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thegreatwicked · 4 months

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Shadows of Deception - Chapter Seventen

Shadows of Deception

The Great Wicked

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

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

River by BRKN LOVE

2:47 AM.

What in the hell?

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

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

Belladonna.

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

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

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

She looked like crap.

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

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

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

But she seemed plenty awake now though.

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

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

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

Fuck it, there were worse ways to die.

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

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

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

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

"Angel, what's gotten into you?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Shh,"

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that right?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Interesting enough to keep around?"

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

"I wish you had."

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

"Couldn't let something so beautiful die,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet, she doesn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that what you want, Roman?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"FUUUUCK!"

The word tore through the quiet of the penthouse.

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

"Morning,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zsasz just shrugged, taking another wordless sip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"When?!"

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

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

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

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

Zsasz was fucking nuts.

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

"Finish your damn coffee."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angel,"

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

Wait. What?

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

He was rubbing off on her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let's go to my office,"

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

“This is your office?"

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

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

"You've never brought me here before,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have your mother's smile,"

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

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

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

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

"We don't have any photos, Roman."

“I’ll handle it,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you have in mind?”

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

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

Fat chance at this rate.

"That's it?" She asked incredulously.

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

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

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

“So, then, what’s the problem?"

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

"What's really going on, Roman?"

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

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

"Of course they are,"

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, so that was it…

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

"Roman, you seem frustrated.”

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

“Very astute.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I. Don’t. Beg.”

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

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

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

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

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

That was unexpected.

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

Maybe.

“Does your club have cameras?”

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

"In the storage room?"

He confirmed with a playful, singular nod.

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

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

“Show me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips twitched. "Minx."

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

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

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

"Alright, you win,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmm, is that so?"

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

“I did.”

“Tell me more, kitten.”

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

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

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

“Naughty girl, you like being teased?”

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

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

“Just a few?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What were you doing, kitten?”

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

Fuck. Roman groaned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Put your hands on it.”

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

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

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

“Fuck…”

“Do you like that?”

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

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

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

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

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

"Lick,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?”

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

“A year.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what you want, baby.”

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

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

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

"Kitten," he gasped, "Fuck. Fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The coil snapped.

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

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

“Swallow it, fucking hell, swallow it!”

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

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

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

He could take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How cute.

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

“On the desk, right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But.

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

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

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

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

“What?” Denial.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How awful.

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

“Maybe just a taste…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's for me.”

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

Acceptance.

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

“Enjoy this while you can, Angel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Be a good girl now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does she look amazing or what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression darkened, a frown creasing his brow.

"Get Roman,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Boss,"

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

"We have an issue at the entrance."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Eighteen

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

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

Stay toxic my friends.

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littleoddwriter · 1 year

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Rules, Guidelines, etc.:

[Used to be: ronaldrx]

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

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

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

Dead Poets Society

Horror

Raúl Esparza

The Simpsons

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

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

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

Requests = CLOSED (Max. Limit: 10)

Current number of requests: 10

Last updated: October 29, 2023

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

ALFRED MOLINA characters:

Doctor Otto Octavius/Doctor Octopus

DAVID DASTMALCHIAN characters:

Abner Krill/Polka-Dot Man

Bob Taylor

Denham

James Lewis

Johnson

Kurt Goreshter

Lonny Crane

Murdoc

Philippe/Abra Kadabra

Simon Lynch

Thomas Schiff

ETHAN HAWKE characters:

Arthur Harrow

Ellison Oswalt

Goodnight Robicheaux

James Sandin

EWAN MCGREGOR characters:

Alex Law

Catcher Block

Christopher Robin

Curt Wild

Dan Torrance

John Bishop

Mark Renton

Obi-Wan Kenobi

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

HUGH DANCY characters:

Adam Raki

Cal Roberts

Luke Brandon

Executive ADA Nolan Price

Will Graham

KARL URBAN characters:

Billy Butcher

Black Hat

John Kennex

Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy

Markiplier EGOS:

Darkiplier

Illinois

Wilford Warfstache

Yancy

PAUL DANO characters:

Alex Jones/Barry Milland [Platonic only!]

Dwayne Hoover [Platonic only!]

Edward Nashton/The Riddler

Eli Sunday

Jay (Okja)

Joby Taylor

Klitz

PEDRO PASCAL characters:

Agent Whiskey

Dave York

Dio Morrissey

Eddie

Ezra

Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Marcus Moreno

Marcus Pike

Max Phillips

Maxwell Lord

Oberyn Martell

Ricky Hauk

RAÚL ESPARZA characters:

Bobby

Dr. Frederick Chilton*

Jackson Neill

Jonas Nightingale

Rafael Barba

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

Carlos Reyes*

Eddie Diaz

Evan “Buck” Buckley

Howard “Chimney” Han

Josh Russo*

Mateo Chavez

Paul Strickland

Bobby Nash

Tim Rosewater

TK Strand*

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

Detective/ADA Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, Jr.

Sergeant Mike Dodds

Detective Nick Amaro

Executive ADA Nolan Price

ADA Peter Stone

ADA Rafael Barba

Deputy Chief William Dodds

Little Miss Sunshine:

Dwayne Hoover [Platonic only!]

Frank*

Our Flag Means Death:

Edward Teach/Blackbeard*

Frenchie

Izzy Hands

Stede Bonnet*

Prisoners (2013):

Alex Jones/Barry Milland [Platonic only!]

Bob Taylor

Detective David Loki

Renfield (2023):

Count Dracula

Robert Montague Renfield

Tedward “Teddy” Lobo

SLASHERS/Horror Film Characters:

Asa Emory/The Collector

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

Billy Lenz (1974)

Billy Loomis

Bo Sinclair

Brahms Heelshire

Bubba Sawyer/Leatherface (TCM 1974 and TCM 2)

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

Chop Top Sawyer

Corey Cunningham

Dewey Riley

Drayton Sawyer

Herbert West*

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

Lawrence Gordon

Lester Sinclair

Luigi Largo

Mark Hoffman

Nubbins Sawyer

Pavi Largo

Stu Macher

Vincent Sinclair

William Easton

Star Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Qui-Gon Jinn

The Girl Next Door:

Klitz

Eli

Characters from The Simpsons:

Cecil Terwilliger*

Fat Tony

Frankie the Squealer

Grady*

Jack Lassen

Johnny Tightlips

Julio*

Legs

Louie

Moe Szyslak

Ned Flanders

Otto Mann

Seymour Skinner

Sideshow Bob

Sideshow Mel

Snake Jailbird

Timothy Lovejoy

Waylon Smithers*

What We Do in the Shadows:

Anton (Movie)

Deacon

Guillermo de la Cruz*

Laszlo Cravensworth

Nandor the Relentless

Viago

Vladislav

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

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

SHIPS, such as:

BlackBonnet (OFMD)

SteddyHands (OFMD)

Black Pete x Lucius Spriggs (OFMD)

Buck x Josh Russo (9-1-1)

Dracfield (Renfield 2023)

Buddie (9-1-1)

Eli x Klitz (The Girl Next Door)

Nandermo (WWDITS)

Herbert West x Dan Cain (Re-Animator)

McKirk (Star Trek: AOS)

Oluwande x Jim Jimenez (OFMD)

Barisi (Law & Order SVU)

Renfield x Teddy Lobo (Renfield 2023)

Sickrent (Trainspotting/T2)

Stobotnik (Sonic Movie)

Tarlos (9-1-1: Lone Star)

AnderPerry (Dead Poets Society)

ZsaszMask (Birds of Prey)

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

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

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

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

(Recreational) Drug Use

Extreme Possessive Behaviour and/or Jealousy

Yandere

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

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

- Jesse

#ronny.exe #jesse.talks #pinned post #about this blog #request rules #guidelines

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mysticmayhem1337 · 5 months

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Movie Review #011

Revenge of the Sith

Directed by: George Lucas Year: 2005 Length: 2h 20m Rated: 7.6/10 Genre: Sci-Fi/Fantasy Stars: Hayden Christensen, Ewan McGregor and Natalie Portman.

Summary Surrounded by war, the Senate and the Jedi Council are at odds. Amidst the chaos, a new threat emerges, giving way to a new era.

Review Incredible fight choreography! Good connection between the prequel story and the original story. The release of tension works well as the stakes rise to meet it.

Honest Thoughts Look. I can't have Padmé Amidala's, this strong, independent female character who was queen at 14, death be boiled down to the fact she's sad about a man. She would have more resolve than that, especially for her children! I subscribe to the idea that Palpatine had something to do with it, the wrinkly bastard just can't let Skywalkers be happy. Watching Order 66 unfold is actually really horrifying, the younglings dying is the worst part. It sat with me for a moment. Star Wars can get really dark sometimes and I enjoy that. But seriously, Anakin has a track record for massacre, they should have seen this coming. Anyway, lightsabre go vroom. We were quoting all the memes, it was very silly (feels a bit tone-deaf to say).

Scores Performance: 4/5 Plot: 4/5 Effects: 3/5 Flow: 3/5 Engagingness: 5/5 Overall: 3.75/5

Information Source: IMDb Watched On: Disney+

#film #cinema #movie review #scifi #fantasy #star wars #revenge of the sith #hayden christensen #ewan mcgregor #natalie portman #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #order 66

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twenty-words-or-less · 2 years

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Top 5 Best Films of 2019

Okay, so I don't normally do this, but I've seen so many films this year that I thought I would summarise them by making top 5 lists. This one deals with my top 5 best (or favourite) films of the year.

IMPORTANT: I shall keep these as spoiler-free and short as I can.

5. Midsommar

A film that feels like it was made by a 50+y/o European that was actually made by a 30+y/o American. I initially thought it was kind of 'eh'. However, it did lodge in my head, and the more I thought about it and the more analyses I read/ watched, the more I liked it. It grew on me much like grass grew on our poor beleaguered protagonist in the numerous hallucinations she has over the course of the film.

4. Booksmart

Like the female answer to Superbad only with zero period jokes (thank fuck). Legitimately funny, rewatchable, and the lead characters have great chemistry. Shame that only ten people saw it, but roughly seven of those people - including [REDACTED] and I - enjoyed it immensely. Special mention goes to Billie Lourd, who was a fucking delight to watch in every scene she was in.

3. John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

A coherent, beautiful-looking action film that manages to be as good as its predecessors, which is highly unusual in a film series. I still care about the characters at this point, and I'd be happy to follow these characters through many more installments.

2. Doctor Sleep

The only TRULY good 2019 Stephen King adap, do not @ me. Despite one incredibly distressing scene, I would probably buy this on DVD or at least rewatch it. It's good to see Ewan McGregor get work again, especially as a ravaged, PTSD-ridden Dan Torrance, and it's fantastic to see Rebecca Ferguson get good work after the shitstorm that was "The Snowman" and the dull-as-fuck, grossly overrated "The Greatest Showman". Again, it's a shame that only five people saw it (basically). Genuinely good film.

Honourable mentions before we get to my #1, in no particular order:

Ready or Not: Samara Weaving gives it her all in this blackly comic slasher. I want to see her in more things. Also, on a more superficial note, her wedding dress in this was really pretty, even ripped to shreds and completely soaked in blood.

Crawl: A surprisingly good creature feature that was an absolute blast to watch. Also, the dog lives, which I am very happy about.

Knives Out: the best thing Rian Johnson has done since Looper. Strong cast and beautiful to look at (the film, I mean, not the cast), even if I did get a little lost near the end. Oh, and it automatically improves lad culture if you change the title to Get Your Knives Out For The Lads.

Child's Play: a remake that actually managed to update the setting and keep the things that made the original, well, the original? Holy shit. Also, the end credits song is incredibly catchy.

Avengers: Endgame: as anyone who knows me knows, I'm a slut for superhero films. Long as this was, it stuck the landing; it was a 3hr thank you for sticking with the franchise despite most of the films being 'eh'. Also, I LOVED Cap's ending, just saying.

And now, the most important one...

1. Brightburn

Or as I like to call it, We Need To Talk About Kal-El. Jackson A. Dunn was uncannily perfect for the titular role and the gore effects were fantastic (the car scene in particular). It works as a standalone film and the groundwork for any sequels, which I would happily go and watch, btw. I'd been looking forward to this for months, and I got exactly what I wanted from it. End of.

Whew, this turned out to be longer than I anticipated! Thanks for reading if you made it to the end. This has been my top 5 best; I shall post my top 5 worst later today (I'm seeing "Cats", and I anticipate it making the list). 🎵 Stay tuuuned... 🎵

~Mikey

#best of 2019 #2019 #mikey #midsommar #booksmart #john wick chapter 3 parabellum #doctor sleep #ready or not #crawl #knives out #looper #avengers endgame #brightburn #from the vault

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evco-productions · 1 year

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The Golden Trio

The “Golden Trio” is the Harry Potter fandom’s nickname for the series’ three central heroes: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. You’ll notice a particular dynamic there: two guys and one girl. You may or may not know that what I’ll call the “Golden Trio trope” is hardly limited to Harry Potter. Here are just a few other examples of movies featuring a central guy-guy-girl relationship*…

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (Ferris, Cameron, and Sloane)

Pirates of the Caribbean (Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, and Elizabeth Swann)

Jurassic Park (Sam Neill, Jeff Goldblum, and Laura Dern)

Iron Man (Tony Stark, James Rhodes, and Pepper Potts)

Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice (Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman)

The Perks of Being a Wallflower (Charlie, Patrick, and Sam)

Smokey & the Bandit (Burt Reynolds, Jerry Reed, and Sally Field)

A Few Good Men (Tom Cruise, Kevin Pollack, and Demi Moore)

Shaun of the Dead (Shaun, Ed, and Liz)

Weird Science (Anthony Michael Hall, Ilan Mitchell-Smith, and Kelly LeBrock)

Lethal Weapon 3 (Martin Riggs, Roger Murtaugh, and Lorna Cole)

Me & Earl & the Dying Girl (Thomas Mann, RJ Cyler, and Olivia Cooke)

Garden State (Zach Braff, Peter Sarsgaard, and Natalie Portman)

Sahara (Matthew McConaughey, Steve Zahn, and Penelope Cruz)

License to Drive (Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, and Heather Graham)

Shallow Grave (Kerry Fox, Christopher Eccleston, Ewan McGregor)

And, of course, Star Wars, which features this dynamic in nearly every one of its iterations:

The Original Trilogy (Luke, Han, and Leia)

The Prequel Trilogy (Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Padme)

The Sequel Trilogy (Rey, Finn, and Poe)

The Clone Wars (Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi-Wan or Rex, depending on the episode)

Rogue One (Jyn, Cassian, and K-2SO—debatable, since K is a droid, but he is voiced by a male actor and is present with the two humans long before the rest of the crew enters the picture)

I could go on for longer, but we’d be here all day. The point is, this happens a lot, and the list above is limited to the live-action films I could come up with off the top of my head. There are many more live-action instances of this trope and, as I understand it, a near-infinite supply within anime/manga stories.

