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royallyprincesslilly · 10 months

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Title: HALO: A MasterChief Collection: Deception {12}

Master Chief Pablo x Sergeant Reader

Warning: Mild cursing, Plot, Angst, Violence, Slightly unhinged John, Creative Liberties Taken, Non-Canon Material,

Words: 2.8k

Summary: You are part of the mighty SPARTANS as a sergeant and a pretty badass addition to the team at that. Everything is different. You’re different. Master Chief is different and Halsey has taken notice. Under the guise of John needing “assistance” the rules of engagement have changed. Cortana is a part of him now. What does that mean for you and him? Is this the end?

Note I: AND WE ARE BACK!!!!

Note: II Guess who needs more fics? Master Chief!!! I’ve decided to make a Master Chief collection of standalone one-shots. They all can be read separately to understand, but can also be read in sequence. I will put a number on them so anyone who is interested in reading in sequence can, but again not necessary. This might be an acquired taste, but it’s Pablo as Master Chief forever and always around these parts. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread AT ALL***

~~~~~~~~~

-John-

“Who are you loyal to, Cortana?”

It was something he’d asked out of the blue. Something he’d been pondering for a full 2 weeks now. It had been two weeks from hell. Before with the pellet, he didn’t know what he was missing. He didn’t know any better than to know that cold, aloofness with one thought in mind of a better Reach and better future for the human race was no way to live. He didn’t realize he was missing out on so much more, like joy, peace, fear, pleasure, and awe. He didn’t know how beautiful the sunset was before, or how warm the sunrises were. He didn’t understand that fear wasn’t a complete weakness but that it could make you stronger. He didn’t comprehend that having something to lose made him better. He also didn’t know that the touch of a kind hand, the graze of soft lips, and the heat of one body could be so addictive.

Yeah, the two weeks since he’d made the call to stay away from you had been a living hell. He'd lived through many hells before, but this was different. He struggled in ways he’d never before. Now everything wasn’t monotonous. He had to put real thought into every move, every word, every call because every single instinct he had was now rewired for one purpose. You. And that was a major problem. If anyone found out he was different, they’d find out about you and Gods only knew what would happen next.

He'd learned quite a bit more about Halsey and her motives for implanting Cortana in his head. He’d also uncovered more and more memories from his time as a child before he’d come to Reach. He’d thought she was his savior--his friend, but now he saw she may very well be the enemy. When he came face to face with that, the fear that had become a new sensation for him gripped him forcefully. He could handle Halsey himself and for himself, but you were his priority. He didn’t want any harm coming to you and vowed he’d protect you at all costs. Hell, he'd start a war if it meant keeping you safe and with him.

“I don’t understand the question, John. Please clarify.”

“It’s a simple inquiry, Cortana. Who—are—you—loyal—to?”

“Well--,” Cortana began before he cut her off.

“Is it Halsey, the UNSC, or me?”

Cortana didn’t answer immediately, and he wondered what her response would be. Over the last two weeks he’d been spending away from you, he’d been trying to learn more about the AI that was now a part of him. He learned she was always there, always listening, watching, and learning. She’d learned his habits, preferences, and speech patterns in days and had implemented her own ways to connect with him. She’d integrated her AI knowledge with his own synapses to make nominal tasks easier, faster, and better. Halsey had said she was meant to make him better and while he knew that was only half the reason for her creation, she hadn’t lied there.

“I was not aware there was a separation between those three options. Is Halsey not part of the UNSC? Did she not make you using UNSC tech and money? Does that not make you part of the UNSC as well? I am afraid I do not understand your question.”

“You’re being obtuse on purpose.”

That was when she appeared. She stood before him with a neutral expression on her face.

“I know the reason you were implanted inside my head. I know you are a means to an end for Halsey and that end is power and control and I know because you’re far more intelligent than normal humans that you understand that.”

He saw that she did. Halsey had implemented this being with free thought and evolutionary processes.

“I know you’ve been watching everything I do and reporting back to her.”

“John--,” Cortana began.

Again he cut her off. “Don’t insult my intelligence with a lie. It was after all what you were implanted to do.”

“I was joined with you to make you better.”

“And you are making me better but that doesn’t negate your primary objective.”

A long silence stretched as she computed the multiple ways this conversation could go. He knew she thought she was so careful that he hadn’t known when she was lagging with her responses that she was playing informer. He wondered just what she was feeding back to Halsey especially since he’d been so careful. He’d tapped into every innate programming from the pellet he’d lived with since he was a child, given himself over to the robotic existence he’d once lived, he’d even gone as far as to be harder and colder with you than anyone else.

Every instinct in him had to be suppressed in order to put on the show for Cortana so she would report to Halsey that everything was status quo.

“You knew,” Cortana dejectedly stated.

“Of course I knew.”

“And you let me report everything you wanted me to. You let me see what you wanted.”

“And they say AI is the future. If I could deceive you what makes you think Halsey is not as well?”

Cortana looked away and that was his clue that she had her own doubts about Halsey’s true motives and her real objectives with not only him but putting her inside of his head.

“So I ask again. Who are you loyal to?”

“I was created by Dr. Halsey.”

“And she created you with the capacity to know right from wrong. Have you any doubts of her own judgement between right and wrong especially with everything you’ve helped me unlock?”

Cortana’s eyes shifted from his and he saw her wavering.

“Tell you what. I have a way to test her, so the truth comes out.”

“John I cannot go against my creator.”

“Even if that creator has lied and does not have the fate of the human race in mind? She stole me from my family, brought me here and lied about it my entire life.”

“There has to be an explanation,” Cortana objected. “If she were against you once I told her that your pellet was gone she would have altered course and found a way to keep you compliant. She did not.”

Jackpot, he thought. He knew she’d told her that much. He scoffed because although she knew his pellet was gone she hadn’t done anything to him for one reason and one reason alone.

“Because I am the key to the keystones. I am the only path to what could be the greatest weapon in this fight between the races. I am the key to her getting everything she wants—more power and control. If those keystones fall into her hands you know things will be bad.”

Cortana stared at him as she connected the dots.

“Why would she do anything to me when she still needs me?”

Long moments passed in silence until a few minutes had went by.

“What would you have me do?”

“Play along, simple as that.”

Cortana nodded slowly and a plan formulated in his head. He’d learn firsthand just where her loyalties lay soon enough. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he found they were against him.

~~~~~~~

As he walked into the mess hall he was half dreading it and half looking forward to it. He knew you would be sitting at the usual table between Kai and Miranda with Vannak and Riz on the other side of the table. Normally before the removal of the pellet, he’d sit on the other side of you while Kai was on one. Now that Miranda had taken a liking to interacting with you and Kai his place had been taken. Since his distancing himself from you, he’d skipped meals in the mess. They were too complex. If he wasn’t busy the new rewired instincts took over and he found it easier to give himself away. Tonight he could not resist the need to be near you.

Once he’d gotten his tray he made his way toward the table. It was Miranda who’d seen him first, then Kai and Vannak and Riz.

“Master chief,” Vannak said standing.

“At ease.”

You’d been smiling before his arrival but now the smile had somewhat faded and his heart sunk.

“Your heartrate just elevated Master chief, is everything all right?”

He ignored Cortana’s voice in his head then took a seat across from you. Your eyes dropped back to your tray where you took up your fork and pushed the food around the surface.

“Either you’d been living it up as Halsey’s lapdog or the great Master chief doesn’t need food anymore,” Kai teased.

