just woke up one morning with his claws in her. I haven't seen her in any of the charity fundraisers in a long time” Bucky says, hands running through his jet black hair as he recalls your frequent absence. It was strange, most men would flaunt their wives anytime they’d get the chance, especially one as gorgeous as you. Not Matthews though, he acted as if you were invisible, a burden, like a mother running after her petulant child. As if he wasn't the one that gave you no choice but to marry him.

“She's gone” Steve spits out, his golden locks fall to his face as he quickly pushes them behind his ear, no one else knew of your absence, besides your husband and him, you were still behind the shadows of his wrath. Now the shoe had dropped and it was real, you’d really gone and done it, you’d escaped him.

“What do you mean Steve, your telling me that girl escaped one of the ruthless mob bosses in Northern America? The one with all the guns and men and fucked up morality? The one who’s murdered teenagers?” Sam emphasis in open shock, moving to get up from the sofa and walk closer to Steve.

“I dont know when, I don’t even know how, but she got out” Steve says, a sudden urge to see you again fills him, he shakes it away quickly before it consumes him whole and ruins him.

“Holy shit, she really did it. She’s got some fucking balls” Bucky says, eyes widening as he comes to terms with the fact that you may not have been as innocent as they once thought.

“But, if shes out...she knows what will happen to her now? As much as I hate Matthews, he brought her immunity and protection, especially one from a family like hers, now-, now she’s a walking target.” Sam says it was inevitable, the mafia world wouldnt allow for such treachery, for such betrayal.

“Open fucking season” Bucky continues, eyes strained behind Steve towards the frosted window of the office. The planes of concrete fields stretch endlessly, the smoke of vehicles and Nee Yorks smoking problem floating through the deep grey clouds.

What was your endgame?

The question circles Bucky’s mind, he was always searching for an answer, a causation, and right now you had him stumped. Funny.

Steve nods, nocking his leather dress shoes against each other, loyalty ran thicker than blood in this world of theirs, and what you had committed was worse their murder.

“She disappears I know, trust me I do, probably ends up at the bottom of the Hudson at best, and at worst..” Steve says

He didn’t need to continue for them both to understand. Eyes failing to wince as they had grown use to the brutality of the mafia.

“But, I talked to her, earlier today, down by Brooklyn” Steve begins to say before both Bucky and Steve interrupt him quickly

“You talked to her?! Jesus, Steve, this has got to be a fucking joke, because I know the man infront of me. And he would be as insane as to talk to a mafia’s wife, let alone the king of the dominion. Hell, even being near her would count as a death wish” Bucky replies, eyebrows furrowed as the shock of Steve’s recklessness hung in the air.

“We can’t afford an attack right now, especially one from someone as psychotic as him and his lunatics” Sam reiterates, unsure what had gotten into their usually calculated and cunning friend.

“Listen dammit”, Steve grumbles, hands flying around him

“If I get her to share some information about Matthews in return for safety, we’ll be able to get ahead, plan an attack before he even registers she’s back in New York”

“Back, she was here before?” Sam questions, confusion filling his usual stoic features

“She was here a couple years back, something happened, bad, and since it’s Matthews you know it had to have been some extraordinarily catastrophic shit” Steve murmurs, eyes far away as if he’s mind was back all those years. His fist tighten involuntarily, and he quickly reminds himself to relax before they take notice of his sudden anger.

“No one knows what happened, not Santiago, not even Brock. All we know is that he changed after that, became way worse. Before, at least he could keep a handle on it, after what happened though, it’s like he’s wishing for a reason to rage”. Steve continues, Bucky and Sam nod following him, they had all noticed the shift in Matthews behaviour, even more drastic then, the entire underworld whispered behind masks and glistens of pistols about the mafia don and his mental breakdown.

“Your asking her to commit treason then?” Sam quakes, hand pressing into the deep wood of the chair.

“She already did when she walked out that door, you don’t just make a decision like that, no, not for someone like her. She probably stayed in that decision for days, if not weeks. She knows the risks she took.” Steve informs, arms crossing against his chest, he knew you weren’t as stupid as people thought you were, in fact he knew you better than most people ever would.

You were similar to him in that way, cunning in ways people didn’t realise, always hidden beneath false naivety.

“Well, you sure he’s still out looking for her? How do you know he isn’t pointing a fucking laser at your head right now?” Bucky begins eyes strained to the window again as if looking out for any incoming steel bullets.

Steve remains silent as he hums to himself, a pen between his fingers as he jots down your address on a haphazard note pad.

“Because she would have already been dead by now” He says finally, underlining the street name twice, before clicking it back into the desk drawer. Sam laughs, a hand coming to rest at his chest, the under suit creases at his ministrations and it reminds Steve that he needs to buy one that actually looks good on him.

“You’re one insane mother fucker Steve, I’ll give you that” Sam chuckles at the casualness of the blond’s demeanour.

Steve shoots a smile, a real one, his canines glint and for a second, it’s as if a wolf has taken it’s place over his features. The rosy reds of his cheeks contrast against the sand gold of his hair and suddenly Steve looks younger. Like the cruelty and immorality of the world around him hasn’t taken his soul and left a gaping black hole.

“That’s how we win, it starts with her” Steve replies with finality, his voice refusing any negotiation or persuasion.

It was final, Steve set his eyes on you, and he wouldn’t stop until he got exactly what he wanted.

Taglist 🏷️

-send me a chat if you’d like to be part of my taglist!

@namelesssav @shamelessfangirl-3 @nessie2183

@etherealskzss @babyspiderling

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candymay · 8 days

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My crazy roman empire is Lana and Armie's work and life parallel like in that it's always sunny in philadelphia conspiracy theory meme way

2010: Lana's debut studio album as Lana Del Ray, a.k.a Lizzy Grant // Armie's breakout role in The Social Network. Fun fact: one of the songs is titled "Put Me In A Movie." Armie also tied the knot that year.

2012-2013: Marked Lana's major-label debut with "Born To Die," a divisive album that jumpstarted her career but also faced enduring criticism from media and critics. // Armie experienced his first "flop" with big studio films in "Mirror Mirror" and "The Lone Ranger," but the real ones know they're actually golden lol.

2017: marked a pivotal moment for both Lana and Armie. Lana unveiled her first SMILE on her album titled LUST FOR LIFE (the antithesis of her pessimistic Born To Die), sounds like a stupid insignificant detail yet it resonated deeply with the fans, marking a departure from her "sad girl" persona. It's her summer bop album. Very Timothee's Elio. // Obvi, Armie delivered his standout summer love performance in CMBYN, solidifying his position in Hollywood. It was a momentous occasion for Lana, particularly with the release of her song "Get Free" — you literally just had to be there it changed her history forever lol. Finally, I'm crossing the threshold From the ordinary world To the reveal of my heart I never really noticed that I had to decide To play someone's game or to live my own life But now I do I want to move Out of the black Into the blue

2020-2021: Lana faced major backlash for her infamous Instagram post "Question for the Culture" and later for wearing a mesh-looking mask during COVID. // Armie's divorce and scandal lol. Interestingly, the year before, Lana released the masterpiece "Norman Fucking Rockwell!" featuring the song "The Greatest." And I'm wasted Don't leave, I just need a wake-up call I'm facin' the greatest The greatest loss of them all The culture is lit and I had a ball I guess I'm signin' off after all

2023: Lana Del Rey released a diaristic masterpiece with "Did You Know That There's a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd," transitioning from her self-indulgent, character-driven songwriting to a more personal and introspective exploration of her family and personal life. // After a period of silence, Armie's interview was published in AirMail as a full-length article. One of the songs, "Kintsugi," reflects on the recent deaths of three of her relatives, including her grandmother. Similarly, Armie had recently experienced loss; his father, his grandmother, and Florence.

Daddy, I miss them I'm in the mountains Probably running away, I've been meaning to say That there's nothing to do except know that this is How the light gets in Like cracking, the light gets in Then you're golden Just another folk song, but anyway I try so hard, but that's okay It's how the light gets in Armie opened up about his experience of sexual abuse by his youth pastor, marking the first time he publicly discussed it. Lana addressed a similar theme for the first time in her Grammy-nominated song "A&W". If I told you that I was raped Do you really think that anybody would think I didn't ask for it? I didn't ask for it I won't testify, I already fucked up my story On top of this, so many other things you can't believe

2024: Both are now living their best sober lives, with Lana having been sober for 20 years after her early struggles with alcohol and Armie has been sober for three years. They are now thriving, embracing new habits like vaping (lol), learning more about spirituality, and hanging with their family, and it seems like it's only up, up, up from here.

#too long but please bear with me i'm just a crazy bitch #there r still so many other details but i'll stfu for now

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tarrenterror25 · 2 months

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Do you think Roman Sionis would sub? I would really like to put him in his place.

Yes.

Different Romans might need to be approached differently.

BOP!Roman is a total sub whereas AO!Roman has to discover it and you have to be extremely patient with him for him to trust you enough to sub for you.

Any given version of Roman I think wouldn't do well with degradation or humiliation, too traumatizing. He needs praise, affirmations, compliments, things to boost his ego and make him happy to please you.

I think impact play is also off the table. Roman is a sadist and a bit of a coward. He doesn't find any appeal in being on the receiving end of the blows.

BOP!Roman will let you peg him/be on top.