I have written thirteen short stories over the last few years, but the only existing “thru-line” was a particular duology featuring this exact trope. Because I spent a decent amount of time with the three characters in question (Brad, Cory, and Leah are their names), I’m particularly interested in this trope. I cannot recall when their story began to reveal itself to me, but one thing was never in question: these three characters are the endgame. Their friendship is the heart and soul of the piece. This might have come from the source material that inspired the story; I’ve not been shy about admitting how willing I was to rip off my favorite movies in my early years of writing, and there isn’t much difference between Brad/Cory/Leah and Corey/Corey/Heather or Ferris/Cameron/Sloane. But that’s sort of the key here: this trope felt so natural to write because, apparently, it felt natural for a bazillion other writers before me.

To begin interrogating this trope, I considered what my golden trio is “like.” Brad is the hero of the story: we see everything through his eyes and there’s a Richie Cunningham-like demeanor about him in that he has boyish good looks, is a bit of a nerd, and will bravely stand up for his friends if the situation calls for it. Cory, on the other hand, is almost a coward, certainly insecure, is constantly acting like a jackass to hide his insecurity, and is desperately in love with Leah. Leah, for her part, is very clearly the creation of the nineteen-year-old loner I used to be: she’s beautiful, something of a sister figure to Brad, and is secretly just as horny for Cory as he is for her.

Maybe it’s a bit of writer’s guilt for creating such a one-dimensional female character, but in sitting here thinking about this, I have convinced myself that the secret to interrogating this trope really comes down to interrogating the female character’s role within the trope.

Brad, Cory, and Leah’s dynamic is not too different from what one finds in mainstream entertainment instances of the trope. Sometimes the girl is related to one of the guys (Luke and Leia are siblings, as are Patrick and Sam in Perks). Oftentimes she is romantically involved with one of them (Ferris and Sloane, Anakin and Padme, Sam Neill and Laura Dern in Jurassic, etc.). Most crucially of all, she is not romantically involved with the other of the two guys, and even if she’s unrelated to both, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. When watching Sahara, there is no question in the characters’ nor the audience’s minds that Penelope Cruz is going to kiss Matthew McConaughey at the end of the movie. Steve Zahn is there to make us laugh; Cruz has no sexual interest in him and, in fact, says maybe ten words to him over the course of the entire story.

Leah talks to Brad more often in that within my stories, but while she is very affectionate, it’s clear she only has eyes for Cory (maybe something about his jackassery turns her on, or maybe Cory just looks and talks a lot like me). Aside from her romantic feelings for the “sidekick” of the two boys, her role as a friend to both of them is something of a mediator; being the girl, she is of course more mature and therefore more likely not to engage in any immature activity that the two boys might instigate. One sees this sort of behavior in Iron Man 2, for example: a drunken Tony Stark and an angry Rhodey duke it out in their super-suits while an irate Pepper Potts stands on the sidelines rolling her eyes.

But why is the golden trio such a common trope? A couple interesting theories I found online…

From Rocketman on superherohype.com: “You’ll see this trope mostly in fantasy and sci-fi because these genres aren’t as accessible and relatable to people since you’re dealing with far-out, abstract concepts, so you need a trinity of characters to bring things to a human level. And with fantasy and sci-fi, more often than not, more guys will be drawn to these genres than girls. Or, two-thirds of guys will be. In simpler terms, two guys and a girl. For every two guys in the theater, there will probably be one girl (one girl was dragged along with her boyfriend, while another guy is seeing it by himself).”

A concurrence from Gray_Walker on Reddit: “Marketing concerns. Three characters is a common number of focal characters for a story because it keeps the cast small and easy to keep track of. Male/Male/Female keeps the cast male-dominated, since the target demographic for these series is almost always male, but they don’t want to totally miss out on the female market, so the idea is to make one of the leads female so that demographic has something to identify with. When a group becomes female-dominated, it tends to indicate the series is targeted at women.”

This theory sounds plausible up until one realizes that Harry Potter, for example, appears to have a lot more female fans than male, despite the Male/Male/Female dynamic. If guys (supposedly) respond to this trope because there is one more male character to identify with than female, maybe girls respond to it (if they do) because it provides the one female character with two potential love interests? Ladies, tell me if I’m talking out of my ass here.

At any rate, the hole in the above marketing theory is maybe the only reason I let this mystical explanation catch and hold my attention…

From Brandon Bennett on Quora: “This dynamic is actually a secret symbolism of the Trinity of Consciousness. The older male = Thought Expression, the older female = Emotional Expression, and the young male = Action Expression. This character triad goes back much further than mainstream movies. It’s even in ancient religious scriptures from thousands of years ago.”

A couple interesting things to note here. One, there is a very limited number of plot and character types in the world. Even if Bennett’s explanation isn’t completely accurate (it might be), it stands to reason that every plot and character trope we can name has its roots in ancient literature. Two, the Trinity as he describes it here can easily be fit into, to use one ancient example, the Christian Trinity: God the Father (older male), Jesus Christ the Son (younger male), and the Holy Spirit (generally understood by Christians to be what nonbelievers would simply call one’s conscious or guilt, or, if you will, emotions, or at least the expression of certain emotions/feelings).

I guess what strikes me as funny about all this, the thing that set me off to write this entry in the first place, is that my three characters fit (more or less) into these categories, but I did not intend it to happen that way. I decided that Brad was a relatively calm, smart, reserved person (Thought Expression) but did not consciously decide that, as a result of this, Cory would need to be an energetic, foolish, outgoing person (Action Expression). This happened of its own accord.

Well, is this interesting only to me? Do you have a favorite character trope, specifically a favorite three-person character trope?

*Note that I am not including romance-centric movies in which this relationship is a love triangle. I am interested only in this dynamic insofar as it represents three friends; maybe two of them are lovers, but there is no central rivalry between the two guys over the one girl a la Twilight.

#golden trio #the golden trio #harry potter #star wars #character trope #just admit it #evco productions

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fandomdaydreamer · 3 years

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The Lighthouse and The Ocean

Pt 3

Lumière

Pairing: (Pedro Pascal/OFC), Ewan McGregor/OFC

Warnings: some angst

Summary:

After the disastrous interview, Nini wakes up to a message from her ex, Ewan McGregor. Turns out she will have to face him again under these circumstances but confrontation can be awfully difficult for someone whose nature is to love too much.

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist -here-

Length: 5.1k

Lumière

Before I was really awake, I started to feel something rough and dry scratching at the tip of my nose. I opened my eyes to find a big black ball of fur sitting on my chest and blocking my view. I wiped at my nose and stared into the yellow orbs of a sheer enormous cat.

"Baby?" I choked out with a raspy voice after a night of restless sleep and felt her digging her claws onto my throat whilst purring like a vintage car. Poentje always managed to step right onto my windpipe to signal me that she would slowly kill me if I didn't get up and feed her.

"Alright, alright. Ik ben al wakker." I wished I was not awake. I was dreadfully jetlagged and on top of that, increasingly mortified at the images that kept rushing back into my memory.

Stifled echoes of laughter rang through my slowly rebooting consciousness. People were pointing their fingers at me and they were howling and cackling at my expense.

I rolled out of bed and down to my knees and felt like sinking right through the floor. My cheek rested against the soft carpet and I let out a sound of pure anguish as I knitted my eyes shut.

Poentje followed and joined me in my crisis on the floor.

How? How could I have been so stupid? How gladly I would have eaten ten of James's stupid turkey testicles right now for breakfast to make everything I had said undone. Scratch that. I never wanted to eat meat ever again.

I had made a fool out of myself in front of the whole world or at least, the considerably large part that was interested in celebrity gossip. The paparazzi had followed me to the airport, to my taxi and my house the day after the interview. Although I had ignored the rude questions from the reporters, I was not keen on reading the headlines anytime soon. What would they call me? Slut or sugar baby, seductress or mistress? A dirty secret? I had heard those before. How about a floozy or shameless flirt and tease?

I wasn't worried about what I had admitted about the graffiti or 'joked' about Pedro... he would forgive me. It was what had come after. I should have known that my answer wasn't good enough for James.

I had less of a problem with admitting my little crush on Pedro than my past involving Ewan. The world didn't necessarily need to know about the details we had kept private for so long.

My hand crawled up and reached for my phone on the nightstand. One missed call from my grandpa. Two missed calls from Tom and also three new text messages. Two from Tom, one from... Ewan.

Shit.

Dread began to sink into my stomach. Oh, I had absolutely, unmistakenly, royally fucked up now, hadn't I?

I felt my chest tighten and my fingers deliberately reached for the bracelet on my wrist.

Deep breaths... Damn. My brain began tricking me into experiencing the smell of chlorine and it made me sick before I could block out the sensation. There was a crippling numbness in my bones and much too soon, I felt the start of an anxiety attack rising in my chest. The beads dug into my skin as I slipped them off and closed the bracelet around my fist - It took minutes and a lot of purring right into my ear before my heart rate began to finally slow down and my body relaxed.

Many people had this one item they couldn't exist without and which they needed to provide them with comfort or some kind of safety.

I held onto my mother's bracelet as if my life depended on it.

I turned my head and fondled the simple wooden beads between my fingers and breathed like I hadn't for a long time. I was glad this silly little meltdown over a stupid text was over so quickly and the non-existent smell of chlorine dissolved into oblivion once more.

I opened my eyes. Carpets smelled like dust... at least mine did.

I put on the bracelet again and grabbed the large cat, stroked her silky coat and placed a soft kiss onto her head. "Sorry, Poen." I cuddled my dear feline friend and apologised to her for everything I couldn't say. She meowed at me with her soft voice. "Yes, I know, I know."

I didn't have much time for her these past few days and if it weren't for my lovely neighbour, we would both be screwed from time to time. The black ragdoll cat purred but shortly after decided she didn't need to be that close to me after all.

The phone with the unopened text messages was still there, waiting.

His name glowed out to me sans the emoji heart I had deleted months and months ago. I admired everyone who was resentful enough to just delete their ex's number altogether, but I was too forgiving, always too forgiving... really, such a Libra.

Now I had gone and not simply embarrassed myself but also someone who I had absolutely no business talking about in public. I opened the text message and forgot how to breathe as I read.

16:43 Are you free tomorrow? I'll be in NYC and I'd like to talk to you. - Ewan

Tomorrow? The text had been from yesterday- which meant he was asking if I was free today? I got up from the floor and went to the window. As I kept myself hidden behind the curtains, I noticed a man with a large camera standing around in the street behind my gate. Another one of his species was waiting on the opposite side and they were prying on me like vultures. It evidently looked like I needed to use the backdoor into the garden and ask a neighbour to smuggle me out to the street around the corner. It would not be the first time.

I could just call him and tell him I couldn't see him. I just knew Ewan wanted to have a talk about how I had no business meddling with his privacy and career.

Despite the sick feeling in my gut, I texted back and realised I sounded entirely too lighthearted. Though, I figured that suppressed feelings were safer.

Hi, I thought you were busy beating up Jawas. I'm at home but I think the paparazzi are lurking in front of my house. Would you like to meet somewhere else?

I deleted the last sentence; 'Are you mad at me?' before hitting send. A part of me must have created this apologetic behaviour from muscle memory.

Ewan had broken my heart once before by telling me our relationship had been a mistake. Maybe he wanted to talk to repeat this statement or sue me or... he'd see how sorry I was and tell me he was still in love with me and how much he wanted me back. No! Stop it!

Of course, I still loved him... in my peculiar, twisted way of being unable to forget what we used to have together. One year might be a short period for a relationship but brevity can be made up for in intensity when all doubt gets replaced by recklessness.

It was one year of passion and conflict and it felt like our love had been a slow dance in a burning room. In other words, we had created this little bubble we could only see ourselves, hide and retreat in.

Even though many years were between our movie and our relationship, it had been a huge scandal when words of our affair had gotten out. It was due to our age difference, his divorce and his new girlfriend whom he then temporarily broke up with because of me and... all that nonsense. It had all been feverishly chaotic and apparently, it was far from over.

But just like that, the bubble had burst and he left. I still wasn't sure who precisely had ended it. It just hadn't worked out.

A nagging voice reminded me that he did... he had ended it. I was just too proud to admit that. Ewan had dumped me and for weeks, I had dreamt of nothing until with time, the pain had finally dimmed and faded.

Ewan was typing. His reply appeared on the screen.

12:20 Why would I beat up Jawas? :) No, I don't think meeting at your house is a good idea either. I don't want anyone to bother you. I'm waiting for my flight to LA at the Ritz-Carlton. Ask for Lumière, if you want to see me.

I sighed and typed.

I'll come. CU there

I dragged my feet into my closet to get dressed before I went downstairs and I opened the drawer where I kept a soft, grey jumper.

Poentje blinked at me with her yellow eyes. "What an epic shit show, right?" I bent down to pet her and continued talking pet-friendly nonsense in my native language until I felt better.

My fingers hovered above the fabric which had long lost his scent.

How inappropriate and petty would it be to give him back the jumper he had left here many months ago? It was buried here next to my own clothes and I had kept it for unknown, yet definitely too sentimental reasons. I hadn't touched it for a long time, even though my cat seemed to like me better when I wore this particular item of clothing.

Eventually, I got dressed and tried not to question why I put effort into making myself look pretty or why I chose to wear my good knickers.

I opened Tom's text messages and read the words carrying a concerningly panicked undertone.

"My sweet Tom," I muttered. Not far? I thought he was in Atlanta. I sighed and typed a reply.