Unlike him or even you for that matter Kai hadn’t seen a reason to pretend as if she didn’t feel the best she’d ever felt. She didn’t care if her personality seemed drastically different, didn’t care if it looked suspicious for her to be accepting wagers and bets with the other soldiers, or even that her hair had been dyed slightly pink. He envied her. He wished he could be as carefree about it as she had been. With that thought, his eyes slipped back to you.

You were steadily avoiding him. He wondered if this was as hard for you as it was for him. Did you toss and turn at night unable to find a comfortable position because he wasn’t beside you? Did you stare out to space at any given moment thinking about the times you spent together? Did you miss him the way he missed you? Did you crave his presence as he did yours? Did you wander around only to find yourself in front of his door but unable to knock?

“The keystones have been taking up a lot of my time,” he lied.

“Any new revelations there?”

He met Miranda’s curious eyes and shook his head. “Nothing.”

“I’m sure the Covenant is not just sitting around waiting. Why are we?”

Vannak sounded annoyed and he understood. This coming war over these keystones was dangerous and sitting idly by was not a good call.

“I feel like something big is coming,” Miranda began, “Something we may not be prepared for and it makes me wonder who will save us all?”

It was then you raised your head and looked at Miranda.

“Say that again.”

“Uh—who—who will save us all?”

You looked as if you’d seen a Covenant soldier across the mess then your face went blank as if you’d disappeared in a haze of thought.

“Y/N?”

You shook your head then went back to your food. “Who will save us all,” you mumbled under your breath.

He wanted to reach out and touch you, wanted to establish this connection between you that he felt had been severely damaged, but he couldn’t. The anger from that shot through him like an electric shock and he bolted up then stomped out of the mess. He could feel the eyes of those around him trailing where he went. He hated this and was tired of it. The time was now. He had to know who was with him and was against him because he needed you and felt you needed him just as much.

As he stalked to the ship he knew Halsey was currently on, he tried to contain his anger so it wouldn’t interfere with his plan. This stunt could possibly get him court-martialed and decommissioned. He knew it was risky, but he also knew he was the UNSC. He slipped inside and saw Halsey inside flipping through notes and files completely oblivious to his arrival then reached the top of the door, pulled down the compartment, and yanked out the fuse cord which he knew supplied power, and oxygen to the room. He then stabbed a piece of metal tubing into the crack of the door, further preventing the override procedures that Halsey would try to initiate from taking effect.

That was when Cortana appeared.

“What’s going on John?”

“Thought you knew everything.”

She looked impassive so he went on to question her about her knowledge of Roman Quinn, the engineer of the ship he and Halsey were currently on. As she rattled off facts about the man who’d revolutionized the ships that were currently used throughout the UNSC, he went about adjusting parameters in the computers and walls. As Cortana gave a detailed lesson, Halsey called his name asking him time and time again what was happening.

He ignored them both.

“Why did you lock Dr. Halsey in her lab?”

Ignoring her again he dropped a piece of his reasoning. “Quinn knew that no matter how advanced, something could go bad and he built fail-safes into all his designs. All his designs except one. The UV Decontamination system.”

He sealed his fate and initiated the beginning of his game and test as he walked back to the door to where Halsey was panicking.

“John!”

He finished his lesson on Roman Quinn by telling where he failed and how simple it was to not fail. Cortana slowly understood then.

“You’re not going to--.”

He smirked, then went to watch the show. Halsey buzzed around the room, trying her best to initiate an override to all he’d done, but no matter which side of the room she went there was no override. He slowly watched her calm, reserved, genius façade fall. He watched the woman who’d been a mastermind of so many things throughout the years feel the inevitability of consequences. He watched her slowly come to the realization that he saw her—completely and now she was going to see him. He was not to be trifled with nor underestimated.

“Nope,” he said popping the “p” in the word. “I feel great!”

“You can’t do this you’re not thinking clearly. You’re overworked, tired--.”

“You don’t understand what will happen if the systems fail with her in there,” Cortana reasoned.

“Oh, but I do. She will receive a very large dose of radiation,” he said matter of factly as f it didn't matter to him one way or another.

He went closer to the door and explained Quinn’s untimely death and the very bloody aftermath.

“John! Open the door right now!”

He glared at Halsey but was unmoving even face to face with her distress. Halsey looked at Cortana.

“Open the door, Cortana.”

“I can’t,” the AI said.

He scoffed. “Make me.”

Cortana stared at him, and he could tell she was going through the possibilities and their repercussions.

“You’re my fail-safe right?”

“I am not. It’s not true. You have to open it.”

“John please,” Halsey begged as she banged on the door.

“She’s been lying my entire life. You know this. You’ve seen it. You’ve noted her lies and infalicies with her thinking. She put you inside my head to keep me in line because she knew once I found out the whole truth I would no longer be under her control, no longer be her obedient little soilder. She put you in here to control me. So do it!”

His shout echoed throughout the ship.

“I can’t. All I can do is overload your neural pathways and put you in a stasis that is temporary. I can’t make you do anything. I can’t control you, nor would I want to. I understand you are angry at Dr. Halsey and no longer trust her.”

“You understand nothing! Do it!”

“I can’t.”

The numbers on the door decreased rounding down to ten but still he didn’t budge.

“Do it!”

“She will die in seconds. John please!”

Halsey’s screams were louder now as her death drew nearer and nearer. Cortana’s features never wavered.

“I’m sorry for stealing you from your family. I’m sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for trying to control you your entire life,” Halsey screamed as tears rolled down her cheeks.

He stared her down finally face to face with her lies. She’d finally admitted them. Finally laid those cards out.

“John please.”

The numbers fell to zero and the hiss of the vent in the room began. He had his answers and proof of loyalty. Freeing the door, he allowed it to open then yanked Halsey out in the nick of time before sealing the room again. Halsey lay there panting before she turned over and looked up at him with something he’d never seen from her. Fear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He clenched his jaw as he stared down at her. This woman was not his friend nor his savior. He knew that now.

“The time for I’m sorries are long gone. They mean nothing to me now.”

With that he walked past her leaving her on the cold steel floor. No doubt Aldon would be along to pick up the pieces. For now, she knew where she stood with him. They were finally both seeing each other as they truly were.

“Who are you loyal to?”

She didn’t appear but she replied. “To you John. I am loyal to you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#pablo schreiber #halo: a masterchief collection #master chief #halo fanfiction #pablo schreiber fanfiction #master chief fanfiction #deception one shot #halo paramount #master chief x reader #master chief x you #master chief x ofc #grumpy x sunshine #john 117 #halo the series #halo tv #halo fanfic

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syr-monthly · 5 months

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Decempreg Entry #1

Our First Story for #Decempreg today is by @arver7

She gives us fluff, deception, smut, more fluff and happiness!

The Wedding Planner: A Sterek Retelling

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek events #sterekyrround #sterekyearround #sterek fic #teen wolf #twitter events #sterek event #decempreg #sterek mpreg #mpreg #stiles x derek #december #fanfiction #deception

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chiconisroc · 5 months

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Chapter 9 is up for "Trust Me" , a Starscream fanfiction.

I want to thank @deadlysoupy for beta reading the chapter : ). Couldn't continue writing the story without a beta reader, i get paranoid with my story as they get longer, hahaha

Chapter is a bit slow, next one will be 'soft' : ). Don't worry angsty peeps, the angst will be coming soon~

Summary for new peeps:

Hashtag yearns to connect more with Starscream and she can't stand at how the world doesn't want to give him a second chance. She also wishes he wasn't so hostile towards the world.