AO!Roman is very reluctant to let you top as a dom. Pegging is off the table. Might let you tease back there, but I think he'd be too in his head about it to go all the way.

BOP!Roman probably would let you collar him with a leash and all, but only in private. In public, he's in charge. Make him look good and he'll be good for you behind closed doors.

AO!Roman does not want to be restrained in any way shape or form. As a sub, he's gonna be a brat, but not a "teehee, make me" type of brat. He's the "I will bite your hand off" type of brat. It takes some heavy convincing; but you can get him tied to a chair or the bed, blindfolded and maybe gagged. Nothing extreme though so no hog ties or binding him with other implements like bars.

BOP!Roman loves pleasing you, getting on his knees for you, servicing you. Loves being called a "good boy". First time you call AO!Roman a "good boy" he is ultra reluctant to be into it, but the bulge in his pants say otherwise.

Edging or orgasm denial will have Roman begging and cursing at you through gritted teeth, but he's determined to last as long as you need him to.

BOP!Roman can do with a soft dom or a harder dom, but I feel like AO!Roman is a sensitive guy and he needs a softer dom to get him to explore his subby side.

#ao!roman sionis #bop!roman sionis #roman sionis #black mask #black mask x reader #roman sionis x reader #bop!black mask #ao!black mask #sub!roman sionis #sub!black mask

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ghostchems · 1 year

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restroom detour - cardinal copia x female!reader

you're out with your friends at the new local hot spot: the pinnacle lounge. a trip to find the bathroom has you stumbling into something not for your eyes.

notes: 2.1k word count, mdni! 18+! there be smut here. also i just love me some sweet cardi. ao3 link.

You and your friends were chattering away at the bar, drinks in hand. It had been a long work week and you were happy to be out with friends to blow off some steam. The Pinnacle Lounge had seemingly popped up overnight in your town and quickly gained a reputation for being a unique, good time.

The moment you stepped in earlier that night, you could see why. There were people dressed as nuns and priests, some wearing shiny masks and suspenders, mixed in with those dressed for a night out. The color scheme for the bar was black and gold while the lights shifted from neon green to a bright purple as the night wore on.

The music thumps and you all bop long with it. At this point, you are feeling pretty good as you finish up your second drink.

“I gotta pee!” You chirp cheerfully, giving everyone a small wave as you walk away. You set your empty glass down on the bar and take a look around.

“Fuck.”

You realize you have absolutely no idea where you are going. A few people bump into you as you make your way around the perimeter of the bar before you come upon a dark hallway. There is a door that looks like it has some kind of fancy “G” on it and you assume it’s the women’s bathroom.

The moment you open the door and step inside no less than ten eyes are on you. They were all wearing cloaks, concealing their entire bodies and were peering out of their hoods at you. It was dark enough in the room that you couldn’t see their faces. You finally take in your surroundings, the low glow of black candles lining the room, the smell of incense flooding your nostrils. Your gaze settles on the black altar in front of you and you draw in a gasp.

A naked woman is spread atop it, a pentagram drawn in blood on her stomach. A man was between her legs, his fingers digging into her hips as he glares at you, his mismatched eyes sending chills down your spine. His face was painted like a skull and he wore a black robe with gold details, his dark hair hanging in his face.

“Uh…uh…sorry!” Your voice sounds incredibly high-pitched as you back out of the room.

You can feel your heart beating out of your chest as you slam the door shut behind you, your feet carrying you towards the end of the hall. A man exits one of the other doors, stepping out right in front of you and you collide with a thud. For the brief second you are touching, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Eh, mi dispiace, mi dispiace.” He mumbles, his hands moving to grip your arms to help you catch your balance.

You look up at him and the first thing you notice are his eyes – the same ones that you had seen in the room. A jolt of fear causes you to jump back from him and he releases your arms, his eyes widening. He is wearing a cassock and biretta and his dark paint around his eyes were somewhat smudged.

“Are you alright, cara?” Copia sounds genuinely concerned, his accent thick as he reaches his hand out to you. You stare at it for a moment then you take another step back.

“T-there are people in one of the rooms doing weird stuff.” The words spill out of your mouth, your brain too rattled to describe exactly what you saw.

“Ah, yes… the ritual.” He sighs softly, sounding almost annoyed. “No need to be afraid, cara. They are just, eh, partaking in carnal pleasures.”

“But-but the candles and the cloaks and the blood!”

“How can I explain this to you?” Copia ponders aloud, his white eye glowing in the darkness. He looks around the hallway, his gaze settling on a bench against the back wall of the hallway. “Come.” His hand finds yours, pulling at it gently as he moves toward the bench. You realize he is wearing leather gloves, your eyes falling to the one in your hand, noticing the “G” symbol on it.

You wobble after him, your platform boots clunking as you pull your dress down with your free hand. He settles on the bench, carefully pulling you close to him as your knees touch. His hand still held yours, his thumb brushing it as his free hand removed his biretta. Brown hair spills out from underneath and he smooths it neatly back. His eyes were soft, contrasting with the sharpness of his nose and his dramatic eye paint.

“So, you’ve seen the inverted crosses around the bar, correct?

“Y-yes.”

“Good. I am a member of the clergy that owns and operates this bar. It is meant as a safe space for everyone to come, have fun, be themselves and… partake in sin.” His lips curl into a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You feel a blush creep up your cheeks.

“But not in a harmful way. The ritual you walked in on is very safe, very controlled. It is meant to represent, eh, the procreation of the antichrist.”

You stare at him dumbly, feeling that you are too drunk for this conversation. Copia smiles warmly at you, letting go of your hand and bringing his up to your cheek to caress it gently. “The things you saw that frightened you are merely decoration to help establish the mood. It’s meant to be fun; it’s meant to be dramatic… it’s meant to be erotic.”

You can feel heat start to rise between your legs by his words, causing you to squeeze your thighs together. Of course, he notices, and drops his finger to your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. Your lips part as you shiver from his touch, your wide eyes meeting his duochromatic gaze.

“Does this make you feel better about what you saw, dolce?” He purrs, inching his face even closer to yours. His smile has turned from sweet to seductive, his eyes shining mischievously. You can only bring yourself to nod and your nose brushes against his as you do so. A shuddered breath leaves your lips as you find your hands find his chest.

Copia takes this as his opening and presses his lips to yours tenderly. You can taste the alcohol on his soft lips, your hands traveling up his chest to the back of his neck. He sighs against you, deepening the kiss as his tongue slips into your mouth as he pulls you in close. His hands start to wander down your sides, settling on your ass before he slips them under your dress.

You moan softly as he starts to massage it, the feeling of his leather gloves on your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine. His teeth tug at your bottom lip as he pulls away from you, giving you ass one last squeeze as his fingers drift to pull your dress down for you. Copia then grabs your legs and pulls them into his lap.

He is paying so much attention to you, despite the silence between you both. It’s a comfortable silence as he caresses your legs (and you are mentally patting yourself on the back for shaving them that day). The fear of the ritual you had witnessed is completely gone now, your mind and body at ease as you settle into Copia’s lap.

This was not how you thought your night was going to go but you are not complaining. This was the most you’ve been touched by someone in a long time, having given up on dating a while ago and you weren’t typically one to put yourself out there like this. Something about him, the way he gazed at you, the way he cared enough to explain away what you had seen…

His fingers start to drift to your inner thighs, drawing small circles as they continue to move up. You swallow thickly, wide eyes looking back at him as your cheeks flush. Your legs spread ever so slightly, allowing him to continue further up your thigh.

“Is this okay, dolce?” Copia whispers, brushing his fingers even higher. Your face is completely flushed now, the closer he gets to your cunt the more wet it becomes. There is some nervousness buzzing around in the back of your head – despite being hidden by the darkness of the hallways, you were still in a public place. But again… this bar was owned and operated by a satanic organization…

“Yes…please.”

He pulls your underwear to the side, his fingers dipping into your wet folds. Copia hums in approval, then presses one his fingers against your entrance. You shudder, grabbing on to his cassock and pulling him close. His nose brushes against your cheek before settling his face in your neck, breathing you in deeply.

“Such a naughty girl.” He growls against you, his finger curling upward, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you. Your hips buck at the feeling, squeezing your lips shut as a moan bumbles up your throat. You feel him chuckle against your neck then presses a kiss to it as he slips another finger inside.

He starts to kiss, bite and suck at your neck, and by now you are feeling drunk off of him. You can tell by how roughly he’s moving his mouth on your neck that he’s leaving marks all over you. Your lips are quivering now, trying desperately to hold in your sounds which is all but impossible now as he adds a third finger.

Copia pumps his fingers in and out of you, quickening his pace as he relentlessly presses into your bundle of nerves. Your entire body is trembling, your hips jerking wildly against his fingers. At this point, you’re over being discreet as breathy moans spill from your lips.

Your hands move to grip at his shoulders, nails digging into them as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’s growling against you now and you can feel the vibration rumble of them down through your chest. Your muscles start to spasm and tense as the rest of your body trembles, a sharp cry rising from your lungs as your orgasm falls over you.

Your chest heaves as you start to come down from the high, feeling even more hazy than before. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, hovering there for a moment as you feel his warm breath on you before he pulls away. “I am very glad we ran into each other tonight, dolce.” He purrs, bringing his fingers up to taste them. You’re still recovering as your mouth drops open, watching him. “Ehm… why did you walk into that room in the first place?”