11:42 Are you okay? Saw what happened at James's. I'm not far from NY, I can come if you need me!

00:14 Nin? Talk to me

Only if you can easily afford to come. Otherwise, ice-cream coma at my place?

I added a crying emoji and a heart. The knowledge that Tom could soon be on his way was comfort enough to make me drop my worries for a bit but first, I had to get this over with and face Ewan.

~~~

Somebody tell me why I needed to see a newspaper stand with a stack of boulevard papers as I hasted down the street from the taxi to the hotel. It screamed out an aggressive headline written in bold red letters.

"ACTOR INVOLVED WITH A MINOR. Is there another predator in Hollywood?"

I silently pleaded for mercy to a being I wasn't sure existed. The spread of this misinformation was my fault and it gave me enough nausea to clutch my hand to my stomach.

I managed to direct my steps into the Ritz, wearing a hat and sunglasses and thus, I felt unrecognised by anyone I didn't want to meet under any circumstances.

"I'm here to speak to Lumière," I whispered to the conciërge, whose smile was the most perfected mix of fake and friendly. At least you could always count on their discretion.

"Certainly, madam." he dialled a number and I drummed my fingers onto the polished counter in an impatient manner. "Sir, a young lady is asking to see you... very well, sir." He spoke into the phone and blinked at me behind his glasses. He hung up. "Room 66, madam."

"Thank you."

I was a nervous wreck choking on an unknown force. I felt too restrained by the limited space inside the elevator and I removed my sunglasses and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. "Ewan, hi!" I practised my countenance and tried again when I thought that had been a bit too joyous. "Ewan, it's nice to see you. It's been a while... Hi, you look great, urgh, no-" I closed my eyes and breathed thoroughly, remembering that I was an actress. All I needed was to try and picture myself being untroubled and dignified.

I eventually walked down the corridor until I stopped right in front of Room 66 and I knocked before I could change my mind.

Nothing happened until a shadow appeared under the door. It swung open and for a moment, a man with a million-dollar smile and a woman with her words stuck in her throat were staring at each other.

"Nini." The lines around his eyes crinkled even more as he said my name. The expression on his face and the tone of his voice seemed genuinely happy and I couldn't deny the pull it caused at the corners of my heart. He could still make me weak. He provoked plenty of contrasting feelings inside of me but all the negative ones faltered and diminished compared to the warm feeling bubbling up inside of me.

He had grown back his Obi-Wan beard for the shoot and he was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans. He was as handsome as ever. Behind my poker face, I felt the urge to roll my eyes at him. Seriously, you couldn't convince me that Queen Padme Amidala of Naboo, Senator of the republic fell in love with a child-murdering, dictatorship sympathiser with anger issues when Obi-Wan Kenobi was right there the whole fucking time.

"Please, don't just stand there, come in." He said with that familiar Scottish lilt. Despite it all, it was good to hear his voice.

I stepped inside. "It's nice seeing you again, Ewan. How have you been?" He closed the door and politely invited me to go ahead.

Ewan cleared his throat. "Oh, you probably know how busy a shoot is but I've been really enjoying myself so far." He followed me into the tastefully decorated living room. "I called for tea if you'd like some?"

"Yes, thank you," I replied stiffly.

He looked at me, really looked at me. "How are you?" he asked.

"I'm very well." I lied. I wasn't in the mood for tea and I wasn't exactly 'well'. He raised one quizzical brow at me and I realised I still couldn't hide anything from him. "I- uhm, have been better if I'm being honest." I finally admitted.

I still stood there, not even removing my hat. Maybe it was better to get this small talk over and done with. I pondered in the space of the living room for a bit. Our proximity or simply the fact that I was in the same room with him again was too much and it caused my heart to ache from all these buried feelings. Still, I smiled.

The break-up had been sudden and I had suffered for months...in private. I hadn't let anyone notice my heartbreak in public and I was now trying to treat Ewan like my friend, even if I felt the echo of the way I used to love loving him. He must certainly have thought we were friends.

I looked up at him as he stepped closer to me and he sighed, showing his sympathy by gently squeezing my arms. "Is there anything I can do? Talk to Corden, maybe?" his angered tone wasn't directed at me.

He let go of me when I tried to shrug him off and step away. "Ewan, listen, you don't have to be so kind. I'm truly sorry for what I've said at the late-night show. I never meant to say these things and I didn't know-" I stammered. "I didn't know this would happen, I'm sorry."

His expression became soft, not at all what I had expected and his tongue darted out to wet his lips before speaking. "I know, darling. It wasn't your fault. Those were the rules of the game."

The confusion on my face must have been evident. "You're not angry with me?" I asked.

"No," he chuckled. "I am not angry with you. Is that what you think this was about?"

"It's not?" I frowned and he let out another breath of laughter. "Well, it wasn't a nice thing to wake up to being called a fucking predator and pervert, I've got to admit that, but no. I wanted to see you."

"Oh." I deflated into the soft cushions of the sofa. I should definitely at least tweet a statement. Maybe he had to do so as well.

Slowly, I removed my hat and let my face sink into my hand. "I'm so sorry," I repeated.

I never would have known back then that many years later, he would touch me in all kinds of ways.

Ewan crouched down next to me and his hand came to rest on my back. The gesture was meant to be comforting but a flashback carried me to a moment that passed many years ago.

I had been terribly young when I had fallen hard for him, my first real crush. You couldn't effortlessly shake off your first crush.

His hand had been on the small of my back, provoking goosebumps where naked skin, exposed by my costume, had come in contact with his hand. The most simple touch, the barest of all indications and entirely over-interpreted by me.

I let my gaze drift over towards the large bed I could see in the next room and quickly snapped my eyes back to him before he could catch up on my thoughts. I could barely keep myself from clawing my hands into my dress while he continued to gently rub my back. It had been so long. He had been the last to touch me that way. Until this day he remained to be the last person to please and take pleasure in my body. But this wasn't why I was here, I reminded and scolded myself.

Ewan sat down next to me and raised his hand as if he would have liked to push a strand of my hair behind my ear. He suppressed the old habit and let it sink back into his lap.

"I'm so sorry I made you think that I asked you to come because of that. No, the things people say at James Corden's are soon forgotten anyway. Eventually, they'll realise that it wasn't like that back then. God, I bloody hate that guy for upsetting you like this. He's got his headlines now but I think you handled the situation as best as you could." He said as a matter of fact.

I sneered and tried to somehow lighten up the mood. "I know you don't like him, but honestly, he was such a pain in the ass, I almost nearly lost it and threw the turkey testicles right back into his face."

Ewan acted shocked. "I thought you liked everyone." He argued and I laughed. "No, did I ever give that impression?"

"I don't know, you're always so..." He didn't say what I was. Instead, his breath hitched in his throat and he distracted himself with his hands. A smirk played on his lips. "So you're saying he's made himself a new enemy?"

I recalled the day I got the part in our movie back then and I had excitedly announced to my grandma that I was supposed to be in front of the camera with Ewan McGregor. I had acted like many silly teenagers and almost died every time my crush had even looked at me. And then I had gone home to cry over 'Moulin Rouge!' for hours. I used to be utterly and hopelessly in love with him and eventually, it had passed. In some ways, love unrequited hurt more than any suppressed childhood traumas or things you did during your adult life and you weren't particularly proud of.

"He certainly got himself written off the Christmas card list." I made him laugh and loved it the way I still managed to always make him laugh.

Some things didn't change. When Ewan slowly began to mute, he still had that same look in his eyes. I wasn't stupid or blinded enough to not be aware of the remaining spark left between us.

"Pray tell, is it a fault or a virtue to linger on only the good memories?" I asked.

After a while, reappearing images and this weirdly comfortable energy between us provoked Ewan to become more serious again. "I'm sorry too." He admitted and regret washed over his features. "About how we ended things. I'm not... I wasn't in a good place and for a while, you fixed everything. Like a bandaid. I was an idiot and a prick for treating you that way and I'm sorry."

Ewan gave me an amused look. "I know what you mean." he paused for a second. "Do you remember the daisy flower crowns you made for us?" he asked and I started grinning.

"How could I forget?" I replied.

It seemed like I had been waiting for this apology for a long time and I let out a shuddering breath. "I forgive you-" I began. "Of course, I do."

I thought about the night we had met again at a charity ball and all this buried attraction then reciprocated went from being in hibernation to something blooming hot and alive. With these burning flames reignited, we had come together like a wildfire or like two storms across a free ocean. We were inevitable and like many things you got too much of, it became toxic. He caused me to lose my balance and I grew into the drug that made him despondent. The drug with the power to take away his pain but could not harmonise with his life. In all earnestness, I had never wanted to be an overdose.

The public had been hard on us, his family had not agreed to our relationship and it had been just him and me, alone against the world. You couldn't take it forever and I had essentially been, just the other woman.

"I feel responsible too for making your life harder back then and also.. just now. I don't want anyone to think less of you because of me." I said and after a next thought, I scoffed. "I only hope I can make the world believe that I had just been a stupid, love-struck teenager."

Ewan smiled, eyes drifting away in a flash of what seemed to have a hint of nostalgia. "I remember." He chuckled. "I thought you were just a really friendly girl."

I frowned at him in disbelief. "Oh, come on. It was so obvious. You showed me how to fight with a lightsabre with plastic broomsticks. How could you think I wouldn't fall head over heels for that? You were so patient with me, even when I whacked you in the head and we had to stop shooting for the day."

"Well, you certainly are a wild card." He grinned endearingly. "And look how far you've come. I always knew you were meant to be where you are. Congratulations by the way, on your award."

I blushed a little. "Th-thank you. I didn't think you'd see my movie."

For a second, he seemed confused. "Of course I did and you were bloody fantastic. One moment you're this wonderful promising young talent and just this silly, funny girl and the next, you're a big award-winning movie star. You grew so much and I'm incredibly proud of you."

"I.. don't know what to say. Thank you, Ewan. That means a lot to me." I fumbled with my bracelet.

He stroked one hand through his soft beard, smiling into it. "Anyhow, if you still feel like you would like to whack me with a broomstick again, you're welcome but make it quick, I'm not a fan of pain."

"That was ten years ago!" I couldn't suppress a peal of laughter. No, I did not want to hit him. Revenge was not my style.

For a second, it felt like old times. "I remember bothering you all the time. Do you still recall the things I asked you?" "About what?" "The Star Wars movies, of course." "Oh, you asked which counsel chair was the most comfortable and wait... If I knew what Obi-Wan is doing on Tatooine for so long." I tilted my head up to him to spot a hint or any sign of information. "Do you know now?" I quizzed him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, yes but I'm not allowed to talk about it. Disney will kill me." "I'm looking forward to it-" I stopped myself, mortified as I realised how wrong that came out.

Ewan looked surprised and I laughed nervously. "No, I mean... looking forward to the Kenobi series, not-." I scrunched up my face.

"I didn't know I fucked up that badly!" "Nooo-" "Oh, I see how it is." He had understood, alright. He was just teasing me.

I pouted. The last bit of frosty feeling left between us had been completely replaced with familiarity. I knew I was going to watch that series and as a Star Wars fan, I was anticipating it with intensity.

"One teenie tiny little teaser?" I begged with huge doe eyes, which I hoped would still work on him. "Please?"

In old times, he would most likely have asked what he'd get in return. I would tease him and play hard to get until we did whatever we wanted to and with each other. We couldn't do that anymore, so he just let me beg a little while longer until he finally gave in.

"Okay... one." he accentuated it with a single risen finger. "An old friend is going to return."

"What's that supposed to mean, an old friend? That could be anyone." I wasn't satisfied with his answer, frustrated even, but it also didn't seem like he would clarify his statement, so I let it go.

A comfortable silence fell between us and while his blue eyes held mine, I was glad I couldn't find any remorse or guilt for the past anymore. Yet I caught myself wishing he would tell me he wanted me back and I asked myself how quickly I would come running back into his arms. He could tell me what to do, what to think and in a way, I was secretly yearning for this simplicity.

I took a deep breath, realising I needed to say what was on my mind. "I still think about you, Ewan." I shared and watched him tense up for a moment like he was trying to find the right words.

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you were somehow less important to me. You weren't. I did love you." He spoke softly and I swallowed back a lump in my throat. Past tense.

"Yeah, me too." I choked on my words.

For a moment, he looked scared. "I wanted you to be the first to know something before I will make it public someday." he hesitated. "I'm going to-" Ewan was interrupted by a knock at the door and he sighed. "Excuse me, please."

"I'm... getting married."

He got up and opened the door. I didn't move to see him returning with our tea but he wordlessly poured me a delicate cup and I thanked him, voice sounding breathless. I avoided touching his hand when he offered me the cup. I could neither smell nor taste it.

"What did you want to tell me?" I inquired and he breathed out deeply as he sat back down.

My cup dropped a little too forcefully into the saucer and I might have looked like I had swallowed a broomstick. Tears stung my eyes. He was marrying the woman he cheated on... with me?

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

The body language I could observe from the corner of my eye told me differently but it felt like a personal attack. His next words hit a nerve prominent with dull anger. "I cannot change the way things are but I would like us to be friends and maybe it won't take almost another year before we see each other again."

"Are you mocking me?" "No, I would never," Ewan argued. The tea lay abandoned on the tray next to us.

I couldn't even look at him but it slowly began to dawn on me. "I have always been just a possibility for you. Another option to choose from, that is... unkind." I spoke softly.

"What, will you invite me to your wedding?" I snapped, almost amused but a second later, I felt myself restrain my emotions again. I sat there and thought for a while before I could look into his eyes once more. I grasped the importance for him to receive complete closure and I hated the way he made me feel like he was somehow required to receive my blessing.

I wanted to move on as well and for that to happen, I needed to muster up the dignity to grand him absolution and release him of his obligation to me. I guess I could count myself lucky that he had chosen to tell me the happy news personally before announcing it to the public.

Ewan stayed silent but he slowly started to nod. Eventually, he told me the truth. "Yes. I am."

"I wish you all the luck in the world, I really do," I said and meant it with all my heart but my voice had broken off mid-sentence. A burning tear threatened to escape my eye and I realised, had he ever asked me if I would have wanted to marry him, I would have said yes. He had always said he never wanted to get remarried.