Her solution?

To welcome Starscream into the Malto family as a new uncle and shower him with the love and support he needs, even if he doesn't think he needs it.

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downbad4yoongi · 3 months

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Fall from Grace

🤍Pairing: Demon!Jin x Angel!Jimin 🤍WC: 5,058 🤍Genre/warnings: angel and demons au, betrayal, smut, fluff

🤍Rating: R

🤍Summary: The rules for angels and demons are simple and straightforward, and can be summed up as: don’t interact.

A/N: This story is part of BTS Fests' Angels & Demons Fest!

Thank you to my betas: @colormepurplex2 and @moonleeai. Many hugs to @colormepurplex2 for my banner.

A Flicker in the Twilight

The twilight hums with the city’s heartbeat. Neon gods of advertisement pulse against the fading sky, casting a garish glamor on the throngs below. Lost in the kaleidoscope of chrome and flesh, Jin savors the symphony of human anxieties. They pulse through him, a delectable chaos dancing on his tongue. It is like the finest wine, this mortal cocktail – intoxicating, unpredictable, infinitely more thrilling than the bland ambrosia of his celestial past.

Leaning against the side of a building, Jin, once a grotesque tapestry of shadow and bone, now shimmers with angelic grace, courtesy of a botched mission and a particularly potent curse. He revels in the dissonance, the whispers of his true nature tickling the edges of his angelic façade. Humans, constantly oblivious to the storm brewing inside him, mistake his charm for benevolence, his mischievous grin for a divine smile. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator in a sanctuary of light.

He twirls a strand of hair as he watches the countless hordes of faceless humans stride past him. Humans, like fireflies, flit across the avenues, their souls like flickering flames. Most hold no interest, their predictability a dull ache in his immortal boredom. But then, a glint of pure, celestial light catches his eye. An angel, disguised in the borrowed flesh of a human youth, stands on the corner adjacent to him, radiating an aura as vibrant as a sunrise. He watches on as the angel, resplendent even in the mortal flesh, navigates the human tide with an awkward grace.

Jimin's name echoes in Jin’s mind, a whisper plucked from the supernatural airwaves. Jin cocks his head, watching the celestial, discerning that he is a novice. Jimin is inexperienced, a wide-eyed fawn in a wolf’s den.

Jimin’s innocence is like virgin snow, pure and untainted, waiting to be imprinted with the dark designs of Jin’s twisted amusement.

The perfect game piece.

A thrill dances through Jin like a lightning bolt, not the usual hum of predatorial amusement, but something altogether sharper, more intoxicating. A mischievous curl creeps onto Jin’s lips. With a practiced grace, that has been honed from centuries of deception, he weaves through the throng, the city lights glinting off his unseen wings.

“Lost, little lamb?” Jin’s voice, honeyed and smooth, cuts through the city’s cacophony.

Jimin turns, his cognac eyes widening in surprise. The golden rays emanating from his disguised form cast an ethereal glow across the chaotic street. But it is the darkness, a whisper hidden in the depths of his gaze, that draws Jin in. A flicker of rebellion, a crack in the otherworldly armor.

Jimin, drawn by a force he can’t comprehend, steps closer. The aura around Jin, a faint hum of darkness, should send him fleeing. Yet, he finds himself drawn deeper, a curiosity eclipsing his fear, curiosity over encountering another being like himself.

“N-no,” Jimin stammers, adjusting his borrowed human form with self-conscious fiddling. “Just…observing.”

Jin chuckles. “Observing the fascinating creatures of this earth, are we?” Jin offers a hand. “Well, allow me to offer some guidance. I know these streets better than any moonbeam.” This isn’t just amusement anymore. This is a challenge, a dance on the precipice of forbidden desire.

Jimin hesitates, the wings under his human guise rustle like whispered prayers. Then, with a sigh that ruffles the city air, he takes the offered hand, his fingers brushing against Jin’s with a spark that sends shivers down the demon’s spine.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, his gaze lingers on Jin for a beat too long, a whisper of starlight battling the celestial fire in his eyes.

The walk through the bustling city offers a motley of sights and smells for Jimin. Jin, his guide and tormentor in equal measure, navigates the throngs with practiced ease, a picture of casual charm. Jimin, on the other hand, is a clumsy swan in a human pond, his borrowed skin prickling with unease.

“So, earth delights you?” Jin asks, his voice a silken thread woven through the city’s hum.

Jimin blushes, his celestial aura flickering like an overeager candle. “It’s…overwhelming,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “So much chaos, so much life.”

Jin chuckles a rich, dark sound that resonates in Jimin’s chest. “A chaos that dances to its own rhythm, wouldn’t you say?” He stops abruptly, his eyes glinting with an amusement that sends a tingle down Jimin’s spine. “Does it resonate with you, little angel?”

Jimin’s wings twitch under his borrowed skin. He knows he shouldn’t linger, and he can sense that there is more to Jin than he sees. Yet, Jin’s presence is a maelstrom he can’t seem to resist.

“There’s something…” Jimin begins, his voice barely a sigh. “A spark in this chaos, a warmth that draws me in.” He meets Jin’s gaze, the astral fire in his eyes battling the forbidden embers that flicker there.

Jin’s smile deepens, a knowing curve that sends a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “Ah, the forbidden fruit, angel. Sweetest when plucked from the branches of danger.” He leans in, his breath a whisper of brimstone against Jimin’s ear. “But remember, little one, even the most tempting fruit can leave a bitter taste.”

Jimin’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. The spark in Jin’s eyes, the warmth of his touch, draws him in like a moth to a flame.

“I…I don’t care about the consequences,” Jimin whispers, his voice barely a tremor. “I only know that this moment, this feeling, it’s worth the risk.”

Jin’s smile widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Foolish angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “Then let us dance, shall we? Let us taste the forbidden fruit and see if its sweetness outweighs the sting.”

He slips his hand around Jimin’s, his touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through the angel’s borrowed form. And with that, they step deeper into the city’s twilight.

Eventually, their journey finds them using a fire escape to settle on a rooftop. The city sprawls out beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The wind whispers secrets through the night, carrying the scent of jasmine and asphalt. Jin feels a flicker of something unexpected. Not the sharp thrill of anticipation, but a pang of something akin to regret.

Was it the way Jimin’s youthful face pales in the moonlight or the earnest tremor in his voice as he whispers, “This place is beautiful,” that touches a dormant chord within Jin?

For a fleeting moment, Jin sees himself reflected in Jimin's starlit eyes. Not the monstrous entity of shadow and bone, but the young, ethereal creator he once was before the curse, before the fall. An echo of the celestial light he had long extinguished in himself.

Jin feels a strange vulnerability bloom within himself, a yearning for something he can’t name. Standing back, observing Jimin’s awe, he shakes himself. This is just a game, a predator’s pursuit—no room for hesitation, no space for compassion.

Yet, as Jimin turns to him, his face alight with wonder, Jin finds himself hesitating. For the first time in centuries, the predator holds back, the wolf unsure of its prey.

The game had just begun, and the rules, it seemed, were about to change.

Jin’s façade trembles under Jimin’s gaze, the carefully crafted mask of charm threatening to crack under the weight of an unwelcome emotion. The devil within him snarls, urging him to pounce, to exploit the celestial’s trust. Yet, the merest whisper against the infernal damnation of his being echoes louder, a flicker of empathy he can’t quite extinguish.