“Oh, well…” You feel a pang of embarrassment in your chest as you chuckle quietly. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

He breaks out into a brilliant, toothy smile. “Tesoro, it’s right behind you — eh, if you still have to go.”

“I probably should now.” You grin as you swing your legs off of his lap, your boots clunking to the floor. He pulls your dress down for you as you stand and you can feel yourself start to blush again. “Thank you.” You squeak before scurrying to the bathroom.

Once inside, you do your business while your mind is exploding, thinking about what just happened. What did just happen? You got finger fucked by a stranger in a bar after witnessing a satanic ritual simulating the procreation of the antichrist. Maybe this was a typical Friday night for The Pinnacle Lounge.

Your legs are still trembling from the intensity of the orgasm, wobbling as you make your way to the mirror. There are very obvious red marks all along your neck as well as some black smudges from his eye paint. You think about trying to wipe some of it off, or at least try to make some of the marks less noticeable for a second before you decide… fuck it.

As you wash your hands, you start to panic, thinking that maybe he won’t be out there waiting for you. It wouldn’t be the end of the world but — you really wanted him to be there. There was something about him that just drew you to him. Again, your mind turns back to how sweet he was with you and how handsome he was.

When you leave the bathroom, he is standing near the bench, waiting for you. He looks like he is almost nervous, his cheeks flushed as he turns his biretta over in his hands.

“Dolce, I’ve realized we have, ehm, kind of done things a bit backwards tonight.” His lips twitch into a small smile, reaching for your hand. You immediately place your hand in his and he presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I’m Cardinal Copia… ehm, will you allow me to buy you a drink?”

#cardinal copia #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfic #my writing

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auughhtm · 4 months

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#my shit.#roman sionis #black mask #batman fanart #fanart #bop #birds of prey #bop fanart #ewan mcgregor

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kalamariboy · 2 years

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#birds of prey #bop #roman sionis #black mask #victor zsasz #zsaszmask #blood

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thegreatwicked · 2 months

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Shadows of Deception - Chapter Thirteen

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

Chapter Thirteen

Make Hate to Me by Citizen Soldier

Like a captive panther, Roman paced the length of his expansive penthouse, prowling ceaselessly with the restless vigor of a predator confined to too tight a space. Coiled so tightly he could snap at the slightest hint of provocation. The resonant tapping of his shoes against the hardwood floor echoed like a metronome ticking away at his sanity with each stride.

His mind became a swirling vortex of suspicion and paranoia in the aftermath of the encounter with Belladonna, morphing his thoughts into a Molotov cocktail of anger, mistrust, and apprehension.

Who in their right mind gives a gun to a guy they’ve watched shoot three people; then challenges him to use it on her? Only a lunatic, that's who.

A woman with more fucking balls than half the men he employed.

Belladonna-fucking-Black.

She really hit a nerve, no. She didn’t just hit a nerve, she found it and went digging into it like she was searching for buried treasure, exposing the raw nerves she'd found. It was something he couldn't stand admitting, not even to himself. The fact that it was Craven who had got the ball rolling just made it all the more annoying; a stain on the polished and unaffected facade Roman prided himself on.

Goddammit, she was right; Roman had swaggered into that place feeling like the King of Gotham, all confidence, the smell of sex still clinging to his clothes, but he stormed out like some kind of diva denied an encore. He fell right into Craven's trap, and he was fucking furious about it.

Every lap around the penthouse, room to room brought him no peace; it only coiled him tighter, his fists clenched and let go, like he was just itching for a fight. Ready to put holes in walls, which he had certainly done before. He had told Belladonna to trust him and she had. Trust. Hmm.

It should've been simple, but trust, especially when it came to dodging murder charges, was never so straightforward. Like trusting a rat bastard double agent, nothing was what it seemed. The straight-up move would've been to off her quick and dump her ass in Gotham Bay with Jimmy and his crew that fateful night, then find some stupid hot little something to bury his dick in until those dark eyes were barely a memory. But no, he got sucked in by her pretty face, long legs, and the fact she hadn't screamed or given him a reason to pull the trigger on her. So, dumbass that he was, he decided to trust her. And that made him a fucking idiot.

Trusting Belladonna—what a joke, right? But damn it all, he couldn't shake the nagging truth in her words. He'd listened to her interview tape, and Derrick was right; she walked in alongside Roman like she owned the place, like every single one of them was beneath her, and handled Ramirez like a goddamned queen, even when he practically called her a slut. His fists tightened at the memory, shaking with fury, and suddenly, he had a strong urge to introduce Ramirez's face to a sack of bricks. Over and over again.

Nobody talked about Belladonna like that, nobody disrespected his angel like that… That son of a bitch.

But then there was her admission to the detective;

"Sooner or later, he'll move on, find someone more thrilling, someone willing to do things I won't. And when that day comes, I'll thank him for the good times and head my own way."

Did she really think he thought so little of her? Why did that piss him off so much? Because it couldn't have been further from the truth, damn it. Belladonna was sharp, she was sexy, and she had a backbone that most people lacked. She was probably the only woman unafraid of him, so much so that she dared to put a loaded gun into his hand. Ballsy move aside, it didn’t do anything to cushion the blow that had been her words to the detective.

They'd spun a tale of being deeply in love, he painted them as destined lovers, not star-crossed. She wasn't supposed to be so indifferent. But, she wasn't entirely off base.

"Men like Roman don't fall in love,"

That's what she'd said. How the hell would she know? He scoffed mid-stride, like she fucking knew him? Roman never took kindly to being told who he was or what he could or couldn't do, no matter how absurd the assumption. Tell Roman Sionis not to do something? Fuck that, he’d do the thing, look good doing it all the while flipping you the bird.

She should've told that bastard Ramirez that she and Roman were goddamn soulmates. That Roman would level the Gotham skyline for her, and she’d sooner walk over broken glass than leave him, because he was her whole world.

Wasn't he?

It was a lie, their whole story was a lie, so there was no reason for him to be so pissy about the truth bomb she dropped, or was there? If there was one thing he could trust, it was that Belladonna didn't want to die; she wanted her life, she told him as such and people didn’t just lie about things like that. She wanted endless days where she slept in late, worried for nothing and had her mother. She wanted freedom.

Jesus, he'd completely forgotten about her mother, the one he was supposed to be tracking down. Damn it. That was a problem for another time. The point was, she had something to lose, and she wasn't dumb enough to rely on the cops to keep her safe from him. They couldn't even nab the bastard who almost killed her. Seemed like all he had these days were problems, and they all stemmed from a drop-dead gorgeous, black-haired, red-lipped angel, in a ridiculously short, red dress. Goddamn that dress...

It twisted his guts, this inability to either take her out or draw her in closer, and the frustration surged, hot and uncontrollable. What the hell was going on with him?

He was Roman-Goddamn-Sionis.

Zsasz hovered by the doorway, a looming figure swallowed by the shadows he wore as naturally as Roman donned his suits. His stance exuded an unusual ease, yet his senses remained sharp, both were a byproduct of years working for Roman Sionis. He knew better than to disturb the heavy brooding with idle chit-chat; when Roman muttered to himself, he wasn’t looking for a response. It was simply a means for Roman to declutter his mind. Surviving as long as Zsasz had in Romans employment demanded an understanding of his boss's volatile state that often required him to take note of the tiniest details. As such, Zsasz only offered his thoughts when asked for them, always careful to maintain a neutral tone to soothe rather than aggravate Roman's inner mayhem.

True Roman was his boss, but he knew better than anyone that just because the man paid you, didn't make you friends. He'd seen more than a few men make that mistake and pay with it in blood.

Roman abruptly ceased his pacing, his stare fixating on a point in the distance, his fingers drumming against the polished mahogany desk. Trapped within his own thoughts, ensnared in his own skin, torn between a desire he didn't quite understand and the rigid creed he lived by. Yielding to emotion was tantamount to weakness, but he couldn't shake the sting of Belladonna’s words to his ego.

"Zsasz," Roman grunted, finally acknowledging his lieutenant's presence without meeting his gaze. His voice carried a sharp edge, tinged with an unspoken plea for counsel. "What's your take?"

Zsasz's response was measured, devoid of judgment or emotion. "If Belladonna's a threat, we take care of it. If not, we turn the situation to our advantage."

"Advantage… What the fuck does that even mean?" Roman muttered, the word dripping with a bitterness that left a foul taste in his mouth. The irony wasn't lost on him; Belladonna was both a potential threat and an unwitting pawn in his game, and as everyone knows; in chess you always protect the queen.

But was she his queen or his pawn?

"Keep your friends close," Roman mused aloud.

"Keep your enemies closer," Zsasz added.

But which category did Belladonna fall into?

Roman took a deep breath, attempting to push back the chatter threatening to overwhelm him. The silence hung heavy between them, pregnant with anticipation. He knew he had to make a choice, draw lines in the sand. Yet, for the first time in ages, Roman Sionis hesitated, caught up in the complexities of a business relationship he never anticipated.