God, I felt so stupid asking but I had to know. "Are you happy? Because if you are happier with her than you were with me, you must do whatever you think is the right thing."

I silently took in his statement. This was maybe all the information I had needed to get up and leave.

"Nini, please," he called after me and I felt myself stop in my tracks as if roots had begun to grip my ankles. His words trapped me. "Don't let it end this way." He begged me. Ewan's voice was right behind me. I could almost feel his body warmth and slow, shallow breaths in my neck.

I closed my eyes as the tears started to fall. "I'll be alright," I told him and my back remained to be turned towards him as my scorn and love for him wept. I had loved him for so long it had become a habit and I was tired. Just tired.

He didn't love me and I knew that now. "Just let me let you go," I told Ewan and left him without turning back.

I walked out of the hotel and although my face was hidden beneath a hat and behind sunglasses, they couldn't provide an armour tough enough to bring me any comfort. It was as if people were staring and they knew I had been broken and I was constantly reminded... always reminded by the looks on their faces.

Part 4

Translation notes:

(dut): Ik ben al wakker - (eng): I am already awake

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iit-s-kitty · 7 years

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I’m going to do an Obi-Wan/OFC

I’ve been having these ideas for a long, long ass time ever since 2013-2015, but I’ve never had the courage to actually do so until now. So anyway, I’m here to announce an Obi-Wan Kenobi/Original Female Character is in the works, in case you’re interested! Just follow the tag “petta writes”

#obi-wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #ewan mcgregor #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars imagine #obi wan imagine #obi wan imagines #obi wan kenobi imagines #star wars fanfiction #obi wan fanfiction #original female character #ofc #reader insert #my fanfiction #petta writes

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qqueenofhades · 2 years

Note

I always saw Obi-Wan as an asexual kind of guy. Maybe that's because I'm old enough to remember when we only had the OT and he was already old. And dead for most of it. Anyway, part of why I love Star Wars is the emphasis on friendships and how strong and rewarding they can be without romantic feelings (although Han/Leia was my first ship). May we all have such people in our lives. All interpretations are valid of course and people love what they love, just wanted to share another point of view!

I mean, that's basically how I also envision him: my "Obi-Wan Kenobi as queer text" meta described my personal headcanon of him as biromantic asexual, and that's what the other post seemed to be hinting at in: re whatever they put in the book. After all, remember kids, ignore the exclusionists: asexuality is a full and complete queer identity on its own, and doesn't need other modifiers or qualifiers to be considered legitimate. So yeah. But as I said, he has radiated such intense bisexual sass disaster energy for the longest time, and I am frankly shocked that the Disney overlords allowed even a single sentence in a YA book that might hint at confirming this. To be honest, I don't care one way or another what the Mouse says about anything, particularly SW canon, since I reject what they have done with most of it. But hey. It's nice to have anyway.

As I also mentioned in the tags, Obi-Wan is a particularly formative character for me as a queer adult, since some of my first-ever forays into fandom, fic, and slash came as a result of reading TPM-era fics with him back in the dark days, with badly designed Web pages and SLASH!! content warnings. I imprinted on him as queer long before I knew what that was either for him or for me, and so I have a certain nostalgic perspective on it. (Also, nobody could read the Revenge of the Sith novelization in 2005, come out totally emotionally destroyed, and go, "yeah, Obi-Wan is totally straight." Even if I didn't, again, actually consciously realize this at the time.)

Likewise, Obi-Wan's appearance in the original trilogy has always fit the "celibate or asexual wise-old-mentor" stereotype, who exists mostly to guide the hero but doesn't have particular passions or motivations of his own. Then they cast Ewan McGregor as the younger version of him, and Ewan McGregor is likewise very attractive. But then in prequel-verse, all of Obi-Wan's most formative and important emotional relationships were with men (Qui-Gon, Bail Organa, etc) and then, of course, Anakin and the "it's a love story" Obi-Wan Kenobi series. So the more canon we got past just Alec Guinness, the more intensely Obi-Wan read as queer to me. The man cannot even sit straight (see his pose in the Council seat in ROTS), drops his cloaks with utter drama, sasses people, and is the utter opposite of toxic masculinity. He just has Big Queer Energy, in other words, and I felt it for a long time before I was able to properly name it in either him or myself.

Indeed, Obi-Wan would read pretty clearly as gay to me, except for the fact that they apparently added in some pseudo-girlfriend in the Clone Wars animated series and other assorted female interests in the expanded-universe books. Which, quite frankly, can't help but sound like "welp, this famous and beloved character is TOO queer-coded, better add in some comphet to tone that down." However, aside from my personal attachment to queer Obi-Wan, there's another aspect to it which I think is touching and important, and that is the fact that Luke is also often headcanoned as queer/gay/bi of some description (which Mark Hamill has enthusiastically supported). Considering that the original trilogy came out in the late '70s and early '80s, just as we were losing what should have been our entire generation of gay/queer ancestors to AIDS, I would find it very lovely if Luke, a queer man, was being mentored by Obi-Wan, his queer elder, in a way that we were so often denied the chance to have in reality. So yes. There are a lot of layers to it, in my view, and as I said, I don't care whether they bother to put one sentence in an EU book or not. The heart knows what it knows. Ahem. ;)

#anonymous #ask #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x anakin #sw meta

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arshipweek · 3 years

Text

AR Ship Week - A History of Alex Rider Fandom

This is the second weekly post in the lead up to Alex Rider Ship Week. Only 2 weeks to go!

This week we’re looking at what Alex Rider fandom used to be like.

A History of Alex Rider Fandom by rirren and pongnosis

Alex Rider fandom is about as old as Alex Rider himself. The first book was published back in 2000 but it wasn't until around 2005 that we find any traces of fannish activity on the internet.

There was no AO3 back then, and fanworks could be found on fandom specific archives, fanfiction.net, adult-fanfiction.org, Livejournal, DeviantArt, Quizilla, and many others. Unfortunately, many of this history has been lost to the ravages of time but what we do know is that before 21 July 2006 there were at least 79 fics for Alex Rider published on fanfiction.net. Most fics were adventures in the style of the books, but there were a handful of Alex/Sabina and Alex/Original Female Character fics, as well as one Yassen/Alex and one John/Yassen fic!

It was a tiny fandom, and then on 21 July 2006 the movie Stormbreaker was released. Although it was panned by critics and performed badly at the box office the movie opened up the canon to a wider audience. The movie was an investment, intended to be the first in a franchise, and the cast list reflected that. Popular actors like Ewan McGregor and Damian Lewis were meant to provide recognisable names and draw in the audience, but they probably also helped fannish activity. The most enduring imprint left by the movie is probably the rooftop scene at the end of it and Yassen's upside-down helicopter antics, a legacy that endures to this day.

In the years following the movie's release fan activity spread to other platforms--an Alex Rider specific fanarchive was created, communities opened up on Livejournal, fanfics exploded on fanfiction.net, and even a few fics were posted to adult-fanfiction.org!

Taking another look at Fanfiction.net now we see a slightly different picture for ship breakdown:

[see note 1 for methodology]

Yassen/Alex is still the most popular, but Sabina/Alex takes second place! This was the het ship with the most canon content--Sabina appeared in 4 books, as well as the movie. As for other pairings, Alex/Wolf and Alex/Fox both appeared in a number of fics as well, revealing the comparatively larger popularity of K-Unit back then. The popularity of Alex/Original Character is no surprise given the limited number of recurring characters in the books, and Alex/Tom also appears, a small but consistent rarepair that has remained strong through the years of fandom.

More fanfics meant that a shared understanding and way of looking at canon started to develop in fandom. New ideas sprung to life and became tropes as they grew increasingly popular, some of which will still be familiar to new fans of the series, while others will seem a little more unusual:

⭐ The most popular tropes centred around the wall between Alex's spylife and his civilian school life being breached. What if Alex had to stop a terrorist at school? What if Alex's class went to Brecon Beacons with him and Alex had to hide his spying and combat skills?

⭐ K-Unit was much more popular back then compared to now, and a popular trope featuring them was "K-Unit adopts Alex". Only Wolf and Fox had any substantial characterisation from the canon, and other bits were filled in by fanon. One writer who had a large influence on K-Unit fanon (e.g. Snake was the medic, etc) was amitai, who also wrote one of the most popular takes on the "Alex's class goes to Brecon Beacons" trope (Hell is Other People).

⭐ Other K-Unit tropes involved Alex joining the SAS and K-Unit finding out about Alex's Scorpia training. Again, fandom was very interested in Alex's secrets being found out and the inevitable fallout that would follow. This is probably because the books have Alex much more isolated compared to the TV series which gives Alex several adult allies and allies of his own age.

⭐ One trope that is still popular today is "Alex joins Scorpia". Although many fans will know this trope from the popular fic Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by pongnosis, this was also common in old fandom. This trope was born from the book Scorpia and the glimpses of the world Alex might have found himself in if he had made another choice in canon, but might also be explored in the TV show in the potential season 3.

However, although fanfiction.net held the majority of AR fics (as it still does even today), a large drawback was the ban on adult content. Despite inconsistent modding, fandom in general was wary after the purges of NC-17 fics. An alternative was the blogging platform Livejournal, which offered fans control over their own space through moderation tools like locking posts to friends and the ability to delete comments. It also encouraged socialising through communities and the ability to chat in comments.

Communities encouraged fan activity through prompts and challenges such as the drabble comm AlexRider100 and the flash writing comm Flash Rider. The Fic Exchange Spy Fest was started on Livejournal and is still going today (although it had a short break from 2011-2015).

Some communities were slash focused - the popular yassen_alex comm was mostly for Yalex content but also welcomed other slash ships. It amassed 329 posts and more than 2,700 comments from 2009-2014. Unfortunately, fandom in the past was in a much more precarious position than fandom today. Many authors and companies had opinions that fanfiction was illegal and immoral, and a lack of legal ruling left fanfic in a murky space. The old disclaimers of "I don't own canon, don't sue!" were not just jokes, but a shield to hopefully protect fans.

In 2009 the worst happened--several posts on the community yassen_alex were reported to the Alex Rider publishing company, who in turn sent Cease & Desist letters to Livejournal. Livejournal deleted the fics and the community locked all posts to members only (but later reopened in 2020).

Around this time an Alex Rider fic archive ARchive was created. We can only speculate on the motivations but an independent archive could at least offer fans protection from their works being suddenly deleted when companies and advertisers found something to be offended by. 140 stories were posted (many reposts from other sites) and the category statistics show a focus on angst and slash (see note 2).

In terms of fanart, early fandom had a surprisingly large amount for its size. Fanart was popular in exchanges, and some diligent digging around on DeviantArt would uncover a treasure trove of fanart - some of which can still be found on the site. Fandom tended to gravitate towards the red-headed Yassen of the movie and less the blond version from the books, though both could be found.

The fandom chugged along for several years but in 2011, Scorpia Rising arrived as the perfect storm of fandom decline. The definitiveness of its ending with Alex Rider's retirement along with Anthony Horowitz's adamant insistence the series was done put something of a dampener on fans' enthusiasm. Russian Roulette was released two years after but this was a prequel that focused on Yassen and only briefly touched on Alex's canon timeline. The lack of new material and new tropes, and the inevitable "aging out" of fans as time went on meant that fandom went into a slow decline. Fandom output slowed down and BNFs (Big Name Fans) left. The release of a new Alex Rider book in 2017 and the promise of more revived some interest in the fandom but could not bring back the activity of days gone …

...not until the release of an Alex Rider TV series 😉

______

Notes:

(1) Ship statistics from fanfiction.net were gathered manually on the 5th of February through various search methods, making sure to remove duplicates that appeared in more than 1 category: 1 – Check tagged pairings 2 – Check tagged characters and "Romance" genre 3 – Search for pairing name in summary

(2) The largest category is angst with 63 tagged fics. Out of 33 ship fics 31 are tagged slash (the two remaining fics are Jack/Wolf and an unspecified pairing.

#alex rider #arshipweek #...#....#.....#mod posts #meta

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rickrakontoys · 2 years

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The Obi-Wan Kenobi mini-series was pretty great!

*spoilers are discussed*

A definite improvement over The Book of Boba Fett in terms of narrative, production design, and direction.

While the story ultimately feels a bit superfluous (much of what we see could be inferred from what we saw previously in the prequel and OT trilogies), it does provide some welcome closure for prequel-era Obi-Wan.

Watching Ewan McGregor return to his role after nearly 20 years was a joy. Here, he is less constrained by the rather wooden and expository dialogue of the Prequels, and is able to convey much more emotion and character, while still being consistent with the character as we last saw him. Hayden Christensen is also a welcome return, and though he is mostly under the Darth Vader suit, the few scenes we have of him unmasked reveal how good he could have been in the role if the prequels had just had better direction (George Lucas' main weakness is in directing actors).

Moses Ingram is fascinating as Inquisitor Reva, conveying a bitter determination and barely masked internal frustration. I wish that the revelation of her origin wasn't held back for so long, as the reveal that she was once a youngling who survived Order 66 was too telegraphed and predictable. Had we known her ultimate goal earlier in the series, it could have given the show more opportunity to delve into the conflict and vengeance driving her.

The other Inquisitors were mostly just there and didn't leave much of an impression. Rupert Friend as the Grand Inquisitor looked a little silly under the makeup, but had a bit of smug charm in his potrayal. Sung Kang as the Fifth Brother felt wasted, as he only had a few scenes where he just reacts to Reva's actions. I barely even remembered there was another female Inquisitor.

Indira Varma is memorable as an Imperial defector secretly helping surviving Jedi on a Path to safety, and she has good chemistry with McGregor. Joel Edgerton fits right back in as Owen Lars, and both he and Aunt Beru are given more to do here than they ever were.

Vivian Lyra Blair was adorable as young Leia, providing spunk and vulnerability effortlessly. I think Carrie Fisher would be proud.