Jin swallows the tightness in his throat, forcing his lips into a familiar, playful smirk. “Beautiful indeed, little lamb. This is just the beginning. There are secrets woven into this city’s very fabric, waiting to be unraveled.”

Jimin tilts his head, the naive curiosity in his eyes still undimmed. “Will you help me find them?”

The question hangs in the air, a challenge and an invitation. Jin stares into the depths of those starlit eyes, searching for a hint of suspicion, a flicker of fear. But there is only trust, a pure and unadulterated yearning for knowledge and adventure.

In that moment, the predator falters. The game, he realizes, isn’t just about to change. It is about to shatter. He could still twist the knife, manipulate Jimin’s trust for his own amusement, but the thrill feels hollow, poisoned by the unexpected pang of something akin to…responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of night air filling his lungs. “Yes,” he says, the word heavy on his tongue. “I’ll help you.”

The decision tastes like ashes in his mouth, a bitter compromise between his monstrous nature and the ghost of his celestial past. He watches the smile blossom on Jimin’s face, a light that could rival the moon. Jin knows this isn’t just a game anymore. It is a dance on the precipice, a perilous tango between darkness and light, with the fate of two celestial souls hanging in the balance.

His gaze lingers on Jimin, the forbidden yearning gnawing at this resolve. This isn’t part of the plan, this impossible, intoxicating pull. But as Jimin’s eyes meet his, a larger spark of uncertainty ignites within the demon, and the fragile dam around Jin’s desires crumbles. Jin’s breath hitches. He knows the danger, the impossibility of their connection. But in the face of Jimin’s vulnerability, his own desire pulses with a forbidden fire.

Their lips meet in a kiss, a clash of celestial fire and demonic embers. It is a taste of forbidden fruit, sweet and intoxicating. As their lips part, a gasp escapes Jimin's mouth, a flicker of fear battling with the dawning realization of what they were doing. Jin sees it, the internal war raging within the angel. And in that moment, he knows the game has definitely changed. This isn’t just a dance with fate; it is a tightrope walk over the abyss, a gamble with their very souls.

But as the city lights shimmer around them, casting their forbidden tryst in a seductive glow, Jin can’t help but smile. He is a demon in angel's clothing, and he has just found his most tempting sin.

The night stretches before them, a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of their forbidden desire. And as they stand there, bathed in the twilight, the city holds its breath, waiting to see what masterpiece would be born from the ashes of their celestial clash.

Whispers in the Moonlight

The city, a pulsing tapestry of sin and salvation, thrums with the electric tension of their forbidden entanglement. As dawn bleeds into dusk, Jin and Jimin meet in the shadowed corner of a long abandoned courtyard, hearts echoing a forbidden rhythm. Jin, cloaked in starlight, leads Jimin on a waltz through the neon wilderness, every whisper a searing brand against the angel’s soul.

Jimin, wings folded beneath a borrowed human skin, wrestles with the celestial fire simmering within. Duty whispers harsh reprimands, yet defiance roars like a caged beast. Jin, the devil on his shoulder, grins with eyes like bottomless pools, each touch a whispered promise of rebellion.

The city lights shimmer on Jimin’s skin, turning his eyes into molten gold. He trembles, not from fear, but from the intoxicating mix of temptation and longing that Jin ignites inside him.

Jin leans in close enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “Do you hear it, angel?” he utters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Jimin’s spine. “The city’s heartbeat, pulsing with the rhythm of our forbidden song?”

His words are steeped in temptation. Jimin feels the celestial fire flicker, threatened by the seductive darkness Jin offers. He yearns to know the taste of rebellion, to shed the shackles of angelic rigidity and fly on the wings of his own desires.

Jimin, his heart a frantic drum against ribs, swallows hard. He can hear it, echoing in the symphony of car horns and distant laughter, a primal pulse that mirrors the yearning of his soul.

“It’s… maddening,” he whispers, his voice barely audible above the city’s din.

Jin chuckles, a sound like tinkling ice against velvet. “Maddeningly beautiful, isn’t it?”

His thumb brushes the crest of Jimin’s cheek, the touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through him. Jimin’s eyes melt even further under the neon sky and meet Jin’s, the heat of their gaze a silent conversation—unspoken questions dance in the air between them.

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a discordant note introduced to their orchestra. Jin’s smile falters for a moment but is quickly masked by his impassive façade. “And what, angel,” he drawls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, “is it that you can’t do?”

Jimin flinches at the challenge in Jin’s eyes. He knows he is playing with fire. While romantic dalliances with other angels aren’t forbidden, they aren’t looked on kindly, which is enough to deter most.

But something, some spark of rebellion, ignites deep within him, refusing to be silenced.

“I can’t deny this,” he says, his voice gaining strength with every word. “This…this fire that burns between us. We may be angels, Jin, but we are also men. And this city, this dark and beautiful chaos…it sings a song that my soul yearns to hear.”

The silence that follows Jimin’s confession is thick with unspoken tension. Jin’s eyes, usually warm and playful, flicker with a hidden storm. He takes a step toward Jimin, his gaze raking over him with an intensity that sends a shiver down the younger angel’s spine.

The city lights, once a backdrop to their clandestine meetings, now throb with a new meaning. The neon signs bleed into their vision, painting the shadows on their faces with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The symphony of car horns and distant laughter becomes a seductive song, urging them closer to the edge of what is and what isn’t permissible.

Jimin, emboldened by the defiance in Jin’s eyes, reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of Jin’s jaw. The touch is a spark, igniting a wildfire that threatens to consume them both. Jin’s breath hitches, and for a fleeting moment, his celestial façade flickers, revealing the hungry demon beneath.

Jin, feigning reluctance, breathes, “We can’t. The consequences…”

But Jimin, his heart pounding a forbidden drumbeat, cuts him off. “Consequences be damned,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jin’s ear.

With that, he pulls Jin into a kiss, a desperate, hungry press of lips that speaks volumes of unspoken yearnings. The kiss is a rebellion, a declaration of defiance against the sterile order of their celestial existence. It is a taste of the forbidden fruit, a glimpse of a world where love, not duty, dictates their actions.

As they break apart, breathless and reeling, the city lights seem to dance in celebration. The air crackles with an electric tension, the very fabric of their world shimmering with the weight of their choice. One of them knows the path they are embarking on is fraught with danger, while the other leads them down this defiant path. In that moment, surrounded by the cacophony of the city, they only see each other, a beacon of light in the darkness.

The moon, a pearl amidst the velvet tapestry of night, bathes the hidden courtyard in an ethereal glow. Jasmine tendrils, heavy with moonlit secrets, cling to the crumbling brick walls, weaving a fragrant canopy above Jimin and Jin. Here, within the shadows, the celestial rules morph and blur, their breaths forming wispy constellations against the obsidian sky.

Jin, his dark hair a curtain against the lunar silver, cradles Jimin’s face in his hands. “There’s more to existence than humans and harp strings, angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress against Jimin’s trembling lips. “The world whispers forgotten stories.”

Jimin, his resolve a fluttering moth against Jin’s intoxicating whispers, surrenders. He longs for the taboo secrets Jin offers, each a forbidden fruit bursting with a thousand forbidden flavors. Jin speaks of earthly music that makes the soul quake, of laughter that echoes through cobbled streets, of the bittersweet tang of tears shed for love and loss. He paints the world with his words, worlds where angels dance with mortals, where moonlight sculpts shadows into lovers’ embraces.