The shrill ring of Roman's phone shattered the silence of the penthouse like a banshee's wail, its piercing tone cutting through the tense atmosphere. Despite its normal volume, the sound seemed ear-splitting to Roman's heightened senses, adding to the turmoil already swirling within him. His jaw clenched, a reflexive tic occasionally twitching along its line, as his mind spun with uncertainty. Ignoring the phone, he resumed his relentless pacing, the muted tapping of his footsteps lost amidst the tempest of his emotions.

"Who the hell does she think she is?" Roman growled to himself, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides, knuckles cracking every so often.

"Should've tossed her out with Jimmy when I had the chance!" Zsazs reached for the phone, silencing its ring, Roman was in no mood to take phone calls.

He continued to grumble to himself, his steps growing more tense and chaotic, all pace and rhythm lost until he was all but stomping across the floor.

"Going goddamned soft over fucking pussy!"

Pussy he hadn't even had yet, what the fuck was going on with him. He needed to fuck away his frustrations.

His phone violently vibrated against the glass tabletop, the incessant buzzing more piercing than a banshee's scream. It was an insistent reminder, a constant interruption to the chaos consuming his mind. Belladonna's name flashed across the screen with each call that went unanswered.

"Damn it, Belladonna," he growled under his breath, a dangerous brew of desire and disdain bubbling within him. He could have silenced it all—silenced her—with one swift move, yet here he was, tripping over an invisible thread he couldn't sever.

The buzzing paused briefly, giving a momentary break, but it was just a moment of calm before the storm resumed. Like clockwork, the phone buzzed again, its vibrations carrying an urgent, almost desperate tone.

"Can't even trust my own instincts anymore," Roman spat out, the admission tasting like venom on his tongue.

"No! I just had to be a fucking gentleman and let the lady live!"

The phone buzzed once more. But Roman made no move towards it; instead, he let the sound saturate the room, a bitter accompaniment to his inner turmoil.

The incessant vibration of the phone served as a relentless backdrop, like the distant rumble of thunder signaling an approaching storm.

Zsasz stood by, silently, his eyes tracking Roman's restless movements, sensing the tension coiling tightly within his boss, ready to erupt at any moment. Zsasz knew better than to draw Roman's ire; he remained at a safe distance, a shadowy presence lingering at the edge of Roman's awareness.

Seven calls and counting. Constant vibrations that crawled beneath Roman’s skin, fraying his composure. On the eighth, something snapped inside him. He froze mid-stride, directing a sharp glare towards the source of the incessant noise.

"Enough!"

His percussive fist slammed into a nearby wall denting the drywall, but there was plenty more where that came from “Zsasz,” Roman's voice rumbled low, barely containing the simmering fury. "What the hell is that racket?"

Without a flicker of emotion crossing his face, Zsasz stepped forward into the light, his presence unobtrusive yet undeniable.

"It's Belladonna,"

Roman's jaw clenched, the muscles there working as if to grind down the reality of Zsasz's words into something more palatable. Belladonna. Her name was a trigger, an invocation that stirred a fury within him he couldn't quell.

Like a match to gasoline, igniting a firestorm in Roman's chest that blazed through his veins, incinerating any last remnants of self-control. His hand shot out, snatching the phone from where it lay passive and unassuming on the table. The device became an extension of his rage as it flew across the room, colliding with the wall. Plastic and metal burst apart in a chaotic symphony of destruction, pieces scattering like shrapnel, and the room fell into silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of his reflection and staring back at him in the glass—a man barely containing the monster within.

~~~

Belladonna's grip tightened around her phone with each unanswered ring, the lifeline she hoped would connect her to Roman went unacknowledged. It had rang more times than she could count and before going to voicemail.

"You've reached the one and only, Roman Sionis. Your message should be as brief as my patience. Leave it, and I'll consider listening. Key word: consider. Good luck."

Even when she handed the phone to her unexpected visitor to leave a voicemail, her calls remained unanswered. With bated breath, she attempted a few more calls until finally, there was a response:

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”

Her face drained of color, and then the call abruptly ended. Belladonna's heart sank into the depths of her stomach, a feeling she had become all too familiar with lately and one she loathed. Roman wasn't going to pick up.

Her delicate fingers loosened their grip on the now-useless device, setting her phone down on the coffee table with a quiet resignation. It might as well have been an expensive paperweight now; there was no point in trying to make any more calls. Panic surged through her, a feeling she had never experienced before. This was the moment. He had done it—cut her off, left her to fend for herself. Maybe he had changed his number or just shut it off altogether. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her, leaving her feeling cold and abandoned.

She lifted her gaze to meet that of her guests; Oswald Cobblepot's. His presence loomed large in her living room, flanked by men whose hands rested near holstered weapons. With their unwanted intrusion into a space that was once a haven suddenly made the room seem so small and claustrophobic.

"Will Roman be joining us soon, my dear?" His voice was cordial as he lit up a cigarette, yet it held an undertone of something that couldn't quite be named—something predatory. Cobblepot leaned back in the armchair, steepling his fingers as he waited for an answer he seemed to know wouldn't come. The silence stretched between them, a taut wire ready to snap.

"Voicemail," she stated, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within. Whether it was the lie she spun or the certainty that awaited her on the other end, she couldn't decipher. Her words were matter-of-fact, belying none of the anxiety that skittered like frantic insects beneath her skin.

Cobblepot's eyes narrowed slightly, the edge of his mouth curled upward in what barely passed for a polite smile. It did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his face or the cold calculation that seemed to emanate from him. He shifted in his seat, the leather of the armchair creaking under his weight as he studied Belladonna.

"My dear," he began, his seemingly gentle tone laced with a deceptive edge. “Are you quite certain, you’ve no way of reaching our lad, Roman? I really do need to speak directly with him. It's quite urgent."

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder as he spoke, then gestured with a lazy flick of his hand, summoning a man in black to step forward. She hadn't paid much attention to his face before; in that moment, the guns aimed at her were her main concern. But now, her stomach lurched at the sight of the man's visage, a visceral reaction clawing at her insides. He had an imposing presence, his form seeming to swallow the light around him. But it was his face that truly unsettled her. It bore the cruel marks of recent violence, that sent the taste of bile churning from her stomach, she swallowed it down.

He was missing an ear. Just gone. It left a raw, ragged gap on the side of his head, the flesh around it angry and red. Blood seeped from the edges, staining his skin. The stitches, hastily done and looking like they were about to burst, pulled tight against his tender flesh, adding to the unsettling sight. She wanted to turn away, to look literally anywhere else, but her eyes remained fixed, unable to look away. A sharp intake of breath betrayed her shock, and her mouth hung open..

"There seems to have been a... misunderstanding regarding our business dealings," he continued, his words chosen with meticulous care. “Down at the docks.”

He fixated upon Belladonna, was a chilling abyss of malevolence. It bore into her with an intensity that made her blood run cold, a silent promise of the violence that lurked beneath the surface. In his eyes burned a primal fury, a seething resentment that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Her nails gouged into the flesh of her palms, leaving fiery crescents in their wake as she fought the urge to react. She shouldn’t have left. She should never have left Romans penthouse, and she was kicking herself for it now.

"I can't just let this sort of treatment of my lads go unanswered, you see. It's why it's rather crucial that Roman and I have a chat before someone else ends up hurt..."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "He must be busy, right now. I’m sure he’ll check his messages soon." The words were a gamble, but they were all she had.

"Soon, eh?" Cobblepot repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue with a hint of amusement. "Business can be so messy when lines of communication are interrupted. Misunderstandings can lead to... unfortunate outcomes."

She fought to keep her composure, knowing that any sign of weakness could be her undoing. Her mind raced, searching for an out— but her thoughts kept turning back to that night when Roman got word from Zsasz about the docks.

"Oh! I know!” His sudden burst startled her and she jumped slightly in her seat, which only drew a grin from her guest. “Perhaps there's a more direct approach?" Cobblepot suggested, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and malice. "Such as that panic button, there in your bag. A rather dramatic solution I know, I know, but effective. It sends a clear message, don’t it? Maybe he'll find the time to break away, eh?"

Yes! The panic button, she'd nearly forgotten all about the damn thing. He'd come running—if he chose to come at all.

"Sometimes, directness is the only way to cut through the noise," Cobblepot continued, watching her closely. She looked to the beg she'd tossed on the counter in a rage, then back to Cobblepot, he waved to one of his men, "Gents, the ladies bag, if you will."

A harsh pair of hands, rough and impatient, snatched the bag from the counter, diving into its contents with little regard for delicacy or discretion. They rifled through the bag's contents with an almost frenzied urgency. However, their zealous rummaging was abruptly halted as Cobblepot intervened, his voice cutting through the frenetic energy like a blade.

"Stop," he commanded, his tone icy and commanding and for the first time his voice matched his demeanor. The hands froze mid-motion, reluctantly withdrawing from the bag as Cobblepot's piercing gaze bore into their owner with an intensity that brooked no argument.

"Now, now, lads, a ladies things deserve more respect than that. Apologies Miss Black, may I call you Belladonna, Miss Black seems so formal and I'd like us to be friends."

She gave a slow nod, "Sure."

He smiled and the harsh hand that was just rummaging through her bag suddenly thrust it in front of her, "If you would please, Belladonna, lets see that panic button eh?"

Her fingers twitched, the button was in her hand, the ability to summon Roman battled with the fear of what would follow; would he even come? Cobblepot's words were a chess move, pushing her toward action while reminding her of the stakes, Roman's response notwithstanding. She pushed the button.