In terms of plot, it was surprising that they'd once again do a pairing of a grizzled, reluctant warrior with a small child. However, this was a sensible approach to provide a believable reason for Obi-Wan to leave his watch over Luke for at least a small amount of time. While the introduction of The Path that helped remaining Jedi reach safe haven was an interesting bit of post-Prequel world building, it ultimately didn't amount to much. The main driving force of the story was two tales of revenge: Darth Vader's hunt for his former master, and Reva's long play at vengeance against Vader. Both stories lead to a satisfying enough conclusion, with Vader choosing to give in to his rage, and Reva finally denying it. These being to more interesting parts of the show, I feel there could be a good 2-3 hour movie buried in the nearly 6 hour runtime of this show. Early episodes drag, and it is easy to see how this was conceived as a single story broken up needlessly into episodic content for Disney+. A bit more focus would have helped the pacing immensely. Thankfully the show at least builds to a climax that feels earned, with the final duel between Vader and Obi-Wan being among the best in the Star Wars series. The confrontation is emotional, and relatively simple and short, stripped of the needless bombast of their fight in Revenge of the Sith. They actually look like two men trying to kill each other.

In terms of production design, while better executed than Boba Fett's show, this series varies wildly from looking quite good, to bafflingly cheap. Many scenes clearly look shot on a small soundstage, using The Mandalorian's new StageCraft technology. Camera movement feels very limited, and shots always seem to rely on people running a short distance before cutting away, making the show feel needlessly claustrophobic. Still, some of the set design, such as the Fortress Inquisitorius, looks terrific. Unnecessary shakey camerawork during action scenes also make setpieces feel rather amateurish, and strange swooping shots during lightsaber duels feel a little hackneyed and incoherent.

The musical score for the show is okay, with a pleasant main theme by John Williams, but nothing that stands out very much sadly.

Ultimately, the series works very well when it is focused on the main characters. While some episodes were definitely better than others, as a single work, it manages to achieve what it sought to, while giving fans much of what they wanted to see. While I only hope they don't needlessly tack on a second season with a contrived reason to get Obi back into action again, a part of me wouldn't mind just watching a show of Ewan McGregor harvesting whale meat on Tatooine, feeding his horse-thing, bartering with Jawas, going to the market, and chatting with the ghost of Qui-Gon.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi

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thegreatwicked · 3 months

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Shadows of Deception - Chapter Eighteen

Hello friends! I'm back after a little spell of rest and relaxation. Always look after your mental health! I've missed you all and I'm happy to pollute your minds with toxic Roman obsessive vibes! Thanks for sticking with me and enjoy!

Shadows of Deception

The Great Wicked

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

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

Dirty Mind by Boy Epic

“Closed?”

Craven's lips curled into a questioning grimace as he scanned the lively dance floor looking back and forth several times. The colorful lights danced across the room, highlighting bottles being raised in celebratory toasts and glittering dresses swaying to the music. The air was filled with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses, adding a dull roar to the music that continued to play. Along the walls, exclusive booths were occupied by sharply dressed individuals, deep in lively discussions, sharing drinks and maybe even a few were doing things they’d regret in the morning.

Yeah, maybe ‘closed’ wasn’t an accurate description. Craven’s look of utter contempt met Belladonna’s indifferent stare, he didn’t look convinced, and neither did his partner.

"Is that so? Looks pretty open to me, what’d you think, Dave?” Craven challenged.

Ramirez gave a curt nod to the revelry, “Seems like quit the party here tonight.”

“A private one,” Belladonna added flatly.

From her elevated position atop the steps leading from the coat check, she looked down at the detectives, with an air of nonchallance. The wrinkles around their eyes deepened in frustration as they had to physically look up at her. They didn’t like how she looked down at them, even if it was only from the height difference given from three steps.

Neither man was particularly pleasant on a good day, but they both had their roles. Ramirez was typically the talkative one who often tried to play the good, charismatic cop, it was a look he never quite nailed because it came off insincere and condescending, but tonight he was uncharacteristically silent.

For once, it was Craven who was uncharacteristically calm and led the interaction, his demeanor a little less gruff than usual. His clothes were even a bit straighter, it looked like he even ironed his shirt and she noticed an absence of powdered sugar on his slacks. He swept his arm out to gesture toward the lively atmosphere surrounding them, the unspoken question hung in the air:

‘What's the occasion?’

Belladonna simply looked around at her coworkers having a fabulous Friday night as if the obvious didn’t need stating and shrugged. Every instinct in her body urged her to say as little as possible and give vague responses until Roman arrived. He always had a way with words, able to turn even the most sinister threats into poetic masterpieces.

“A little post Fashion Week celebration,”

"And you forgot to invite us?" Ramirez sneered taking a sharp step closer, "We're hurtin’, sweetheart,"

The low and guttural quality of his voice reminded her of the rattling of a rattlesnake’s tail just before it struck and it sent her Spidey sense tingling. Her toes curled in her high heels fighting the urge to take a cautious step back. If she couldn't stand her ground here in Roman's club, where she was the most safe, she wouldn't be able to anywhere else.

“I’ll make sure to pass along your complaint to Roman,”

She wanted to be done with the whole interaction and go find Roman. Her hips had begun to swivel away in preparation to get as far away from these two men as possible when their next words halted her exodus.

“Oh, we’re not here for Roman—” Craven's eyes narrowed. “We’re here for you.”

The music warped and slowed, fading into the background and a sense of dread settled in her stomach.

Suddenly the solid platform she’d been standing on didn’t feel so solid and she reflexively shifted, putting her weight on her back foot, almost as if she were bracing for a physical attack.

They were here for her? But why?

Ramirez’s sneer twisted into a dark smile, and Craven’s lip curled in satisfaction. It was the tiniest of steps back, but they’d seen it for what it was; a retreat.

Her body language only seemed to heighten their awareness of her discomfort: Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, as if trying to shield herself and her shoulders drew inward. She didn’t mean to do it, it just happened. At that moment she knew she blew it, she’d come on so strong, and at the first sign of trouble, she was shrinking back like she was afraid. She wasn’t afraid, not really, but it sure came off that way.

Ramirez snorted, leaning in close enough for his malice to be felt rather than just seen.

“Thought you were clever, huh? Playing spy games?”

"Did you have a hunch to check the door for the VIN first, or was it just a stroke of luck?"

The car.

“Sy games? Now you’ve lost me, detectives.” She gripped her arms a little tighter resisting the urge to search the room for Roman or Zsasz. They were coming. She could hold off for a few more minutes.

Craven's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously as if her denial angered him more than what she’d actually done.

"You know exactly what we're talking about, bitch. You've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." Craven growled, finally sounding more like himself. Grumpy.

"Funny thing, we’ve been sidelined ever since our little conversation yesterday. Seems like someone’s been busy causing us headaches with the higher-ups. We’ve got IA breathing down our necks.”

Craven's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and she could hear knuckles cracking each time he did it. The way a person’s hands do just before they punch something or someone.

She managed to keep her voice from shaking, concealing any fear with a lightly mocking undertone. "Trouble with the bosses? Sounds rough. Can't imagine what that has to do with me."

“Came by to give you a little friendly warning,” Ramirez added.

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” She said, trying to appear nonchalant but straightening up her posture despite the growing dread swelling within her.

Craven glowered a vein in his neck looking particularly taxed, but it was Ramirez who moved forward, shoulders squared and ready to start something he couldn’t finish here. Craven quickly grabbed his partner’s arm. A single nod was all it took to quell Ramirez and it was chilling to see, Ramirez who was normally the calm and semi-charismatic one bowing to the unspoken suggestion from his older and more impatient partner. She didn’t like this.

Ramirez retreated next to his partner, his shadow melding with the rest, and the neon lights from the club's sign painted a sickly glow, giving his features a ghoulish cast.

"Your fake scumbag boyfriend would be so proud," Ramirez spat, venom dripping from every word. "But watch your back, sweetheart. History has a funny way of repeating itself. Wouldn't want any déjà vu on your way home from work…”

“Is that supposed to scare me?"

It did scare her. She could almost hear the heart monitors again and smell the sterile hospital room all over again. It scared the hell out of her, but it also pissed her off. And being pissed off might not be the smartest move, but it was better than being scared. Belladonna met his gaze head-on, her dark eyes smoldering and unyielding.

Even though she was unnerved by their presence here, she knew they couldn’t actually do anything to her. Not even they were that stupid. There was a certain thrill, a rush that coursed through her veins standing toe-to-toe with the law—a corrupt one at that.

“It should,” Craven smirked, "Once he gets tired of you and he will get tired of you. You'll have no one to protect you."

Belladonna's chest tightened, a knot of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach. As if they knew about the may her own thoughts had been fixating on the same thing since this whole charade began, but she couldn't let them know they'd struck a nerve so she opted for a change of subject.

"You know, I’m no expert, but I get the feeling maybe you two aren't supposed to be here." She replied, refusing to address Craven’s suggestion.

“This isn’t over. We’ll be watching you closely from now on.”

‘Watching,’ that was their new favorite threat, a word they wielded like a switchblade—quick to flash, but dulled by overuse.

"Watch away," she retorted, tilting her chin up, unflinching. Her pulse thrummed in her veins, yet she exuded calm— “From outside, if you don’t mind.”

Craven's nostrils flared and Ramirez clenched his jaw in defiance, she was pretty sure he was grinding his teeth. But before the tension between them could escalate, the cavalry arrived in the form of Daisy and Lauren.

The two women were both curious by Belladonna's absence from the gathering and then alarmed by the presence of two unfamiliar and underdressed figures.

"Belladonna, there you are-" Lauren’s gaze lingered on the imposing presence of the men below. “Is everything alright? Who are your friends?”

"No friends of mine," Belladonna retorted smoothly, her voice carrying a hint of steel as the detectives struggled to conceal their animosity. “Detectives from the GCPD.”

"Detectives?" Lauren asked a bit perplexed. “Is everything ok? Wait, does this have to do with your attack last year?"

It didn’t, but it was a convenient excuse to explain the unwelcome company. As far as Belladonna knew, the investigation into Jimmy’s murder had not been made public, and she wanted to keep it that way. She wasn’t sure how her boss would react to learning that one of her employees was being investigated for murder. Luckily, the detectives made no move to correct her, in fact, they looked pretty uncomfortable, and she had a feeling they wanted to disappear into the shadows before anyone else noticed their presence.

Daisy and Lauren were among the few who knew the gruesome details of the attack, and as a result, they became fiercely protective of Belladonna. Whenever there was any mention or update about it, Lauren's maternal instincts would kick in, even though she was barely older than Belladonna herself. On the other hand, Daisy would react like a small but loud dog barking at something much bigger than her. Like a little dog, a cute one. A cute little leg shredder.

"Finally! Did you guys catch the guy or find anything?”

"I certainly hope so. It's been a year," Lauren added, a touch of exasperation creeping into her tone. “You’d think they’d have something by now.”

Daisy leaned closer, her expression concerned she was a little uneven but that might have had something to do with the martini she had in her hand. Judging by the amount of olives in it, it was at least her fourth, they just got dirtier as the night progressed.

"It's crazy, right?” She said, taking a sip and then plucking an olive from the skewer, “The whole thing was so brutal. You guys have got something, right?"

A bigger spotlight on the two detectives couldn’t have been found and they suddenly looked like they were sweating bullets, Ramirez looked at Craven with a panicked expression.

“The investigation is ongoing—” Craven gritted out, no doubt trying not to look or sound half as pissed off as he was. But that didn’t hold a candle to Lauren’s disdain.

"Unbelievable, you guys still haven't cracked it?" Lauren shook her head and looked from Belladonna and Daisy back to the detectives. "How's that possible? What are our tax dollars even paying for?"

Craven shifted uncomfortably, attempting to deflect. "Investigations aren't easy, you know. We're working on it."

Ramirez nodded, adding, "Yeah, we're on it. Just give us some time."

But Lauren wasn't buying it.

"As if a year hasn’t been enough time, do you even have any suspects?" Lauren added.

“That information is privileged.” Ramirez retorted, using the same old excuse that corrupt cops often resort to when they have nothing to go on. And in this case, Belladonna knew nothing, was exactly what they had.

"Actually, what's truly a privilege is feeling safe."

The reality of it was that in Gotham City, police officers were overworked, underpaid, and spread far too thin. And if none of those things affected the police, the corruption certainly did. If things had been different and Belladonna hadn’t found herself wrapped up in a world of murder, fake criminal boyfriends, and corrupt cops, she wouldn’t have held it against the detectives for the lack of progress in her case.

But, that wasn’t the case, and Craven and Ramirez weren’t the cops working on hers - in fact, they probably knew nothing about it. They weren’t good cops, they were as crooked as a Bond villain and far less stylish. They had come here to intimidate her, so she saw no reason to call off Lauren or Daisy or defend the detectives from what she was sure was the most criticism they’d received since their time in the police academy.

The truth was, Belladonna, had already resigned herself to the fact that she would never see justice for the event that nearly took her life.

Daisy polished off her drink.

"I mean, does she even need the police when she's got Roman watching over her? He treats her like his queen." Daisy asked with a playful smile, her gaze flickering to the detectives before returning to Belladonna. “I almost pity the poor bastard who tries to get near her ever again,”

She swallowed the last olive, chewing slowly, and paused, “Actually, no, I don’t. Hope Roman fucks him up.”

Belladonna's confidence grew as her coworkers bombarded the detectives with questions they couldn't answer. It was damned entertaining, the only thing that would have made it better was if Roman was by her side enjoying the show with her.

Craven and Ramirez shifted uncomfortably, their faces tight with frustration as they scrambled for more vague answers to ease the heat they were both feeling. Belladonna's lips curled into a smug grin, her dark eyes dancing with amusement. They exchanged a tense, meaningful glance before Craven reluctantly cleared his throat, his voice strained with a forced professionalism that he wasn’t used to having to employ.

"The GCPD has the case under control," he said, locking eyes with Belladonna. "And we're keeping a very close eye on you."

“Well someone should. Can’t expect Roman to do your job in keeping her safe all the time,”

The grin on Belladonna's lips split into an outright smile, a silent taunt that made the detectives' blood boil beneath their skin. God, she loved her boss.

"The GCPD takes the case very seriously," Craven gritted out.

"Very seriously," Ramirez parroted back, his eyes drilling into Belladonna with the intensity of a man on the edge but one who could ultimately do nothing.

“So, then what exactly are you doing here if you have nothing?”

She could kiss Daisy for such a question, it was the perfect one to ask.

“Just checking up on our victim here.” Craven looked like the words he was spouting tasted like vinegar. “Making sure you haven’t seen anything we should know about.”