“And you,” Jin murmurs, his lips trailing along Jimin’s jaw, “you, my angel, hold within you the music of a thousand unplayed instruments. Let me hear your orchestra,” he pleads, his voice raw with the hunger for what they both know is improper.

Jimin, his hidden wings trembling like fervent prayers, traces the forbidden map of Jin’s lips. “I… I fear the melody might be discordant,” he breathes, his voice a thread lost in the music of the night.

Jin chuckles, a sound like wind chimes kissed by the starlight. “Then let me be your maestro, angel,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jimin’s ear. “Together, we’ll orchestrate a symphony that will defy the heavens themselves.”

And so, under the moon’s silent gaze, they meld into one as their clothes litter the cobblestone around them. Jin’s hands overflow with the ample bounty of Jimin’s ass as he eliminates any molecule of space between them. The air around them resonates with the vibrations of their moans as their thickened shafts slide against each other.

As their bodies move in harmony, a symphony of passion and desire, the boundaries between heaven and earth blur. Jimin clings to Jin, his nails digging into the smooth expanse of Jin’s back, each thrust of their hips driving them closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The courtyard, once a sheltered sanctuary, now bears witness to their entwined forms, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon their skin.

Their rhythm quickens, urgency fueled by the forbidden nature of their love. Jimin’s breath hitches as pleasure courses through him like an electric current. He presses his forehead against Jin’s, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze that speaks of devotion and rebellion. At this moment, they are no longer angels bound by celestial laws; they are simply two souls set on fire, seeking solace in each other’s embrace.

The symphony of car horns and distant laughter fades into the background as their moans fill the air, mingling with the rustle of the jasmine tendrils above. The earthy scent of the cobblestones mixes with the musk of their desire, the ground trembling beneath the force of their passion.

Jin leans in, his lips brushing against Jimin’s neck, his voice a whisper against his skin. “Fear not, my love,” he says. “Our music is perfect, even in its forbidden form.”

Jimin gasps as Jin thrusts harder against him, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in Jin’s hair, his nails biting into his scalp. “Yes, Jin,” he moans, “make me your muse.”

The two continue their dance of passion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The jasmine tendrils above, heavy with blooms, seem to sway in time with their movements, adding a sweet fragrance to the air. Their moans echo through the courtyard, the sound of two souls joining together in a forbidden ensemble. The moon watches over them, its light casting silvery beams upon their entwined forms. As they reach the crescendo, their bodies colliding and surrendering to the forbidden music, the world around them seems to pause in reverence.

Finally, the moment arrives. The tension between them is palpable as they stand on the brink of the abyss. Jin's eyes lock onto Jimin's, his gaze intense and full of desire. In that moment, their connection is tangible. Jimin's fingers tug at Jin's hair, pulling him closer. Jin's lips devour Jimin's in an all-consuming kiss, the taste of forbidden fruit on their tongues. The air around them crackles with electricity, singeing the air surrounding them.

Jin's hips thrust harder against Jimin, their movements syncopated and raw. The heat from their bodies radiates outward, leaving the rest of the world behind. Their existence is limited to this moment, this place, this kiss.

As the last shuddering breath leaves their lips, they collapse against each other, their bodies spent. The moon's gaze fades, and the courtyard returns to its quiet solitude.

In the aftermath, Jin and Jimin lay entangled in each other's arms, their breaths slowing and their hearts beating as one. Jin knew this moment would come, but he had not anticipated the depths of emotions that would ensue. He feels a mix of euphoria and trepidation, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jimin, on the other hand, struggles with the implications of their actions. He had thought to quash his longings, keeping them hidden beneath layers of celestial duty. Now, he finds those same longings have become impossible to ignore.

The consequences of their tryst linger on the horizon, a faint dissonance in the night’s melody. But for now, they bask in the lingering traces of their forbidden love. Jimin's fingers trace delicate patterns on Jin's bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He looks up into Jin's eyes, the weight of their actions and the uncertainty of the future settling upon him like a heavy cloak.

"What have we done?" Jimin whispers, his voice laced with both regret and longing. "Is this worth defying everything we know?"

Jin's gaze meets Jin's, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that Jimin can't fully read. "Perhaps," he replies softly, "love is not meant to be bound by rules and expectations. Maybe it is meant to be wild, untamed, and willing to risk everything."

Jimin's heart swells at Jin's words, his fingers tightening their grip on Jin's body. He knows that the path they have chosen is treacherous and that they will face obstacles unlike any they have encountered before.

Celestial Fear

Dawn creeps through the cityscape, painting the courtyard in a blush of pink. Jimin stirs, his eyelids fluttering open to the sight of Jin’s sleeping face, the warmth of his breath tickling Jimin’s cheek. The forbidden intimacy of their entwined bodies sends a shiver through him, a delicious echo of their celestial rebellion.

But as Jimin traces the line of Jin’s jaw with his fingers, a shadow flickers across Jin’s eyes, a darkness deeper than the city’s nocturnal embrace. It was fleeting, gone as soon as it appeared, yet it left a tremor in Jimin’s heart.

“Jin,” he whispers, his voice hesitant, “what was that?”

Jin’s eyes flutter open, the celestial depths replaced by a flicker of embers, a glimpse of something wild and untamed. He sits up, pulling away from Jimin, and for a moment, Jimin feels a chill crawl down his spine.

“Nothing,” Jin says, his voice strained, “just a memory, a whisper from before.”

But Jimin isn’t convinced. The darkness that tinges Jin’s eyes, it isn’t mere nostalgia, it is something colder, something sharper. A doubt, a seed of suspicion, begins to sprout in Jimin’s mind.

“Before?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before…what?”

Jin hesitates, his gaze flickering away. Then, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of centuries, he turns back to Jimin, his eyes lock on his his with an intensity that makes Jimin’s heart pound.

“Angel,” he says, his voice husky, “before I met you, before all this… I was… different.”

A cold dread washes over Jimin. He knows, instinctively, that the answer he is about to hear will shatter the fragile world they have built in these stolen moments.

“Different how?” Jimin whispers, his voice trembling.

Jin reaches out, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sends shivers down his spine. “I’m not an angel, Jimin,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I am…” he pauses, his eyes searching Jimin’s face for any sign of rejection, “I am fallen.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the revealed truth shattering the foundation of their forbidden love. Jimin stares at Jin, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Fallen. The word conjures images of rebellion, of darkness, of everything his angelic existence is supposed to reject.

But then, another truth dawns on him. The way Jin’s eyes had softened when he spoke of forbidden knowledge, the way his lips had burned against Jimin’s, the way he had whispered promises of defiant symphonies… could it be…?

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice thick with emotion, “does that mean… you…”

Jin cuts him off, his lips crashing against Jimin’s in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. “You became the sun I couldn’t turn away from.”

The world spins around them. The city lights blur into a smear of monochrome. In that kiss, Jimin tastes not defiance but vulnerability, a demon confessing his love for an angel of light. And in that moment, Jimin knows, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that he is falling too.

The consequences of their love looms larger than ever, a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, under the fading blush of dawn, two souls, one fallen, one faltering, hold each other close, their defiance a whispered promise in the face of the impossible.

As the days pass, they steal fleeting moments together, each touch and stolen glance an act of rebellion against the heavens. In these stolen moments, they discover truths about themselves and each other that make their love burn even brighter. They learn that love can be both soft and fierce, a gentle caress one moment, an inferno of passion the next. And as their love grows deeper, so does the danger that lurks around them.