~~~

Roman's forehead glistened with sweat, each droplet born of the force with which he hammered the heavy bag. In the soft glow of his penthouse gym, his movements were sharp and fierce, releasing his pent-up frustration with every punishing strike. With each blow, he couldn't shake the thoughts of Belladonna's unwanted intrusion into his carefully guarded sanctuary of self-control.

The echoing thud of leather meeting canvas filled the space, accompanied by the rhythmic rasp of his breath. His usually icy gaze burned with an intensity that betrayed the storm brewing inside him—a mixture of anger, frustration, and an insatiable thirst for dominance.

Despite the chaos of his assault, Roman's actions were precise and calculated, each strike a testament to his control. It was as if he were conducting a symphony of violence, every movement deliberate and purposeful, yet fueled by a primal energy that threatened to consume him.

This was Roman regaining control, not through restraint or diplomacy, but through sheer aggression.

In stark contrast to Romans controlled fury, Zsasz worked with quiet efficiency in the next room, where the remnants of the shattered phone lay scattered on the dining table like evidence of a minor explosion. With deft fingers, he assembled a new device, transferring the SIM card from the broken phone to its replacement. It was a task he performed without hesitation, because this wasn't the first phone to meet an unfortunate fate, knowing well the expectations of his volatile employer. Thus far, when it came to phones for the year, Roman had come in under budget.

As he powered on the new device, its screen lit up, revealing a cascade of missed calls—all from the same contact: Belladonna.

Zsasz's lips pressed into a thin line, the only sign of his concern as he navigated through the notifications. The calls all spaced less than a minute apart. Roman's outbursts were never without consequence; missed communications during such episodes often meant trouble—trouble that had a way of escalating quickly. Roman might have been angry at Belladonna right now but Zsasz knew his employer well enough to know that his current anger would pale in comparison if something had actually happened to Belladonna.

"Roman," Zsasz called out in a calm tone, purposely keeping a safe distance from his boss's volatile aura. He didn’t envy that punching bag and he sure as hell didn’t want to take its place.

"There are fifteen missed calls from Belladonna."

The rhythmic thuds of Roman's fists against the heavy bag came to an abrupt stop. He stood there, fist coked, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, sweat glistening on his skin, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at the bag that had borne the brunt of his anger.

His cold gaze shot towards Zsasz, annoyance flaring in them like a match struck in darkness. But there was a brief pause as he glanced from the bag to Zsasz. "So?" he snarled, turning back to the bag and raising clenched fists once again.

"Bit much for her,"

"Probably calling to beg for forgiveness, I think she needs to learn about consequences of being a fucking drama queen." His fists shot out again, pounding furiously into the bag.

"Yeah,” He paused, sucking his teeth, “Thing is they're all less than a minute apart." Zsasz countered, his voice betraying none of the alarm coiling tight in his gut. "And there's one voicemail."

That caught Roman's attention long enough to pull him away from the leather-skinned adversary. His fists uncurled slightly, tension still riding high on his broad shoulders.

"Play it,"

Zsasz tapped the screen, and the room was filled with a voice that neither of them expected—a dry British voice laced with the dark honey of veiled threats and unwelcome familiarity.

"’Ello Roman, my dear fellow, you an’ I have gone and landed ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Care to join us for a drink at your lovely lady’s abode? There’s matters to discuss, an’ don’t dawdle too long, she's looking a tad nervous, this lovely lady of yours, it’ don’t suit her. Cheers."

The name 'Oswald Cobblepot' didn't need to be spoken; its owner's presence was felt through the speakers, sending a jolt of electricity down Roman's spine. The blood pounding in his ears drowned out the sound of the bag's chain swinging idly, and for a moment, all was silent save for the taunting echo of Cobblepot's invitation.

"Get the car," Roman snarled, his lip curling in a vicious sneer. No longer the captive prey, he was now the relentless predator, every sinew coiled with deadly purpose.

Zsasz snatched up keys while Roman hurriedly threw on a shirt and jacket. Their swift movements came to an abrupt halt as the phone emitted a sharp, piercing tone, different than any ordinary call or notification. It was an alert—a signal that pierced through the tension like a wailing siren. Roman's eyes narrowed as he seized the device, his thumb pressing firmly against the screen to reveal a pulsating red icon.

"Panic button." Roman growled, his voice dripping with a volatile mix of rage and apprehension.