The detectives' responses were as useful as a broken number three pencil. Of course, Lauren and Daisy were completely oblivious to the hidden message and seemed satisfied with the shallow answers. But instead of excusing themselves, they simply gawked at the detectives, creating a deliciously awkward atmosphere.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Detectives," Belladonna said, her voice dripping with feigned gratitude. "Future updates can be directed to my phone, not gatecrashed into private parties."

Whatever experiences had shaped Craven and Ramirez into the crooked figures they were now was of no concern to Belladonna. Which was why she took a small amount of pleasure when she could feel their suppressed rage radiating off of them. Screw them, it was relaxing, like a warm summer breeze.

Both men looked as though they were considering just how much they cared about any potential consequences of letting loose their frustrations, which by the looks of it seemed to be more than they were accustomed to dealing with. Would it be worth the public humiliation and ass-kicking Roman’s men would ensure they received?

Their tense muscles and gritted teeth suddenly relaxed as a shadow loomed over Belladonna, answering that question with a definitive ‘no’. Looks like restraint and self-preservation won this round.

A strong arm snaked around her waist possessively and she didn’t need to turn around to see whom it belonged to. Warm breath tickled her skin as a dangerous smile, full of dark intent, spread across the face of the man behind her. She tilted her head and gently placed a kiss on his freshly shaved cheek, her lips lingering adoringly against his skin. His smile grew smug and self-satisfied.

"Detectives," Roman addressed them, his voice icy. "As my gorgeous girlfriend said, this is a private event. If you have any information about her assault case, then I think it's more appropriate to pass it along to her lawyer."

Despite coming off as a polite suggestion, there was no confusing Roman’s words for anything other than what they were; a warning. And the clock was ticking for them to make themselves scarce lest something unfortunate happen on the way out.

The light glinted off his eyes, giving them a menacing black appearance as he sneered at Craven and Ramirez, knowing only they could see it. In spite of the intrusion Roman seemed to be in a good mood because he didn't make any further attempts to intimidate them, and they began to back away on their own. Good thing too. It was entirely probable that the only reason they were still alive was the fact that there were a whole lot of witnesses and Roman sort of liked them.

"Zsasz, make sure they don't get lost on their way out."

She had half-heartedly expected a den of depravity that reflected the darkness of a man that killed for the lulz. She pictured walls lined with mirrors, but contrary to her initial assumption she instead found a very normal office. The walls were painted in neutral tones, housing nothing more scandalous than framed modern art — abstract swirls and stark lines that felt cold and impersonal. The desk was sleek and clean save for a simple laptop and a few papers tucked neatly next to it. No chains, cuffs, or torture devices were in sight; just the standard three-ring binders, a stapler that seemed like it had never tasted anything thicker than a monthly report. The entire room seemed to scream ’Why yes, as a matter of fact, I DO work here.’

She was almost disappointed at the amount of corporate normalcy.

At the center of it was Roman leaning against his desk, arms folded over his chest, exuding confidence and control. The cocky grin on his face from downstairs was replaced by a look that was almost admonishing. This was it, she was pretty sure this was where he’d chew her out at best, and at worst? Well, she didn’t know.

Minutes dragged by in silence before he finally spoke.

"So,” He drawled with a hint of amusement before tilting his head a bit. “How's that goose egg, Angel?"

Her hand fluttered to the sore spot behind her ear, surprise rippling through her. He knew. Of course, he knew. He always knew it shouldn’t have surprised her, really. She tilted her head, about to question how he knew, but before she could, Roman held up a hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Nothing happens here without me knowing. Especially when my angel is out there playing GTA in real life."

Her cheeks flushed, both from embarrassment and a peculiar sense of pride, the bubble of tension she’d felt began to deflate. Leave it up to Roman to know a thing or two about video games where living the life of a successful criminal was the goal. She hadn’t pegged him as a gamer.

"Your criminal tendencies are growing. Looks like I’m rubbing off on you," he teased.

"My criminal tendencies?" She parried, trying to match his levity.

“By leaps and bounds," Roman said with that grin that knew too much. "Most people wouldn't think to avoid leaving fingerprints. No prints, no problem, nicely done, angel.”

"How long have you known?"

“Derick ratted you out almost the minute you hung up on him. Sent me the recording too,”

She shook her head and glanced at Roman out of the corner of her eye. In a low voice, she muttered, "So much for attorney-client privilege."

"The man may be your lawyer, but he works for me," Roman clarified with a smug look. "Besides, attorney-client privilege isn't quite so 'privileged' when it comes to criminal acts—like breaking into a car—or if someone's life is in danger. Then it's more of a guideline than a rule."

With a resigned grin, Belladonna shrugged.” Is it even considered breaking and entering if the car door was already unlocked? I mean, in this neck of the woods, it's practically an open invitation. Anything could happen, right?”

Roman threw his head back and laughed a deep, genuine laugh. "Oh, Angel, you're steering into this criminal thing like a pro. But trust me, unlocked or not, it's still breaking and entering. Nice try, though."

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“No, but I can blame her if she got caught,” Belladonna’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come on, “Good thing my cameras only managed to catch your little confrontation with the detectives.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and her posture relaxed again.

"So, you’re not mad at me?" she asked hesitantly, searching his face for any sign of anger or disappointment.

"Mad?" His laughter was low, dangerous then it vanished. "Oh, I was furious for about twenty minutes.” He shrugged and looked nonplussed. “And I might have taken it out on some poor, unfortunate bastard, but don't worry, he was far from a choir boy, I’m sure he had it coming for… something.”

He pushed himself away from the desk and prowled across the room in long, relaxed strides. She shrunk back a step with his approach, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense gaze. But before she could get far, he made a grab for her waist, pulling her flush against him with a possessive force.

His hand wrapped around hers, his grip strong and inescapable. They began to sway together like they were dancing to some silent tune only he could hear. It reminded her of that night in her kitchen when he told that wild fabricated story about how they met. But this time, she felt more comfortable, more at ease in his arms, moving with him like they'd done this a thousand times before.

"But I had the whole drive back from my errand to calm down. And when I thought about it, I realized you might've just put the final nail in Craven and Ramirez's careers."

His unexpected reply caught her off guard and she wasn't quite sure what he meant. However, the thrill and excitement at Roman's approval overshadowed any confusion.

"Sometimes, Angel," Roman murmured, "desperation breeds ingenuity. Welcome to my world."

“What do you mean final nail in their careers? I thought they’d just get kicked off the case,”

He chuckled, his deep laughter vibrating through her body. Without warning, he dipped her back, catching her off guard yet again and causing her to gasp sharply as he pressed his lips firmly against hers. Her fingers tangled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, holding onto him tightly as their kiss deepened.

“The rot of corruption goes down deep in the GCPD,” Roman began, his voice conspiratorial. “But Internal Affairs takes the cake every time. They thrive on scandal like a pig rolling in mud, it’s like HR on steroids.”

He paused, “Now with the VIN, they have a juicy investigation to sink their teeth into. Why would two detectives be in a stolen car involved in a double homicide case from two months ago that wasn't even theirs to investigate? Sounds fishy, don't you think?”

Roman grinned as if it was the punchline of the funniest joke he’d ever heard. He spun her around, “And let's not forget about all the skeletons in their closets - bad cops with tarnished records. IA will go through every arrest, investigation, and every complaint ever filed against them. And the whole time all they can do is sit at a desk and doodle each other’s names on their notebooks.”

He stopped their dance, looking deep into her eyes. “But wait for it...the cherry on top? Craven and Ramirez throwing out threats and insults like they're candy, and there's no mistaking your sounds of pain for anything other than what they were—assault. And your lawyer heard every word and recorded it all.”

Roman’s grin widened, genuine admiration in his gaze. “Bravo, angel, bravo.”

"After tonight their careers are toast, whether they end up in jail or stuck writing parking tickets until they're collecting Social Security. Someone else will take over their cases, someone without a vendetta against me or a soft spot for trash like Jimmy."

"Won’t that make them more dangerous, if they have nothing left to lose?" Her heart raced, chest tight with a cocktail of fear and exhilaration, but Roman brushed it off with a laugh, unaffected by the potential danger.

"They're not exactly geniuses, and they sure as shit don't have the balls to do anything about it." His eyes glinted in what could only be described as ‘mirth’. "Wasn't sure why they were gunnin' for me so hard, they were starting to piss me off but you... you cleaned house without a single bullet, not bad at all baby. Less “to clean up.

“I thought you’d be pissed at me.”

He cut her off with a wicked grin. "Far from it. It was a damn circus act, watching those two dance to your tune. You played them like a concert pianist, angel.” He gripped her jaw sharply, not painfully, in a way that was meant to convey control. “But don't pull a stunt like that again without my blessing."

The remaining tension broke like a fever, leaving her flushed and oddly relieved. "Done, anything else?"

“Well,” He looked around, "I was thinking of a repeat of that nice little office rendezvous from earlier… Gotta say, angel, wish I’d known how talented that mouth of yours was sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing words, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks despite herself.

"Yeah, that's a no."

"Is it?" he goaded playfully but then shrugged nonchalantly.

“You’re the one with all the rules Roman, I’m just following them”

Damn it, she was right. He couldn't stand when his own words came back to bite him in the ass, though it wasn’t a common occurrence. He took it better than she expected and even nodded at her approvingly.

She’d made her criminal boyfriend proud, and that certainly would put a little pep in her step, but then she remembered Roman's intense interest before the detective's untimely arrival.

"Oh, What did you want earlier before they showed up?" she asked, “Zsasz said you wanted to see me.”

"I just wanted my angel in my lap." His response was delivered with an air of innocence, but his eyes suggested anything but.

"Is that all?" she prodded further, trying to suppress the thought of being in his lap again, it usually led to fun places.

But he only shook his head, a naughty grin spreading across his face. "Tip of the iceberg," he murmured with a sly wink.

She figured as much, nothing was ever so simple when it came to Roman, and while most men might have been disappointed by Belladonna’s observation, Roman seemed pleased. She was catching on. Yeah, simplicity was a thing of the past, back before she had dangerous men in her life and corrupt police detectives all but declaring war on her. Rain clouds began to gather over her parade and her smile faded with their arrival, something not missed by Roman and he watched her with hooded eyes.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

She shook her head and tried to wave him off, "Nothing."

"Liar." He didn’t like seeing those dark eyes burdened by things that shouldn’t matter. "I can see the gears turning in there. Talk to me."

Torn between telling him the truth and keeping her worries to herself, she didn’t answer him for a minute but the night alcohol had already loosened her tongue, and he'd see right through any excuses she gave.

"I just wanted them off the case, not..." She waved a hand, struggling for the right words. "I dunno, destroyed."

"They did this to themselves, angel," Roman said with a warmth in his voice that wasn’t usually there. "You just helped things along. It’s not like they were honest, hard-working cops with families to feed."

She looked up suddenly alarmed, if there were families involved here she was really going to feel awful.

“Relax angel, both men are serial bachelors and if they have any kids out there, then they’re better off without such pitiful fathers in their lives.”

She didn’t seem very convinced and he could tell his words hadn’t quite done the trick, she needed something more. He gripped her chin up and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Craven and Ramirez are garbage. They’ve always been garbage. They prey on the weak and aren’t opposed to using dirty tricks or getting other people to fight their fights for them.”

“Pot calling the kettle what?” It was a less than gracious response given that Roman was trying to allay her fears, but it wasn’t without its merit.

“I’m a monster, Belladonna. I’ve never lied about what I am, but those pieces of trash out there trying to burn this club down with their death stares? There’s a big difference between me and them.” He paused, allowing her mind to perhaps come to her own conclusions but she said nothing.

What was the difference between Roman and the detectives?

“I only hide when I have to, I fight my own fights and I don’t prey on the weak because I’ve got a small dick.” He smirked when he saw her gaze flicker down to his suit pants then quickly back up. “Every decision I make isn’t without its purpose, and at the end of the day, the things I do, they’re rarely personal.”

He spoke so sternly and she was about to assert that Roman was full of shit but the buffering in her brain stopped any such response from leaving her lips. She thought back to every decision Roman had made and in truth, he was right, she could think of only a few instances where he let his emotions get the better of him, and even then they weren’t without provocation either. She thought back to their rendezvous in the car after the party they’d attended together; while he shouldn’t have been so rough with her, he’d given her a boundary and she’d tromped all over it. Emotional? Yes, but rational? Also, yes.

The police station? He’d been building her up at day for the interrogation and she hadn’t exactly filled him with confidence that she was in it with him. Emotional? Yeah, rational? Well… That one might have been an ‘Everyone’s an asshole here’ moment.

Then her storming out of his penthouse? No, fuck that, that was on him. He was the one who was having a temper tantrum. But her response wasn’t much better, again, he’d told her to trust him, and she hadn’t.

“They’re street cretins who need power trips to get off, I don’t. I’m not a cretin, I’m the goddamned boogeyman. And trust me, Angel, the little intervention you set in motion is far kinder than anything I had brewing, believe me, Belladonna. Them losing their jobs? It’s a mercy, compared to what I was working up to.”

The sharpness in his voice and the way his lip twitched as though he were fighting a snarl was every indication that Roman had indeed been laying extensive thought into Craven and Ramirez's fates. One he wanted to be sure that would never be traced back to him.

“If it helps you sleep at night, Angel,” He paused, “You probably saved their lives.”

“Would you really have-” She trailed off, instead drawing a line over her neck, getting the idea that it was better not to speak words that could be used against them.

It made Roman smile, “I’d have torn Craven limb from limb for touching you, but he’d still be very much alive.” His fingers laced with hers and he raised them up to observe her slender hand entwined with his as though it held some deeper meaning. “Either way, they won’t be troubling us much longer, someone else will take the case as soon as the IA investigation concludes and they’ll take one look at the case before deciding it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on.”