Whispers begin to spread through the divine airways like a dark fog descending upon their fragile haven. News of their trysts reaches the ears of the celestial council, a gathering of angelic beings who uphold the laws of the heavens. Their verdict is swift and unforgiving: Jimin and Jin's love is an abomination, a stain on the purity of their existence.

Perched on the brink of rebellion, the city quakes beneath a moonlit sky. Whispers of divine punishment swirl in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences for defying heaven's orders. Jimin feels his heart tremble as he gazes at his celestial flames, their once radiant white glow now tinged red with fear and doubts. He wants to retreat to the safe, sterile world of angels but cannot suppress the fiery longing that burns within him.

"Turn back, angel," booms a thunderous voice, sending a chill down Jimin's spine. "This path leads only to darkness."

At his side stands Jin, the fallen star, his obsidian eyes ablaze with defiance. His words are a whispered song of chaos tempting Jimin towards rebellion. "Choose, angel," he purrs, his seductive tone pulling him closer to danger. "Embrace the fire within or extinguish it under the rain of heaven."

Caught between duty and desire, Jimin stands at a crossroads with a heavy heart. Will he continue to follow his angelic purpose or surrender to the all-consuming love that threatens to devour him, wings and all? It feels like the city is holding its breath, an audience for the final act of this unlikely love story. Jimin must choose: remain shackled to heaven or fly free in Jin's embrace.

As the weight of his decision hangs in the air, Jimin feels the world around him blur into a hazy backdrop. His thoughts swirl in a tempest of conflicting desires, tearing his celestial essence apart. To choose Jin is to abandon everything he has ever known, forsaking his place among the heavens and casting aside his angelic duties. But to deny himself this love would be to wither away, a flame extinguished before it had a chance to dance and illuminate the darkness.

Jimin turns and gazes into Jin's eyes, and he sees a different kind of light - untamed and exhilarating. It beckons to him, calling him away from the predictable world of angels and towards a life filled with passion and uncertainty.

At that moment, Jimin knows what he must do. With trembling hands, he reaches out to Jin, feeling the electric current that courses between them. The celestial flames flicker their once vibrant glow, reigniting with newfound determination.

"I choose love," Jimin whispers with conviction, his voice carrying through the night sky. The heavens quake in response, thunder rolling across the city as if signifying a shifting balance of power.

As Jimin’s words echo, the air crackles with anticipation. The celestial council, shrouded in a halo of divine light, seems to hesitate, their judgment hanging heavy in the air. Jin, his face alight with a mixture of relief and defiance, grasps Jimin’s hand. Their fingers intertwine, a testament to the love that challenges the very fabric of the heavens.

The lead celestial, his voice laced with disappointment, speaks, “Your decision defies the sacred laws, angel. Are you truly prepared to face the consequences?”

Jimin, his voice unwavering, meets the celestial’s gaze. “I am,” he declares, his stance resolute. “For love, I am willing to forsake the heavens, to dance with the shadows, to face whatever judgment may come.”

A wave of murmurs sweeps through the council, some laced with disapproval, others with a glimmer of understanding. The lead celestial, his expression unreadable, ponders their response.

Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the heavens, engulfing Jimin and Jin. It is a baptism of sorts, a celestial test of their resolve. As the light subsides, they stand there, transformed. Jimin’s angelic wings, once pristine white, now bear streaks of obsidian black.

“You have chosen,” the lead celestial booms, his voice echoing. “You have defied the heavens, and now, you shall bear the mark of your rebellion.”

Despite the mark, Jimin doesn’t feel shame but a surge of empowerment. They have chosen each other, defying the celestial order and embracing the unknown. Their path won’t be easy as the council’s judgment isn’t the end. They are now outcasts and will be hunted by celestial forces who see their love as a threat to the established order.

While their journey will be fraught with danger, heartbreak, and moments of doubt, their love will be their anchor.

#bangtanwhq #kim seokjin #park jimin #jin x jimin #bts fanfic #bts #bts ff #bts smut #bts fanfiction #demon jin #angel jimin #deception #celestials #fallen angels

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television-overload · 4 months

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Tiva in Every Episode!

Episode 3x13 "Deception"

Word Count: 449 (itty bitty)

Summary: "Sometimes, Tony can be just about as mature as a teenage boy."

Tag list: @artemisscabin @benedettabeby @earanemith @happygirl-0408 @hopeless-nostalgiac @loudlooks @mrsmungus @nicolem194 @putthekettleon @slippery-soapbox @tivafanfic @tonysziva

#ncis #tiva #ziva david #tony dinozzo #tiva in every episode #my fanfiction #season 3 #3x13 #ncis fanfiction #tiva fanfiction #deception #tony x ziva

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thegreatwicked · 5 days

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Shadows of Deception Chapter Sixteen

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.

Feeling Good by Avicii

Roman's eyes snapped open with a feral intensity, and his thoughts were immediately consumed with murder.

What kind of goddamned, cock-sucking, myopic moron would dare set an alarm for him on a Thursday? The kind who was about to get his head blown off and kicked in the crotch until the intrusive thoughts were satisfied forever; that’s who.

His eye twitched, with all the stability of a mental patient about to have a psychotic episode, a portrait of morning fury seldom witnessed outside of a grizzled detective novel. His head whipped towards the source of the noise with the ferocity and precision of a bird of prey honing in on its target. His hand shot out like a claw, ready to strike with violent intent, but instead, it landed on his phone, crushing it with a grip fueled by rage and frustration.

Oh.

Him. It was him who set the alarm.

Well, he sure as fuck wasn’t about to kick himself in the dick or blow his own head off, that was for damn sure. Why the fuck did he set an alarm in the first place? It was seven in the goddamned morning, Romans day didn’t usually begin until nine or ten. In a rare exercise in restraint, he set the phone down rather than chucking it. Two in a week was a bit much even for him and rolled back onto his back, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth into a grin.

Anyone who said Roman Sionis couldn’t be a romantic was wrong, this made for the second time he’d shared a bed with a woman and sex hadn’t factored into the equation, definitely odd for him. A fucking anomaly, really. Though to be fair, the first time, nothing had happened due to the whole ‘doctors orders’ thing, what a buzzkill. Fucking glucose crash.

If there hadn’t been a medical emergency, he was confident that he could have easily enjoyed the cliché ‘sex after narrowly avoiding death’ scenario. It was a popular trope - the girl is filled with gratitude and admiration for her hero, and they can't resist the passion any longer. Fuck those were fun. It had been a while since he had pulled off that stunt, but it was always exhilarating.

A smirk spread across his face as he imagined the pleasure of rolling over, and waking her up by teasing an orgasm out of her, far more satisfying than waking up to an annoying alarm. That was how he knew he liked Belladonna; when the thought of seeing her come undone under his hand was more enjoyable than the idea of sex.

He couldn’t help it that her moans were so damn sweet, she was so easy to tease and play with, and the best part of all? She loved it. Abso-fucking-luelty loved it.

But then his grin fell almost immediately when his hand didn’t land on a soft hip or the smooth curve of her ass. It hit empty bed. The sheets beside him were cool, untouched by the warmth of another body. Roman's hand groped the emptiness before his mind jolted the rest of the way awake, cobwebs of sleep fraying.

What the fuck?

He blinked several times and squinted looking at the space next to him, sure enough, she was gone. Judging by the coolness of the sheets, she had been for some time.

He looked over his shoulder where a small sliver of light was streaming through a split in the curtain. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw with a frown etching deeper into his features—a blend of sleep's inertia and the prickling annoyance that she had slipped away without waking him.