"Move, now!" he barked at Zsasz, the urgency and gravity of the situation communicated in their exchanged glance. Without hesitation, Zsasz handed Roman a loaded gun, which he didn’t hesitate to accept, feeling an odd sensation about handling the gun once more. Especially since it was the same weapon Belladonna had thrust into his hand just a short time before.

~~~

The button, designed for emergencies, remained ominously quiet, devoid of any sound. Of course, it made sense; a panic button shouldn't give away the user's position. Still, a part of her wished for even a faint click, a subtle acknowledgment of her plea for help, some indication of its functionality. Yet, there was nothing but silence, exacerbating the sense of isolation and vulnerability.

She set it on the coffee table and her fingers clasped together in a futile attempt to steady herself amidst the escalating fear. Sitting across from her, Oswald Cobblepot's eyes flickered with a predatory amusement, reveling in the unease he instilled.

"Ok," she said, her voice surprisingly steadier than she felt, but she still felt like throwing uo. She wondered if the lie tasted as bitter on her tongue as the truth of her desperation did. “He’s on his way.”

"Is that so?" He leaned back into the plush armchair, his fingers steepled before him, his gaze never wavering from her face. "I do hope he doesn't keep us waiting."

Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat a deafening drum reverberating through the room. The armed men stationed around her were like statues, and though it was irrational, she fought the urge to blink, because their unmoving presence reminded her of the weeping angels from Doctor Who. One blink, and they might spring to life. She opted for subtly crossing her fingers and toes for Roman's swift arrival.

Her eyes first darted to the window, but that was no good. The ground below was too far to jump without risking injury, which made it useless as a means of escape. Living on the third floor didn’t offer her too many options. She could only go up to the roof which only put her in a more dangerous predicament, where would she go then? She’d be trading one trap for another. It wasn’t like she could sneak out the bathroom window either, it was tiny and not even a toddler could squeeze through it, besides, that also was under the assumption that she would be left alone in the first place. Judging by what she was seeing presently, it wouldn't surprise her if someone stood in the doorway and waited, not even giving her privacy if she actually had to pee. Despite her hands resting neatly in her lap, they were slick with perspiration.

"Well, while we’re twiddling our thumbs waiting for dear old Roman," Oswald started, tilting his head slightly, "Tell me, Belladonna, how are the lovebirds faring these days?" His voice oozed with faux interest, sharply contrasting the unspoken menace hanging heavy in the room's silence.

“I must say, I was taken aback to see Roman parading around so publicly with a lady, but in a strange sort of way, it’s rather heartening. The poor lad's never been one for sticking to just one woman, especially not one so posh.”

Belladonna's throat tightened, constricting her breath. She bit down on her tongue, scrambling for a safe response, but she didn’t have one. This guy felt like a human lie detector, he definitely knew she was afraid, could she pass off a lie as fear? It was a hell of a gamble. The argument with Roman still stung, their harsh words lingering in her mind. Now, uncertainty clawed at her, making the idea of relying on him for rescue feel like nothing short of a pipe dream.

"Roman is... well, Roman," she hedged, her tone carefully neutral.

But beneath the surface, panic surged as she continued to mentally map out escape routes and noting the positions of Oswald's men. Roman's absence left a void between her safety and the imminent danger. She had no choice but to prepare for the worst, to act as if she were truly alone.

"I'm never bored."

A wave of dizziness washed over her, blurring her surroundings. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the fog that continued creeping in. The headache, a persistent throb since the police station that morning, pounded against her temples with renewed intensity. But maybe she would get lucky and it would turn out to be an aneurysm and she’d be dead before she hit the ground.

"Roman being Roman… Now that sounds spot on for the lad, doesn't it?" Oswald's amusement appeared genuine, his laughter almost convincing, but his narrowing eyes betrayed a deeper scrutiny. "You appear a tad off. Are you feeling quite yourself, my dear?”

"I'm fine, just a long day," she replied, mustering a forced smile that she knew wasn’t convincing anyone. Inside, her instincts screamed at her to move, to do anything other than sit there like a sitting duck. But she remained motionless, every muscle coiled for action but simultaneously frozen.

"Of course," Oswald acknowledged, he looked almost sympathetic now, it really didn’t quit him. "Dealing with the police tends to ruffle feathers, doesn’t it? I do hope they maintained their decorum in your presence." She nodded with a soft ‘Mmhmm’, not remotely interested in hashing or drawing attention to their visit to the precinct or the circumstances as they left.

"You know, Belladonna, Roman is quite the peculiar individual." Oswald continued, prompting a genuine smile from her at the accurate portrayal of Roman. Wasn’t that the truth? "But that's his essence, isn't it? He's been that way since our school days."

Cobblepot shook his head and pulled out a flask from his coat pocket, holding it out to her briefly. Normally, a drink would have been just the thing she needed, but at that moment, the sight of the flask turned her stomach for several reasons.

"Do you and Roman go way back?"

Oswald chuckled deeply, looked like it. His reaction hinting that his sense of humor probably wasn’t on par with others. "Most certainly, all the way back to our days at Gotham Preparatory for Boys. Same year and all, me and Roman. Our families were close-knit for years until all that unpleasantness with his family. It's tough being the black sheep.”

She had never been able to figure out what it was that had caused the clear rift between Roman and his family, but Oswald seemed to know. “Shame it was to find yourself on your own at such a young age. But that didn't stop him; look at him now! Building his own empire, a savvy businessman with a lovely lady by his side. Warms the heart. Gives the rest of us hope, eh?" Not enough hope for you, buddy. For a moment, he seemed lost in nostalgia, his gaze distant as if peering into the past. "Roman back then, what a force of nature…"

"Never met a bloke more eager for a scrap than Roman. Always ready to throw fists, no matter the time or place. An’ he didn’t always win, but let me tell you, his opponents didn't walk away unscathed, that fella ‘as seen more blood than a turn of the century midwife.” He chuckled almost warmly but it was somehow wrong sounding. “A violent streak a mile wide, like a wild dog, really. By our senior year, Roman had men scurrying to the opposite side of the street just to steer clear of him, striking fear into everyone he encountered." His laughter resumed with a hearty slap on the knee, a memory amusing him while leaving the listener with the impression that most wouldn't share his amusement.

"Once took a chunk out of a lad's ear. Oh yeah, blood runnin’ down his face, the other lad screamin’ in agony an’ not a one person stepped in to do anything, that’s the power Roman had. Should've seen him expelled and arrested, but you know how persuasive parents can be, can't they? Funny how things change; lately, I've never seen ‘im so calm and collected. Quite a departure from the Roman I've always known." His nonchalance in his recall of the memory, which by all means sounded horrific, seemed to completely tickle him and he slapped his knee again then wiped away a tear.

He took a swig, the loud smacking of his lips likely to irk Roman—just as it did her. "Maybe it's all 'cause of havin' a lovely lady like yourself in his life. I reckon you've had quite the calming effect on our lad."

It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that Cobblepot and Roman were the same age. The difference between them was like night and day. Despite Roman being older than her, he still had that youthful spark about him. His smile could light up a room and make you feel like you were the most important person in the world with just a wink and a grin. He was charming and gorgeous.

On the other hand, Cobblepot looked like he had been through the wringer, more than once. He seemed aged beyond his years, with his face bearing the marks of countless battles lost. His smile wasn't exactly charming; it was a bit lopsided, his teeth slightly crooked and almost giving off a feral vibe. But that was what made him a bit scarier than Roman, at least at the moment. She never once thought Roman would sink his teeth into someone and rip out their throat, though he seemed to have a penchant for ear biting or slicing, and not in a fun kinky kind of way. Cobblepot looked as though he would go for the jugular and he didn’t care if it got messy.

"He's never been one to tolerate the paparazzi either, no siree. He's knocked out more than a few of 'em. Got himself quite the reputation, ain't that somethin'?"

None of that surprised Belladonna, not a bit. She kept up with the tabloids enough to know Roman Sionis was the last man whose face she’d shove a camera into.

She squirmed on the plush couch under Oswalds uneven smile, feeling trapped in its luxury.

"Roman Sionis ain't got a bird on his arm like you, not a chance. Can't remember a time in all the bleedin' years I've known him when he's ever had more than a fleeting interest in a girl, that lasted longer than the time it took to get her into bed. Never seen him stickin' with the same tart twice; he's always been a 'use 'em and lose 'em' type, ain't he? Proper interesting, I tell ya," Oswald remarked in his typically casual tone, though there was a definite edge to his voice.

"With his fiery temper, most birds don't stick around too long, and I've never seen him being so lovey-dovey or payin' such close attention to a lady’s needs before. You must be a right gem, Miss Black. That's why, when I had trouble gettin' hold of him for a chat, I thought, maybe his new lady could help me track him down. So, I thought I'd pop by and pay you a visit. And here you are! Just as lovely as I imagined. Reckon you could be a good match for our bloke."

Belladonna wanted to scoff at that one. Special? If only he knew the mess Roman had made of her life. Or the further of that mess she’d made just an hour ago.

"Oh, he enjoys the chase, the thrill of something new and exciting. I'm just... the flavor of the month, you might say." She forced a dismissive wave of her hand, hoping it wasn’t shaking too noticeably.

Oswald leaned back, appraising her with a skeptic's eye. Whatever thoughts churned behind his calculating gaze, he kept them hidden for the moment. Belladonna held her breath, waiting for a response that didn't come. Instead, Oswald simply smiled, a knowing grin that told her he wasn't remotely convinced.

She was playing a dangerous game, but it was the only card she had left. And right now, her hand was all that stood between her and whatever plans Oswald Cobblepot harbored for Roman Sionis—and for her.

His thin lips curled into a smirk as he languidly reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket. Her pulse quickened, breath hitching slightly as she watched his deliberate movements, fearing a gun but what he pulled out was much worse.

He withdrew a creased gossip magazine, flipping through pages with an air of nonchalance before stopping.

"Oh, come now, Belladonna. I think you're selling yourself quite short."

He placed the glossy magazine on the table facing her, unveiling the stolen moment splashed across the tabloids.

The photo felt like it belonged to another lifetime, especially after the rollercoaster of a week they'd just been through. Frozen in that moment, it captured them mid-kiss: her hand resting lightly on his chest, the other tangled in the back of his hair. Roman's arm wrapped snugly around her waist, his hand cradling her cheek, the kiss filled with a passion that left no room for hesitation or doubt.

Multiple shots immortalized their intimacy, lips locked in a hungry dance, tongues entwined in a private tango. She had barely caught a glimpse of the camera lens before she leaned in for that impulsive kiss; she hadn't seen this specific photo yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before it surfaced. Surprisingly, it took longer than she thought.

In the picture, they seemed like different people altogether, lost in a love that consumed them both. For a moment she initiated, Roman looked as though such affection came naturally to him, as if they'd been doing it for years. As opposed to what they were.

"But I think we both know you're more than a 'flavor of the month'."

Belladonna's throat turned to sandpaper, her stomach churning with unease. She took a shaky breath, desperate to maintain her facade of indifference. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, attempting to form a response, but she found herself utterly speechless. Her silence spoke volumes.