A glint of satisfaction gleamed in Roman's eyes as he continued, "It’ll be forgotten like yesterday’s celebrity nip-slip. Over and done with before you know it." His confidence was like a cloak of assurance wrapping around them like a bulletproof vest.

She knew he was right – Craven and Ramirez were no altar boys, and they were on their way out, thanks to their reckless stunt in showing up at the club, it was all but assured. It was all smooth sailing from here, or so it seemed.

But as quickly as it came on, that little light inside Belladonna dimmed at his words, feeling both relieved and unexpectedly bummed. As much as she wanted this nightmare to end, it meant she’d go back to her life without Roman. And since things were wrapping up that meant she was going to have to go back to finding her mother on her own, since very soon she wouldn’t be Roman’s problem anymore. He would have no reason to help her.

She wouldn’t have the protection or attention of this dark, determined man. Wouldn’t have his eyes on her, wouldn’t be the center of his world anymore. And that stung.

Stupid lady lizard brain wanting that damn man. It was only ever a deception, none of it had been real and Roman had never lied to her about his intentions. He’d been honest with her the whole time, more or less. He’d never promised her roses and penthouse suites, even if she’d enjoyed both for a spell. In a way, he’d been the most decent man she’d ever been involved with.

But he was also a smart one and her silence was causing his brow to raise in skepticism so high and pointed that it would bring a drag queen to shame.

But no one wears a mask better than a woman who really wants to hide the demons clawing at her. With a poise refined from years of hiding what she felt, she donned her mask and as the words were forming on Roman’s lips, to ask her what was wrong, she laid a showstopping kiss on him. Her lips were insistent, demanding his full attention as they delved into his mouth to taste and tease, distracting him from any thoughts of suspicion. And despite Roman's considerable intelligence, he was still a man, and couldn't resist the allure of being lavished with such intense, deep affection. It was a weakness shared by all men who were lucky enough to be kissed in just the right way.

"So, now what?" Her voice was softer than she intended when she pulled away. The soft hazy look in Roman’s eyes was a clear sign that her plan to throw him off had worked.

"Right now," he began, leaning in for another kiss, "We've got something worth celebrating, don't we?"

Belladonna watched him, her heart a mix of gears grinding into motion. "It's all smooth sailing from here," he insisted.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she cautioned, even as her lips betrayed her with a half-smile. "Celebrating feels like tempting fate."

"Angel," he said, closing the distance between them, his presence enveloping her. "Fate's got nothing on us. We make our own luck here."

Roman could sell you on anything and he was certainly selling a win in the very near future, it was hard not to buy into it.

"Alright," she agreed reluctantly, her voice wavering slightly. "Let's celebrate."

As they descended to the main floor of the club, Roman's arm was possessively draped around her waist. Belladonna tried to push thoughts of their inevitable conclusion out of her mind and instead focused on the pulsating music, flashing lights, and adrenaline rush of the Masquerade Noir. There were many things to worry about, but Roman's confidence was like a drug, and she found herself riding its euphoric wave. If their time together was coming to an end as Roman suggested, there was no use in trying to stop it. She might as well enjoy being the center of his dark underworld for as long as she could.

The last few days of sleeping in Roman’s bed had triggered the instinctual response to reach out and grab onto something solid next to her, as if it would somehow prolong her state of rest. She stretched lazily across the silk sheets that dressed Roman’s bed, her hands reaching, searching for the warm body that she knew was there, but all they found was his pillow. She blinked away the bit of sleep that continued to cling to her. In an instant, she realized that the bed was empty and with that disappointing revelation the last remnants of drowsiness vanished. Bummer.

Like a cat on its back in a beam of warm sunlight, she stretched out her limbs, reveling in the plush comfort of the king-size bed. Roman was nowhere to be seen, she grabbed onto his pillow and pressed her cheek into the downy softness, inhaling deeply. It smelled like him, that hypnotic blend of his cologne and traces of cigar smoke all embedded deeply into the pillow.

The all-too-familiar scent was the same one that lingered on the shirt she had borrowed from him, such a girlfriend move, sleeping in his button-down shirt. She wore a little smile when she thought of the possessive way Roman’s arms had wrapped around her waist when they went to bed. And truth be told, she was a bit surprised she was still wearing it. She half-expected it to be lying on the floor next to her panties, but surprise, surprise, not a single button was undone without her doing so herself.

Roman had behaved himself, and she was impressed. Then she felt a bit bad, wondering how well he must have slept with her ass against his cock all night. God help that morning wood. She looked to the bathroom door which was wide open and vacant and gave a thought to what he had told her a few weeks back. How he hadn’t fucked anything other than his hand since they became involved, and the thought made her ache a little bit.

Roman had been overly kind with his teasing orgasms and while each one was better than the last, it was no substitute for sex. That sensation of being filled and fucked after being single for so long that it left you breathless and nothing could stop that first moan.

She was getting carried away.

When she sat up, something else teased her senses—coffee, rich and inviting. A grumble of hunger reminded her that she was entering that yellow cautionary area when it came to food. She hadn’t had much to drink last night but she knew better than to push her luck any further. Sugar crashes weren’t fun and she wasn’t keen on another one. The party had gone on late into the night and food had been an afterthought but it certainly wasn’t an afterthought now.

It was like one of those silly cartoons where Bugs Bunny would magically levitate after the alluring aroma of carrot cake. She didn’t really care for carrot cake, but the sentiment was the same. Padding barefoot across the cool hardwood floor, she followed the heavenly smell of coffee like a beacon till it led her to the kitchen.

The high-end appliances shone with morning light, every stainless-steel surface gleaming. Belladonna wasn’t a chef by any means but she could cook and this was the type of kitchen that women dreamed of being barefoot and pregnant in. Marble countertops, dark cabinets, state-of-the-art appliances that probably cost more than her rent, any chef’s dream. It almost overshadowed the man standing in it.

Almost.

A cup of coffee in his grip, clad only in lounge pants that rode low on his hips, drawing far too much attention than was necessary. His hair tousled in a way that spoke of the careless drag of his fingers through it upon rising. It really wasn’t fair, the man just seemed blessed with naturally gorgeous hair. Roman was completely engrossed in the most boring task imaginable - reading the newspaper.

Without the armor of tailored suits, he looked so… normal. Not the ruthless criminal or the nightclub impresario she was accustomed to, but someone more... real. But even in this relaxed state, he oozed an irresistible sensuality.

Belladonna’s arrival didn’t go unnoticed, nor did her staring. Roman was pretty to look at no matter what he wore or didn’t wear, but his state of undress wasn’t what had her rooted to the spot. It was the simple black frames perched on his nose that should have added a scholarly touch, yet her mind was going to fantasies of older men and college professor crushes.

Glasses.

The man was not only wearing reading glasses but he looked good in them, they accentuated his chiseled features and the intensity of his gaze as he scanned the headlines. Suddenly, her mind was awash with very distracting thoughts.

He caught her look, eyes narrowing in a silent challenge as a corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Say nothing," he warned with a playful edge to his voice.

He held still looking up at her through his lashes as she gingerly plucked the glasses from Roman's face. He watched her curiously as she examined them like she didn’t think they were real before slipping them onto her own face.

That was a mistake. The world warped alarmingly, and she pulled them off as fast as she’d put them on, her vision swimming. She handed them back to Roman like their very touch burned her, and she blinked hard, trying to dispel the lingering vertigo from his hellish prescription.

"Your eyesight is terrible," she declared with a grimace. A teasing smile curled her lips as she added, "How are you even allowed behind the wheel?"

Roman folded the newspaper and set it behind him with a deliberate slowness leaning back against the counter. His gaze never left hers.

"Firstly, contacts are a thing, angel,” he pointed out, tapping the side of the glasses as if to emphasize their temporariness. "And secondly," a hint of a smirk appeared, "I don't need to drive when I have Zsasz."

She found herself wondering if Roman even had a license. Then she wondered if Zsasz did. And neither man driving illegally surprised her in the least.

"My lips are sealed," Belladonna promised, deciding that some questions really didn’t need answering.

“They’d better be, I’ve killed people for less.” His comment should have been offputting but it wasn’t, in fact, she found it kind of cute. She rose up on her toes and planted a soft kiss on his lips, stealing a lick of his morning coffee.

"They look good on you. Kind of sexy," she said with a shrug before deciding a secondhand taste of coffee wasn’t enough.

"Go on..." Roman's voice was a low rumble, wrapping around her like a velvet caress. He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him with possessive ease, eager to continue the sultry good morning.

She tilted her head, considering him with a playful yet discerning eye. "They give you a kind of 'older man' vibe,"

His expression flickered, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his features. Oof, he didn’t look like he liked that.

"Old?" he questioned, a slight edge sharpening his word, clearly unamused by the implication, but Belladonna wasn’t worried. She could spin this.

“All the best things in life are a little older…” she purred, quick to soothe his ego. “Whiskey, wine, leather, art, cigars… sex.”

Her lips ghosted over the scattered stubble along his jaw, his initial stiffness fell away and he grinned smugly with each little almost kiss. He seemed pleased by being compared to the finer things in life, basking in the compliments. Maybe older wasn’t such a bad descriptor. Especially when he had a twenty-nine-year-old fashion photographer pawing at him telling him how sexy he looked all because of his glasses.

"You look like the kind of man women use to work out their daddy issues on," she teased, the words rolling off her tongue with a mix of jest and truth.

If she only knew.

Roman let out a rich, throaty chuckle, one that warmed the spacious kitchen. "Oh, many have," he admitted shamelessly.

"And here I thought I was special," She began to withdraw from him, employing a hint of a pout on her lips.

But Roman wasn't having any of it. He caught her wrist, pulling her back into his embrace. His strength was startling as he picked her up and hoisted her onto the cold marble counter, her legs instinctively circling his hips.

"Special?" he murmured, his voice dripping with a charm that was more calculated than genuine. "Belladonna, you are the epitome of exclusivity. Your daddy issues are so extensive, a lesser man would drown in them."

His hands lazily meandered up her legs, grazing under the hem of the shirt that barely covered her thighs. His thumbs teasingly tugged at the edge of her panties.

“But I'm willing to dive deep, do whatever it takes, to make sure we work them all out. Seriously, consider me at your disposal, angel."

Before she could process his words, his lips crashed against hers—hot, insistent, demanding. A smoldering kiss that promised danger and hinted at dark desires lurking beneath his polished veneer. The world outside this electrifying moment faded to nothing but a distant murmur. She could taste the bitterness of the coffee on Roman's lips, dark and rich—a stark contrast to the sugary confections she favored but on his lips? It was exquisite.

“Nice save.” She admitted when he pulled away. What could she say? The man was good with words. God help the world of politics if he ever decided to take a swing.

Her hand wrapped around the ceramic mug that Roman had left unattended; the warmth seeping into her skin. He cast her an incredulous look, as if surprised at her audacity to drink his coffee, but his lips curled into a grin and she wasn’t sure why. As she brought it to her lips, the bitter liquid hit her tongue like a straight shot of reality—bold and uncompromising.

"Ugh, that's vile," she exclaimed, grimacing as she set the cup down with more force than necessary. The dark brew sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “Roman, that tastes like pure gasoline.”

Roman just chuckled.

“Ah, but that's the beauty of a well-crafted espresso," he said with an air of satisfaction. "You see, true coffee connoisseurs appreciate the complexity of its bitterness. It's like a symphony of flavors, each note playing its part. The robust taste you find so jarring is actually the hallmark of high-quality beans, roasted to perfection and brewed with precision. It's meant to be savored, not just drunk."

She eyed him skeptically, her dark eyes glinting with playful defiance. "You do know about sugar, right?"

"Sugar is for the weak,"

“Are you saying I’m weak?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest, her voice tinged with mock indignation as she thought of all the treats she frequently enjoyed. The rose-infused mochas, the French macarons, the baklava, she couldn’t help it, she liked sweet things.

"Not at all," Roman replied smoothly, nosing along the column of her throat. "You're not weak. You're the sweet treat at the end of the meal."

She took another cautious sip, the acrid tang clinging to her palate. "I suppose it's an acquired taste," Her distorted expression brought a chuckle to Roman’s lips and he reached for a small jar of sugar cubes, offering it up.

"Feel free to indulge your sweet tooth," he said charitably, "I'll let it slide this time, just for you."

It was a concession, a bending of his own rules, and Belladonna knew it was as much an admission of his feelings as she was likely to get. Roman Sionis didn’t bend the rules for anyone, but in that moment, with the taste of espresso lingering and the promise of something darker beckoning, she glimpsed the man behind the mask and accepted the sugar.

"But," Roman's voice dropped to a husky whisper, hovering on the edge of something untamed, "if you're not enjoying the coffee, perhaps I can offer you something else that's sweeter."

A smile crept onto his lips, eyes darkening as he leaned in, intent on claiming a kiss that promised to be every bit as intoxicating as the man himself. But just as their lips were about to meet, Belladonna veered off course, gaze fixed on something over his shoulder, eyes going wide.

"Is—is that a shrunken head?"

Her tone held surprise but lacked fear, an odd sense of macabre curiosity threaded through the words.

He looked over his shoulder following her line of sight, and sure enough, she’d finally noticed one of the many oddities that he collected. He grinned in amusement rather than the disappointment expected of a man who wasn’t being kissed.

In a glass case on an opposite wall was a small wrinkled, gray, shrunken head, its mouth and eyes long since stitched shut. She blinked rapidly as if trying to dispell what she thought might have been an illusion; something brought on by the bitterness of Romans's inhuman brew.

He swept her off the counter, and he led her to the case, his hand enveloping hers. She stared mouth slightly agape, studying the nearly black relic. It was morbid yet mesmerizing, and she couldn't tear her eyes away.

He watched her fascination with the object for a moment before guiding her away from the case and down the hall into a medium-sized room that looked more like it belonged in a museum than the penthouse of a club owner.

The walls were lined with objects from cultures across the globe, curated with plaques and display tags, meticulously mounted with precision. Glass displays housed all manner of objects amidst a stark white backdrop.

Belladonna's eyes darted from one death mask to another, their hollowed gazes seeming to follow her with jealousy. In another case, obsidian daggers glistened with dried blood, remnants of ancient rituals that still held sway over those who dared to gaze upon them.

It was hard to know where to look first and as a result, her head whipped back and forth along the white walls as they walked into the room until one painting in particular caught her attention.