He vaguely remembered Belladonna saying something to him and then the softness of her lips pressing to his cheek. What had she said to him? What did he say to her? Fuck, he couldn’t remember.

Roman wasn’t a morning person, not unless it was for a damn good reason; like blow jobs. Blow jobs were great reasons to wake up. He looked at the nightstands where his phone sat and noticed a small folded slip of paper, he picked it up and in a neatly scribbled font were the words:

‘See you later, don’t be late.’

There was no signature, just a little drawing of a set of what he assumed to be wings and a halo. The fuck was that supposed to be?

He nearly completed the text message asking her what her drawing was, addressing her as ‘Angel’ before he realized what it was. She wasn’t much of an artist.

He shook his head and made a mental note to never play Pictionary with her.

Don’t be late?

To lunch? What was that supposed to mean? He was never late.

He cast one more look to the side of the bed where Belladonna had slept, still plenty annoyed at having woken up alone, still plenty annoyed at having woken up… period.

With a grumble, he swung his legs out of bed, the silk sheets whispering a sly farewell as they slid from his body. The air was cool against his skin, the penthouse unnervingly silent without Belladonna's presence.

He was not a morning person.

The chill of the bathroom tiles was a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the shower he’d just stepped out from, wiping away the steam from the mirror, Roman assessed his reflection as if searching for imperfections, hair damp and tousled, eyes dark with unrest—and ran a calloused hand over the planes of his face. Water splashed onto his skin, droplets clinging to his lashes like remnants of a dream he couldn't fully recall.

He stood, with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. As usual, his mind was wandering aimlessly, without any particular thought occupying it. This was when his mind tended to drift to some, admittedly, strange places. At least he wasn't thinking about fish.

Fucking Cobblepot.

If he didn't have to worry about the potential consequences of provoking someone as petty and annoying as Cobblepot, he might just dump a kilo of salt into his aquariums and let nature take its course.

He had heard rumors that Cobblepot fed disappointing goons to his pet shark, a great white named Tiny. Although he couldn't confirm the rumors, why take that chance?

His thoughts drift back to safer, less peculiar territory: the previous evening—the exotic tastes of Turkish cuisine still lingering on his tongue, and leftovers in the fridge. Never sleep on leftovers. The memory brought a rare wholesome smile to his lips, but it was tinged with an unusual sensation: guilt.

He had insisted on Turkish cuisine for dinner, without considering the fact that those meals were often longer affairs, sometimes lasting for hours. And of course, he had pushed her to try as many dishes as possible, enjoying her reactions as she experienced the "forbidden fruit."

It still boggled his mind for her father to be such a piece of xenophobic garbage that he’d deny her another culture’s cuisine. Sure, Greek food was great but to eat only that? He shook his head again before lathering his jaw for a shave.

He also realized something else; he’d taken her on a date last night. An honest to god date. For the first time, a date with him hadn't ended in sex. They'd talked for hours, savoring a parade of small plates and glasses of rakı and ayran in the Turkish tradition. He realized with no small amount of surprise that he'd enjoyed her company far more than the sex.

They'd returned to the penthouse well past midnight, leaving Belladonna with maybe only five hours of sleep.

Splashing water on his face did little to dampen the remaining irritation. He didn’t like feeling guilty. It was a feeling that could only be described as; icky.

Pussies felt guilty. Little weak-willed men who couldn’t get shit done felt guilty. He looked into the mirror catching the reflection of his empty bed knowing that nothing had happened in it.

Was Roman a pussy? No, but he sure needed to get some.

The sharp metal glided across his skin, each pass removing the stubble that had appeared overnight, grounding him in the reality of the morning and bringing him back to his usual pristine appearance. The man who looked back at him in the mirror wearing the same cold expression that Roman usually wore as well as he wore his suits; nearly. There was a lightness in his features and he couldn’t explain it, he was still tired, and wasn’t wild about being up so early, nothing about him had changed. Not really.

Well, not entirely true. He wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face with a towel, frowning. When had he become so attached to her presence that her absence left him this pissy and introspective? He shook his head at himself in the mirror, as if he could shake off these annoying feelings. But he already knew it was too late. Belladonna had worked her way under his skin, and he wasn't keen on letting her go. He wasn’t done having fun with her yet, and until the investigation was concluded, she wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?

Smooth-faced, Roman ran his fingers through his damp hair before slicking it back. He quickly got dressed, adding a splash of cologne as a finishing touch. Each piece of his suit was treated with the precision and care an aristocrat would give to their finery, making sure not to wrinkle the crisp fabric of his white shirt or mess up the collar while putting on the jacket. He even took a moment to polish his black Italian shoes until they were perfectly pristine. Crisp and flawless.

Roman liked enough routine to be able to predict the movements of others but also found great joy in chucking that routine out the window whenever it pleased him. Sometimes things needed to be shaken up, violently. Like a martini at happy hour.

And when it came to routine, he could pretty much always count on Zsasz sitting in the kitchen every morning with the smell of strong coffee brewing. His right-hand man would be sitting in silence about as expressive and active as a statue with a cup of black coffee and the newspaper. He was never really sure what Zsasz was reading because they didn’t exactly talk about the Gotham Rogues latest game, and neither men were really into sports. Come to think of it, he wouldn't be surprised if Zsasz was marking off names in the obituaries for a twisted round of psycho bingo. Ah, the joys of having colorful associates in the criminal underworld.

Zsasz offered a curt ‘Morning,’ which Roman returned with a noncommittal grunt; even on good days, it was generally a wise practice in one’s mortality to not really say much to Roman until he’d had his first cup of coffee; or maybe his second. No cream or sugar, Roman liked it black, like a lot of things.

“When did she leave?” He finally spoke after a sip.

“Six, dropped her off myself.” Zsasz replied without looking up.

“You left me unprotected?”

Zsasz stopped and looked up to the mock horror and shock Romans face before the two men chuckled and scoffed. Zsasz was handy, sure, and in a way protecting Roman was a facet of his job, but that protection extended to more than just being a bodyguard. Lots of people looked at Zsasz with all his scars and off-putting demeanor and might be tempted to think he was a homicidal slice of meat with two brain cells bright for third place.

A lot of people were really fucking wrong.

Zsasz's had a way of dissecting people, metaphorically, their slightest twitches and fidgets betraying their innermost thoughts and fears. It was almost as if he could read their minds, predicting their every move before they even committed to them. Those who found themselves in his intense gaze felt like trapped prey, frozen in place as if any sudden movement would give them away, not unlike a T-Rex. It made for a disturbing but impressive party trick. Zsasz was more of a velociraptor.

Zsasz studied his targets with an unsettling intensity, making them feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. His skills at analyzing human behavior were both impressive and unnerving, leaving those around him on edge and constantly aware of their every action.

Plus it didn’t hurt that he had an IQ of 130. No, Zsasz was just as sharp as the blades he carried.

A silence hung in the air, but both men remained unfazed. Everything seemed typical until a jarring buzz interrupted their conversation. Zsasz's eyes darted between his phone and Roman, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Roman couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic display of emotion from the usually stone-faced Zsasz. Maybe he had finally found a good meme to share.

"Something amusing?" Roman inquired, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Caught, Zsasz's eyes flickered up, his smirk widening before he slipped the device into his pocket.

"Nothing worth mentioning. Are we making any stops on the way to the club?"

The question gave Roman pause, momentarily distracting him from his earlier line of inquiry.