"That's what I thought…" His eyes gleamed with malice. "See, this photo says two things to me. One: it means you've certainly got a hold of Roman's heartstrings, which makes you a very rare bird indeed. One I should like very much to be on good terms with," His smile twisted, revealing unusually sharp teeth. "Or, it means you really are just the flavor of the month, but damn, what a flavor it is. In that case, I'm wasting my time here, and you can't be of any real assistance. And that last one puts us all in a rough spot…"

She felt the room spin, her vision blurring at the edges, occasionally twinkling with fairy lights. Oswald wasn't here for small talk; he was a vulture circling his prey, ready to strike. Her body trembled as she fought back the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. This was more than a game of cat and mouse—her life hung in the balance, and she knew it.

"So, which is it, my dear, Belladonna?" Oswald purred, his gaze never leaving hers.

The room tilted, and Belladonna clutched at the armrest of the couch to steady herself. She could practically hear the trap snapping shut, the finality of her options dwindling to none. With every second that ticked by, her hope of walking away from this encounter unscathed slipped further out of reach.

Oswald's eyes narrowed, sensing the shift in Belladonna's demeanor as her body swayed ever so slightly. The steeliness that once laced her words now hung frayed and tattered. She seemed a porcelain figure on the verge of shattering, each breath drawn sharper than the last.

"He’s not coming, is he?"

He let out a very heavy sigh that was full of what sounded like real disappointment, it was the only thing about his presence that she believed. "That's very unfortunate, isn't it?” His voice slithered through the air, but Belladonna's lips remained sealed, her thoughts ensnared in a tumultuous storm she couldn’t escape.

Behind her, the cold muzzle of a gun pressed unceremoniously against the base of her skull, freezing her blood in her veins again.

“You must understand my dear, no one is more disappointed by the outcome of this little meeting than myself. I’d hoped for a far less messy conclusion, but it seems Roman has made that decision for us already, and I do hope there's no personal feelings. You must understand, it's just business." He patted her hand patronizingly, she nodded and closed her eyes taking a deep breath. "No, no, lads, let's do in the chest, this lovely lady deserves an open casket, don't she?"

Once more, Belladonna found herself staring down the barrel of a gun, the heavy weight of impending death pressing down on her. As the hand wielding the weapon leveled it directly at her heart, the world around her began to blur into a surreal haze. Clear sounds melted away into nothingness, replaced by a distant ringing akin to tinnitus, and the voices around her morphed into incomprehensible gibberish, like the muted chatter of adults in a Peanuts cartoon.

Despite the gravity of the unfolding situation, Belladonna felt herself drifting away from reality, slipping into a state of dissociation as if observing the scene from afar. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly amidst the chaos, the stale odor of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of gun oil emanating from the handgun aimed at her. Oswald's gestures appeared exaggerated, like some ringmaster orchestrating the final act of a grim circus performance.

Physical symptoms of discomfort began to ease—dizziness fading, headache receding, nausea subsiding, trembling abating, clammy palms cooling—she found herself suspended in an eerie calm.

The mundane sounds of shoes tapping on the floor, and the accompanying creak of floorboards beneath them, the whirr of her ceiling fan, with the loose bolt she'd intended to tighten to silence its occasional squeak all added to the surreal atmosphere.

She looked up the barrel of the gun to the indifferent stare of the man before her, and for a second she wondered if this was what a doctor facing a condemned convict before administering a lethal injection looked like. Silence stretched thick with anticipation until it was abruptly shattered by a forceful entry that brooked no subtlety, as the door to her apartment burst open.

Roman Sionis, a tempest of fury and resolve, stormed into the room like a cataclysmic force of nature, accompanied by Zsasz and a formidable cadre of a dozen armed men. Each figure exuded an aura of unyielding power and control, their weapons drawn with synchronized precision honed through countless deadly encounters, they moved as one, their steps echoing a deadly choreography perfected through the crucible of battle.

All of her senses swirled in a chaotic symphony, her pulse pounding like a drumbeat in her ears, drowning out the sounds of impending danger. Time continued to warp and stretch, as if caught in a surreal limbo, until her gaze finally lifted from the menacing barrel of the gun to meet Roman's intense stare.

In an instant, clarity pierced through the frenzy, and the world snapped back into focus. Roman's presence enveloped her like a looming shadow, his aura pulsating with a barely restrained intensity that seethed beneath his calm exterior. As he stalked into the living room his every movement commanded silence and respect. Like he had clawed his way up from the bowels of hell, draped in darkness, emanating a raw power that left all who beheld him caught between awe and apprehension.

One thing was clear—Roman Sionis had arrived, a formidable force to be reckoned with, and he was fucking pissed.

The man holding the gun jerked suddenly and his hand landed heavily on Belladonna's shoulder, keeping her firmly trapped in place. He was quick to redirect the gun, pressing it menacingly against her temple. She took the motion, feeling it flow through her limbs but found herself still very detached from what was happening.

Oswald’s lips curved into a smile as he looked at Roman, almost as if he were greeting an old friend. But, while "old" fit, calling them friends was stretching it a bit.

"Ah, the man of the hour!" Oswald announced, his voice a mix of amusement and a hint of caution. "You've finally decided to grace us with your presence. Good thing too, Belladonna here was getting antsy, poor thing seemed to think she wasn't much of a priority at all." He reached for Belladonna's hand, giving it a reassuring pat, "See? I told you, you was something special, love."

Roman's jaw clenched, the muscle ticking like a warning sign of the eruption brewing within him. His eyes, black and hard, fixed on the cold steele still trained on Belladonna.

"Put that gun down and take your hands off my angel," Roman growled, low and dangerous. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the leather of his black gloves creaking as his grip intensified.

Oswald was seemingly unperturbed by the lethal aura emanating from Roman, unlike his men who seemed more concerned with being in his vicinity, but a flicker in his gaze betrayed a hint of caution. He knew better than to mistake Roman's controlled fury for weakness, as he had told Belladonna, they went way back.

"Temper, temper, Roman," he chided mockingly as if the whole thing was a prank or a joke that lacked a punchline. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Cobblepot. If your man doesn't lower his piece, I can guarantee there won’t be enough of you and your crew left to fill a matchbox. Tell them to step back, or I might just conveniently forget our... 'history' altogether."

Oswald gestured with a tilt of his head and a flick of his hand, the henchman behind Belladonna lowered his weapon, releasing her shoulder and stepping back but never quite relaxing his stance. It was unnerving, it looked as though Cobblepot had the disadvantage, Roman had more men and more guns, so why was Cobblepot smiling?

Roman's steely gaze held firm even as the immediate threat of the gun subsided, a silent triumph in the precarious power play. The atmosphere in the room shifted, Oswald still stood between Roman and Belladonna.

Roman's face remained unreadable, giving away none of the gut-wrenching worry that consumed him. He had honed the ability to hide his feelings, knowing they were vulnerabilities he couldn't afford to show. Just his mere presence spoke volumes, revealing far more than Roman wanted to let on.

"Come here, Belladonna,"

Oswald glanced downward and extended his hand to assist her in rising to her feet. Roman gritted his teeth at the contact but remained still as a statue. With cautious movements, she stood up slowly, her gaze wary as she searched for any sign of movement from him. Yet, he remained motionless, his expression impassive as if it were just another Tuesday for this asshole. Oswald didn't press further, simply aiding her to stand before offering a reassuring pat on her hand.

With tentative steps, she moved forward, drawn inexorably by the gravitational pull of Roman's presence. Each step was tentative, and she swayed slightly, feeling off-balance. As she closed the distance between them, she reached out with a trembling hand and grasped onto Roman's outstretched arm. From there, he took over, pulling her securely behind him, shielding her from harm and providing a sense of stability with his unyielding frame.

"Well now look at that, such a fine looking couple. Now that we're all here, we need to have a bit of a chat. Seems like you've been busy at the docks, Roman," Oswald said, attempting to steer the conversation towards territories less fraught with personal entanglements. "Shipping lanes are getting crowded these days. I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding there recently, let's clear that up, shall we?"

"Nothing to clear up. Stay out of my business, Cobblepot," Roman replied curtly, his focus divided between the veiled threats and the fragile figure clinging to him. "And keep your men on a shorter leash."

Oswald's smile thinned, a hint of steel entering his previously jovial tone. "Just trying to keep the waters smooth for everyone. You know how messy it can get when lines are crossed."

"Then don't cross them," Roman shot back, each word laced with an icy finality. "Or next time I won't be so nice."

"Roman, one of my boys here is missing an ear, you call that nice?" He said it so lightheartedly as if he were making a joke he expected people to chuckle at. The man missing an ear didn’t seem to find any humor in the observations nor Romans presence, he just glared at Belladonna but seemed to take a step back when Romans abyssal gaze fell on him.

"Yeah, I sent him back alive."

Belladonna's fingers clenched around his arm, her complexion draining of color to resemble the stark paleness of alabaster. This transformation made her dark hair appear even more striking, akin to the sleekness of a raven's wing—a detail not unnoticed by Roman. Though he refrained from displaying any overt reaction, he offered her a subtle squeeze of reassurance. In this game of power, every gesture was scrutinized, every weakness potentially exploited.

"Watch yourself, Sionis,"

"Always do," Roman replied, his eyes never leaving Oswald's.

"Lads, I think we've taken up enough of Romans time for the moment,"

With a nod to his men, Oswald signaled the withdrawal, and one by one, they filed out of the apartment, leaving the space feeling more like an open wound than a place she once found comfort in. Roman's posture was rigid, an unspoken threat emanating from his every pore as he shielded Belladonna with his frame. His hand found the small of her back, protective and possessive all at once.

"Let's get one thing clear," Roman growled, his voice a low rumble of barely contained fury. "Your boys come sniffing around my territory or my woman again?" He leaned in closer to Oswald, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I send 'em back in pieces." Romans admission of Belladonna as 'his woman' didn't go unnoticed, drawing a few glances.

Oswald regarded him with a cold amusement, unfazed by the promise of violence. "Protection is a tricky business, Roman." He strolled casually towards the door, pausing to adjust his cufflinks with meticulous care. "Better not skip our next little chat, hm? It would be most unfortunate to misunderstand each other over such... delicate matters. We still have things to sort out, we'll talk again soon."

Turning on his heel, Oswald, with a flourish that matched the grandiosity of his reputation, addressed Belladonna once more "My dear," he intoned, his voice slick as oil, "your hospitality has been most enlightening, an’ it’s been a pleasure to meet you, hope our paths cross again soon! So glad this all worked out!"

Belladonna held her breath as she watched Oswald's back recede towards the door. He seemed to glide rather than walk, his every move calculated for effect. All the world's a stage, and while before she had often thought of Roman as a showman performing for a crowd, it came effortlessly to him. Oswald seemed to think his audience was larger than it was. His men, a cadre of shadows in suits, filed out behind him in silence. The door clicked shut with an air of finality.