The plaque read ‘The Cursed Woman' painted by Octave Tassaert and while the room itself was full of objects that she could spend hours studying, this one had her stopping in her tracks because of the subject matter alone.

She knew about as much about the 19th-century art movement as anyone else might, after reaffirming it wasn’t the same as the Renaissance. How the hell would she know? She wasn’t an art history major. The painting was pretty far removed from Monet’s ‘Water Lillies’ or the still-life bowls of fruit that people seemed to think were revolutionary for the time. Pensive and pretty it wasn’t. Bold, erotic, and salacious, yes. She couldn’t help but smirk when she thought of all the feathers it must have ruffled when the paint dried.

People weren’t comfortable with sex when it came to Michelangello’s David statue and that was considered the pinnacle of art. What did they say when Octave unveiled a portrait of three naked women surrounding a fourth doing the kinds of things you’d see in on spring break?

“Cursed?” she scoffed humorlessly, "Looks like she's doing just fine to me,"

Roman bristled as he watched Belladonna stare at the painting.

“Is it giving you ideas?”

She broke her trance long enough to meet the smoldering abyss of Roman’s eyes and she smirked.

“Done it.” She answered provocatively, his eyes widened as he looked from the painting to Belladonna. “Jealous?”

"Of a painting? Please," He replied, “Although, I wouldn’t mind a play-by-play. Which one were you?”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t savor each flavor.”

She didn’t let Roman linger on the thoughts that she could tell were beginning to flood his mind, she moved on quickly, knowing it would be a fun topic of discussion for later.

Each step they took was a deeper plunge into Roman's world—a realm where beauty danced with the grotesque, and desire tangled with dread.

They stopped in front of a singular case that held six shrunken heads, a shudder of both repulsion and intrigue danced up her spine as she took in each one. Their leathery faces were etched with the final expressions of their lives, eyes sewn shut in eternal slumber. For a reason she couldn’t explain, part of her wanted to reach out and touch the things. To see if the skin really felt like skin, it didn’t look like it could have ever have been human.

"You collect shrunken heads?" Her words hung between them, a mix of disbelief and fascination.

It seemed so strange and yet it suited Roman in a way that wouldn’t have made sense if she hadn’t been privy to the darker aspects of his world. Roman's reply came with a smile that seemed to know secrets darker than the shadows clinging to the corners of the room.

"Creepy," she murmured under her breath, yet couldn't look away.

"Creepy, yes, but revealing," Roman added, his tone laced with an almost reverent respect for the macabre exhibit. "They're a snapshot into the lengths humanity will go to preserve memory, to hold onto what once was. Our endless pursuit of power."

“Why would people do this?” It wasn’t horror that filled her voice, but the same curiosity that drew Roman to them as well.

"Tsantsa’s.” Roman began, voice rich with the fervor of a connoisseur, "The Jivaroan believe by creating one they could trap the soul of their enemy inside the head and prevent it from avenging its death."

Belladonna studied each head noting the subtle differences, some had piercings, some had tattoos and she was pretty sure at least two were women but the weathered details were somewhat lost making them ultimately impossible to decipher.

"They're used in rituals and it was believed they brought power to the tribe; priestesses, warriors, warlords…"

Warriors and warlords. She wondered which Roman considered himself to be but didn’t bother asking. He was far too fascinating as he spoke, his words were alive in a way she’d never heard before, there was a captivation to them, full of intrigue and passion. The word ‘how’ was already forming on her lips and he jumped at the opportunity.

“It’s a delicate and time-consuming process.” He answered. “You’d decapitate your enemy first, about, here,” His hand wrapped around her throat, his finger drawing a line across the skin of her neck, as he began explaining the procedure.

“A precise incision is made and the skin is carefully removed from the skull, like a-”

“Like a discount Halloween mask?” She looked from the head in the case to Roman’s reflection, echoing the threat he had spoken to her not long after they first met.

“Exactly.” He grinned and continued drawing on her neck. “The skin is boiled with special herbs, preserving its integrity. After that, it's dried and turned inside out, removing any remaining flesh. The cut is sewn shut, and hot sand and stones are used to shape and shrink the head, you’d be surprised just how small the human head is without the skull,”

No, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

Something screamed inside her head, that this whole thing was not normal, that it was somehow a red flag, but was knowing cultural facts so abnormal? No, that wasn’t the problem, the possible problem was that somehow, the way he spoke and how he touched her as he did was kinda hot and she wanted him to keep touching her.

“Finally, it's dried over hot coals, with the eyes and lips meticulously sewn shut, trapping the soul inside.” His fingers trailed over her closed eyes and lips, “The entire process is an intricate art, preserving not just the head, but a piece of the soul, making it a deeply powerful artifact. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

Did he? The longer she stared at the heads the longer it seemed like if the twine around the lips was snipped secrets and screams might spill out, maybe curses too. Six heads. Six people. Six souls. Trapped in Roman’s penthouse for as long as he liked to look at them.

“Going for the world record?”

Roman laughed, and pulled her away, “The largest collection is housed at the Times Square Museum with 24 authenticated specimens. I’ll make my way there to see it one of these days,”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

Roman shrugged, “I hate New York. Fascinating as they are though,” She continued to look at the heads even though Roman was guiding her to another case. "masks, my dear, masks are my true passion."

He gently guided her chin forward and passion was the only appropriate word for what she was looking at.

The wall before them stole the show that was the room and she didn’t know how it wasn’t the first thing she saw; there was an array of masks hung in a mesmerizing display. Each one hailing from another culture and era, intricately crafted and steeped in history.

There were the elaborate and ornate masks of the Venetian Carnival, bursting with color and elegance. Next to them hung African tribal masks, each one carved with painstaking detail, representing ancestral spirits and ancient rituals. The Japanese Hannya masks, with their fearsome expressions, captured the essence of vengeful spirits and dramatic theatre. The eerie, bird-like visage of the famed plague doctor mask evoked a sense of historical dread and mystery.

Yet, at the very center of this captivating collection was a simple black mask that she didn’t recognize, stark and unadorned, drawing the eye with its understated, enigmatic presence.

Roman reached out, his hand hovering before the black mask, fingers trembling with anticipation before they made contact. He lifted it gently, with the care of a lover caressing cherished skin. The mask seemed to absorb the light around it, dark as a starless night sky.

"They embody the concept of hidden identities and secret desires. Behind a mask, one can find liberation to explore different facets of oneself." His voice dropped lower, intimate as if sharing a forbidden secret.

She could almost feel the power the mask promised, the allure of anonymity, the seductive pull of becoming someone else—someone unrestrained by the rigid expectations of society, or the iron grip of a father's demands.

"Freedom..." the word, a whisper from her lips became lost in the vastness of Roman's penthouse.

For a moment, she saw herself behind that mask, unanchored from the heartbreak and disappointment that shadowed her steps. In its void, she found a spark of desire—for the mask, for the man who held it, for the world he represented.

"Try it.” his voice was a dark invitation that wrapped around her senses like smoke.

For a fleeting second, she hesitated, aware of the precipice she teetered on, then she jumped.

The mask was cold as she took it in her hands, the surface smooth against her fingertips. She raised it to her face, its coolness kissed her skin, as it settled over her features. Her eyes shut involuntarily and she felt a transformation—an unshackling of the chains that bound Belladonna Black to her ghosts, her name, her legacy.

All at once, she was no longer the forsaken heiress, the fraudulent lover. She was a mystery, a cipher, a creature woven from darkness and desire. And in that moment, under Roman's intense gaze, she felt beautiful in a way she had never known.

With every breath, the mask seemed to pulse with a life of its own, promising to peel back the layers she had so carefully constructed around herself.

His eyes held hers and he was transfixed, as the mask’s magnetic force drew her deeper into his shadowy world.

Through masks eyes, her dark gaze found Roman's. There was a hunger there, raw and unapologetic, that sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She didn’t feel like herself, she felt like someone who didn't flinch at the sharp edges of the world, someone who looked death in the eyes and told him to go fuck himself.

The mask was a portal, and as Belladonna peered through it, she glimpsed the reflection of the woman Roman saw—one cloaked in darkness, yet radiant with a fierce light. Here, in this space filled with relics of death and mystery, she found an unexpected kind of life—one defined by risk, by the thrill of the unseen, by the promise of Roman's dark and dangerous influence.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice thick with a possessiveness. "You were born to wear a mask. Hidden, yet seen. Protected, yet vulnerable." His words wound around her like silk, binding her in their spell.

"Beautiful," Roman breathed, the words stripped of pretense.

It wasn't just a compliment; it was an acknowledgment of the evolution taking place, a recognition of the creature she was becoming every moment she was in his presence.

She was adrift in this new persona, unsure of how the mask seemed to amplify the raw connection between them. It was just a mask, wasn’t it?

"I could ravage you in that mask, taking every inch of your body in a way that you’d cast yourself into oblivion before you let another man touch you. I see all of you," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

"But how would you know it's me?" Belladonna challenged, thrown by the vulnerability he exposed. “I could be anybody.”

Roman just shook his head slowly, unfazed by her suggestion that she could ever be just anybody.

“I told you when I met you, angel, it’s those eyes," he said, tracing a finger along the cheek of the mask and lingering at the corner of her eye. "Even in darkness, even masked, I would know your gaze anywhere. Most dangerous thing about you are those eyes…"

The moment teetered on the edge of something reckless, desire threading through every word, every glance, every breath. Roman's hands roamed over her, settling at her waist, drawing her closer until she was pressed against the hard lines of his body. Her pulse skittered, sensing the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

She whispered his name; a warning or an invitation—she wasn't sure which.

Further words failed her as she watched him wrestle with the tempest of emotions on his face. The mask’s power was overwhelming, something was happening between her and Roman that she couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t scary, but it was intense and she needed a breather.

A collective breath seemed to leave Roman's body as she revealed herself to him once more. His shoulders relaxed, and those fierce eyes softened like the lid on Pandora’s box being slid back into place.

He leaned in, lips grazing hers.

"You need to eat," he rasped as if the words pained him to say. He stepped back, a visible tremor coursing through his frame as though he were trying to leash a monster within.

"Shower too," he added, his jaw clenched tight as he put the mask back up.

Confusion flickered across Belladonna's features. This was an unexpected deviation from the script they'd been following.

"Why?" she asked, her heart still hammering against her ribs.

"Because we have plans," Roman replied cooly.

"Plans?" she echoed, curiosity mingling with the remnants of their charged encounter. “What plans?”

"What else do rich power couples, madly in love do?" there was a hint of amusement beneath the battle raging inside him. “Shop.”

The air hung heavy with unspoken desire as Roman's voice cut through it, edged and brittle. "Go shower," he commanded his eyes dark storms of restraint. "I'll find something for you to eat."

Belladonna's heartbeat was a relentless drum in her chest, the heady mix of danger and longing clouding her senses. She tilted her chin up defiantly. "Care to join me?"

A growl rumbled from deep within him, a primal sound that sent shivers down her spine.

"Don't test me, Angel," he growled "If I step into that shower with you, Belladonna, we're not getting any cleaner." His voice dipped lower, rough with yearning. "And I'll use that shower head to see just how loud I can make you moan. And I won’t stop.”

His lips crashed against hers, a deep, hungry kiss that tasted of want and wildness. For a moment, they were lost in each other, the world reduced to the desperate clash of mouths and the heat between them.

With a ragged breath, Roman tore himself away. "Shower. Now," he instructed, his voice strained as if every fiber of his being was coiled tight, ready to snap.

He turned on his heel, his shoulders rigid with tension, and left the room. Belladonna stood there, lips tingling, heart pounding, watching the door close behind the man who was both storm and sanctuary.

He left her standing amidst the echoes of what might have been, his absence leaving a chill that no shower could wash away.

"Damn," she whispered to herself, the word a smoky exhale as she took in the sight. Roman really knew how to play his cards—every stitch, every seam, a silent dialogue between them. It wasn't just clothing; it was armor, a statement of intent that screamed they were a force to be reckoned with.

Her fingers traced the cool metal of the zipper as it sealed her in a cocoon of Roman's design. The black jeans hugged her curves, each piece an extension of her persona—fierce, unyielding, yet undeniably feminine. Her reflection in the mirror wasn't just Belladonna; it was a woman emerging from the ashes, eyes full of purpose and hunger for whatever twisted game life had laid out before her. She turned slightly, watching the light dance on the dark denim, the boots lending her posture an assertive tilt.

She sauntered out of the bedroom, a ripple of anticipation coursing through her veins. Roman stood there, the epitome of controlled elegance in his tailor-made suit. He glanced up from looking at his phone, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, clearly approving of the vision she presented.

"Breakfast is ready," he said, his voice a low hum that reverberated in the small distance between them. Perfectly cool and collected once more.

He’d prepared a modest yet thoughtful arrangement of Greek yogurt, honey-kissed granola, and freshly squeezed orange juice— it was such an intimate gesture.

The orange juice was something she often had on hand due to her hypoglycemia and the yogurt was even her favorite kind. The granola surprised her too; comprised of rolled oats, almonds, chia seeds, cherries, and apricots.

Each detail in the domesticity of the act seemed at odds with the chaos she knew swirled beneath his surface.

"Always thinking ahead," she commented, reaching for the spoon and diving into the creamy yogurt. The tang of citrus from the juice cut through the sweetness, a perfect balance to kickstart her senses.

"Only the best for my angel," Roman replied, his gaze lingering on her with a possessive intensity that both thrilled and unnerved her.

They ate in a comfortable silence, the clink of silverware punctuating the air. Belladonna could feel the city's pulse thrumming beyond the walls, a siren call to the unknown adventures that awaited them.

"Ready?" Roman asked.

"Always," she shot back, her tone laced with a challenge as she stood up, ready to stride into the maelstrom of Roman's world. They walked to the door together, two predators stepping out into the concrete jungle, each dangerous in their own right, but together, unstoppable.

Well, guys, I hope that will tide you over till the next chapter, I know I've been saying it for a while but TRUST ME. You are not going to want to miss the next chapter! Please throw me a comment and let me know what you think and if you'd really like to help me out reblog my story so it can reach other toxic fangirls! Stay toxic my friends!

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