Once the threat had physically left the premises, Roman's men sprang into action. Led by Zsasz they communicated with terse hand signals, moving like a well-oiled machine, sweeping through Belladonna's apartment with precision. The intensity of their search was surreal; they checked under tables, behind curtains, and inside cupboards. Every potential hiding spot was scrutinized, every corner scanned for bugs or any other surprises. The tension slowly began to ebb away as they methodically cleared each room, nodding to one another to confirm the absence of danger.

Whirling around, he reached out, gently cupping her face. His eyes scanned her form, searching for any signs of injury, before finally locking onto her with an intensity that seemed to tether him to reality.

"Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" his voice low and gruff, strained with the struggle to keep his composure, the anger was still there though, just bubbling beneath the surface.

She could feel the heat from his body beginning to chase away the chill of fear that had seized her just moments ago. She tried to muster a response, but her body betrayed her, leaving her words tangled in a throat tight with panic and exhaustion. The throbbing returned, nausea surged back up, dizziness asserting control over her and all she could manage was a deathgrip on the lapels of his jacket.

“Loft is clear,” Zsasz, ever observant, stepped closer, his eyes scanning Belladonna with an analytical precision that missed nothing. "She doesn't look good, Roman," his voice devoid of emotion yet tinged with an urgency that underscored the gravity of the situation.

Roman's jaw clenched, the mask of indifference he so often wore crumbling as his eyes took in the pallor of Belladonna's skin, the tremble in her limbs.

"Talk to me, Belladonna," Roman urged, his thumb brushing against the nape of her neck in a soothing motion that belied the steel in his tone.

His gaze sharpened at the subtle shiver that coursed through Belladonna, her skin a ghostly shade of white that even the dim lighting couldn't soften. Her eyes, usually so piercing and alive, now seemed to flicker with a quiet distress that pulled at something primal within him.

"When did you last eat?"

Her dark eyes darted towards the door where Cobblepot had made his exit moments ago. "He was already here when I—" Her words tumbled out in a rush, the coherence of her thoughts frayed by the events that had unfolded. "I couldn't get out, Roman, and the panel was—" Her breaths came in short, panicked bursts, “The had their guns on me– he–he knew about the panic button–"

"Focus, Angel," Roman cut in, his hand cupping her chin, compelling her gaze back to his. There was no anger in his touch, only a commanding steadiness that sought to guide her away from panic. "When. Did. You. Eat?"

Her lips parted, but it took a moment for the words to follow, hesitant and laced with confusion. "I– I'm– not sure."

Roman's eyes narrowed, the pieces falling into place—a puzzle he hadn't realized was scattered before him until now. She was far more than just shaken from the experience.

Roman maneuvered her towards the plush divan, with each step, her weight leaned more heavily against him, her strength waning like the last flickers of a dying candle.

"Sit," he murmured, voice low, a command wrapped in a plea. But as he eased her down, her knees buckled like broken reeds, and she collapsed into his arms with the gracelessness of a marionette whose strings had been cut.

"Belladonna!" Roman's voice cracked like a whip through the tension-thick air.

Her name, usually a purr of possession on his lips, now a jagged shard of panic. He held her close, her body limp in his embrace, her face ghostly pale—a specter of the vibrant woman who'd challenged him at every turn.

"She’s crashing." Zsasz's voice was distant yet urgent, breaking through the tension with a sense of impending crisis.

The words hit Roman like a bolt of lightning, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins. In that moment, his determination solidified – she was his. His decision to spare her life that night wasn’t going to be undone by something as simple or stupid as a sugar crash, ice flooded his veins as he remembered Daisy’s cautionary warning about the consequences. He gritted his teeth, pulling Belladonna closer as if his mere presence could ward off danger.

"Damn it," Roman growled, pulling Belladonna tighter against him, as if his own strength could fortify her. "Get her bag! Daisy said she’s always got something in her bag!"

Without hesitation, Zsasz darted forward, snatching up the discarded bag and rifling through its contents. His fingers closed around a small bag of M&Ms, an inconsequential discovery under normal circumstances.

Roman barely glanced at him, his focus solely on Belladonna, her head resting against his shoulder, her breaths shallow. He nodded tersely, signaling Zsasz to approach with the makeshift remedy.

"Out. All of you," Roman commanded, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the room. Not needing to be told twice, they filed out.

With the room now empty, Roman carefully positioned Belladonna against the couch's armrest, her body limp like that of a rag doll. With an unusual tenderness, he ripped open the bag of brightly colored candy, handling it with more care than he had shown anything in years. He then extended a handful to her trembling hands. It was a strange contrast; instead of medical supplies like gauze, stitches, or alcohol, it was a simple ninety-nine cent bag of candy that seemed to be coming to their rescue.

"Open your mouth, angel," he said, his command softening into a gentle coaxing, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos.

Belladonna's eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion and confusion. With trembling hands, she reached for the offered morsels, but her grip faltered, spilling a few onto the fabric of the couch.

"Roman..." she murmured weakly, her voice barely audible above the turmoil.

"Take the damn candy, Belladonna," he commanded, crushing the red morsel before guiding it to her lips. His touch was both tender and possessive as his thumb brushed against her lower lip, slipping the piece into her mouth.

As she chewed slowly, the chocolate melted on her tongue, leaving behind a sweet trail on her lips. With each passing moment, the tension in Roman's jawline eased slightly, replaced by a sense of relief as he observed her. He watched every subtle movement, from the way her throat worked as she swallowed to the faint return of color to her cheeks.

But even as he fed her the candy piece by piece, his muscles remained tense with worry, minutes ticking by without solace.

"This never would have happened if you hadn't stormed off," he said, the words slipping out amidst the quiet concern, a hint of the anger that had not long ago consumed him. But even as he spoke them, there was no force behind the reproach, no venom.

The sweetness seeping into her bloodstream was a lifeline thrown across the chasm of her fatigue, she leaned forward slumping against Roman’s shoulder.

"You were being a dick," she murmured, the accusation slipping out with a weak breath. It was less of an attack and more of an exhausted confession, her words slurred by the effort it took to voice them.

In the hollow quiet that followed, Roman's silhouette loomed over her, his presence a dark canopy in the dimly lit room. His eyes remained locked onto hers, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling in their depths—anger, concern, something indefinable that tugged at the corner of his mouth, suppressing the reflex to argue.

"Maybe," he conceded, the word almost lost in the space between them.

He could have retorted, could have unleashed the cold fury that so often defined him, but here, with Belladonna's life seeming to hang by a thread, such defenses seemed petty.

As her head came to rest against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a grounding rhythm in the chaos. Belladonna's grip on Roman tightened, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him like a lifeline.

"Your heart’s going crazy," she muttered low and quietly. With every pulse, her sugar levels climbed, dragging her back from the brink, each beat whispering promises of safety, of possession.

Roman's arms adjusted around her, movements deliberate, ensuring her comfort as they supported her weakened frame. The dangerous dance continued, the lines of their relationship blurred and redrawn with every shared breath, every silent oath spoken through actions rather than words. And as her sugar stabilized, Roman's gaze searched Belladonna's face for any sign of improvement.

“We should get out of here boss,” Roman nodded to Zsasz’s suggestion. “I’ll call the doc.”

He leaned in closer, steadying her with one arm while using the other to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His voice was softer now, the hard edges worn down by worry.

"Can you stand?"

Belladonna’s eyes fluttered open, the fog of weakness still clouding her vision. She attempted to focus on Roman's face, the lines of anxiety etched deeply around his eyes. Her lips parted, but no clear words formed, just a breathy murmur that left her intentions as hazy as the room spinning gently around them.

"Alright."

The word was a low rumble in Roman's chest, his decision made in the absence of a coherent response. In one fluid motion, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back, lifting her from the couch as though she weighed nothing at all. His hands, those instruments of both violence and protection, cradled her gently, lifting her from the couch as though she were made of glass.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, the world tilting precariously as he carried her toward the door. Belladonna's hands clung weakly to the collar of his shirt, the fabric bunching under her tentative grasp.

"Get the car," Roman commanded without breaking his gait, his voice devoid of any emotion but the steel of authority.

Zsasz nodded and slipped away to execute the order, leaving Roman to face the remaining men. Their eyes followed him, curious and calculating, but none dared to step out of line. They recognized the silent fury that lurked beneath the surface of Roman's composure—a fury that promised retribution should anyone challenge his actions or question his motives. There was no protest, only the silent acquiescence to his unspoken command, but there was confusion and questions.

Roman Sionis didn’t do this. He didn’t carry anyone, he didn’t bring down an ungodly show of force for a woman. But none of them were stupid enough to voice these questions.

Roman's stride was unwavering as he navigated through the sea of exchanged glances from his men. The weight of Belladonna in his arms did nothing to hinder his pace, his jaw set in a hard line, every muscle in his body tensed for action. He could feel their eyes on him, watching this rare glimpse of tenderness from a man known for his ironclad control and ruthlessness.

He felt it too, the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Why the sudden display of care? What had changed the game so drastically that Roman Sionis, a figure feared and respected in equal measure, would expose even a hint of weakness?

But there was no time for doubt, no space for hesitation. The urgency thrummed through his veins like a drumbeat, propelling him forward. His priority was clear: get Belladonna to safety, away from prying eyes and lurking dangers. His world, which he ruled with an iron fist, could crumble if he didn't act swiftly to protect what was now an extension of himself.

The corridors of the building blurred past them, the staccato tap of his shoes against the floor punctuating the silence. Roman could sense the tension rolling off his men, the unasked questions about loyalty, power and possession. But they knew better than to voice them. They understood the unspoken rule—the boss's business was his own until he deemed otherwise.

The cool air kissed their faces as they emerged into the street, he shifted Belladonna slightly, ensuring her head was sheltered against the chill. Her breath, shallow and fragile, brushed against his neck, a reminder of her current fragility, something he was very uncomfortable with.

As the sleek black vehicle pulled up along the curb, Roman lowered Belladonna into the backseat with a gentleness that contradicted the harsh lines of his face. Then he turned to address his crew, his gaze sweeping over them with a cold intensity.

"Secure the perimeter. No one gets in or out without my say-so, and sweep it from top to bottom." he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

The men nodded, a chorus of murmured affirmatives filling the space between them as Roman slid into the car beside Belladonna. The door closed with a definitive thud, sealing them away from the outside world. As the engine roared to life, Roman allowed himself a brief moment to look down at the woman in his arms, her presence a quiet assertion of his priorities.

She was safe—for now. And as the car sped away, disappearing into the night, Roman Sionis knew that the game had changed irrevocably, and all because of the woman who had unwittingly become his everything.

Fourteen

~~~

Things are heating up!!! @supernatural-lover @keffirinne

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