"The club?" he repeated,

"Remember? You offered the club up for Belladonna's photoshoot today," Zsasz replied with an eyebrow raised as if it were obvious. "We need to be there by 8:30."

"Ah, right," Roman muttered, suddenly recalling his offer from the previous day, that explained his alarm.

Roman rolled his eyes and grumbled, yet another instance of past Roman's impulsiveness causing problems for present Roman. He could already feel the regret creeping in as he remembered not only agreeing to this favor for Belladonna but him being the one to suggest it.

How delightful. Looks like future Roman will have to deal with it now. Thanks, past Roman.

"No stops," The prospect of seeing her sooner rather than later ignited a spark within him, however slight.

With each sip of coffee, the memory cemented its place in the forefront of his mind the rest of the way, bringing a considerable boost to his mood as he anticipated a day filled with ego stroking for him.

He had come to the rescue by offering his club as a location, and now he was sure to be seen in a positive light by Belladonna's co-workers and boss. Speaking of which, her boss seemed particularly grateful for his help. This photo shoot would definitely bring good business to the club, especially with how much the fashion industry loves to talk. The designer was supposedly a fan of his, he was even going to get to play model too with a piece that was allegedly something only he could do justice to.

And it would all be captured by Belladonna herself. He’d have her complete attention and he liked that just fine.

It was the only thing making this early wake-up call tolerable.

“Should probably check on the doc at some point,” Zsasz offered and Roman nodded as he stood up, downing his coffee, the bitterness leaving a sharp aftertaste on his tongue. “Seemed a bit rattled after we left him.”

“Mmm, how is our new friend?” Roman asked, setting his empty cup down.

Zsasz pulled his phone back out and with a few taps pulled up a tracking app, “Looks like he made it to work on time.”

“Good for him, nice to see that work ethic taking priority over bodily terror.”

Zsasz nodded in agreement, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "Think we should bring him some coffee. Those stiff psychiatric types aren't as tough as ER doctors. They tend to need a little careful handling."

"Careful handling?" Roman scoffed, buttoning up his jacket. His voice took on a detached, deadpan tone as he added, "What do I look like a barista? Fill a cup with muddy water and piss, then call it good. Might teach him some resilience."

As photography shifted to the digital realm, the distinct sound of old-school camera flashes was replaced by a subtle clicking noise that served as a barely noticeable confirmation of a captured photo. Despite the convenience and benefits of digital photography, Belladonna found herself drawn to the comforting sound of an old-school camera shutter. But she couldn't deny the advantages of being able to immediately view a photo without wasting time, resources, and money on developing it. Still, she had a soft spot for old-school wet film and its nostalgic charm.

She had become deaf to the constant clicking noises in her workplace, as they were drowned out by a cacophony of other sounds. Over time, she had learned to tune out most of it, since the majority was not relevant to her work. The only opinions she truly cared about came from three individuals: her boss, the client, and the technicians. However, they were rarely the ones adding to the endless chatter surrounding her.

Another soft click captured the model's sultry gaze as she posed against a luxurious velvet backdrop that was a plush booth in a dark corner of Roman’s club. The heavy bass of an ambient track vibrated through the air, a pulsating heartbeat to the hive of activity that had overtaken the space.

"Chin up, Gina," Belladonna instructed. "Arch your back just a bit more and keep your eye soft. Perfect."

Belladonna crouched down, her camera clicking as the model held her pose. After getting a few shots, she stood up, slinging her camera over her shoulder, and walked over to her. She gently adjusted their arm placement and gave some pointers on how to angle their face toward the light. The models she worked with were always open to direction and eager to please, making her job easier. However, sometimes it was challenging to convey her vision to them. A small tweak here and there usually did the trick, bringing her ideas to life through the lens of her camera.

Belladonna had developed a pretty good sense for the girls who would do well in the business.

It was no easy feat, as they needed to possess a delicate balance of qualities: professionalism, thick skin; the criticism was always piping hot, strong work ethic, and adaptability to handle any project rain or shine, were just a few of the mental requirements.

Then there was the ever-changing standards of beauty - one season freckles were in, the next they were hidden under layers of foundation. Not to mention the physical demands of constantly altering your body's natural shape to fit into size six clothing. Forget it. Belladonna couldn't wrap her mind around it all, but kudos to the girls who could.

Most of them were pretty sweet and had no shortage of talent.

This girl, Gina; she made it a point of remembering their names like they were actually human beings and not just walking hangers. She was good. She knew exactly how to work the camera, giving just the right amount of attitude and natural beauty but also being careful not to overshadow the piece she was wearing. It was about the collection after all, not necessarily her, but as Belladonna had once said: making people look good was her job.

She would probably do well for a while but Belladonna had the sense that it would only take a few seasons before she found this life wasn’t for her. She’d more than likely roll out of bed one day with an epiphany that modeling and all the stresses that came with it, wasn’t for her. She saw it all the time, surprisingly, a large amount of them went into the medical and mental health fields. She saw a lot of models turned dental assistants.

And good for them, the fashion industry was cutthroat and had a tendency to chew people up and spit them right back out.

Gina was draped in a sleek, midnight black gown that hugged her curves like a second skin. Angular cutouts, a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit had her exuding confidence, while the asymmetrical hemline added a modern edge, luxurious textures, and bold lines. Some people were just made to wear certain things, and Belladonna was certain this dress was made for Gina.

With an acknowledgment from Belladonna in the form of a wave of her hand, a young handsome male model strode into the shot in a tailored charcoal gray suit that exuded understated elegance.

A subtle sheen caught the light, accentuating the clean lines, and contrasting black lapels added a touch of modernity to the classic ensemble. It was a look that reminded her of Roman but he pulled it off and filled it out far better than this young kid did. No shade on the kid, but he was still a kid; Roman was a man.

"Okay, guys," she directed, motioning for the models to get into position. “Elliot, come on in.”

She wanted this shot to be edgier – darker with just a hint of light highlighting the chemistry between the two models' features. She fiddled with the camera settings for a few minutes before nodding in satisfaction.

Unseen, from the shadowed fringe of the room, Roman leaned against a column, arms folded, largely unnoticed yet noticing everything. His dark eyes were not drawn to the half-dressed models nor the glittering array of props; they were fixed solely on Belladonna.

There was something about how immersed she was in her work that captivated him more intensely than any whispered fantasy. It was the way she carried herself, the slight tilt of her head when bringing the camera to her eye, the confident set of her shoulders as she issued directives.

And damn, she looked good. She was a vision of professional poise in her straight wide-leg black slacks and white halter neck blouse that hinted just enough at the curves beneath to stir the imagination, though it didn’t take much to stir his. The disciplined bun at the nape of her neck exposed the line of her jaw, a quiet strength rather than demure submission. It was a good look for a professional woman, and his lip curled into a smirk as he thought of how he’d love nothing more than to pull that bun loose and wrap her hair around his fist and use it to expose her neck to him.

His dark eyes followed Belladonna's every move; the epitome of control and confidence, shaping the chaos into coherence. Taking him back to the night she'd shown at his penthouse with an air of determination, demanding order amidst their tangled arrangement. The memory of her strength was as alluring now as it had been then, her power just as intoxicating.

His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from Zsasz at his side. The lean man nodded subtly toward Laura, Belladonna's boss, who was approaching them with a friendly expression.

"Quite the production, isn't it?" Laura commented as she reached Roman, her eyes also on the shoot. "Most people don't realize the amount of work that goes into a fashion shoot like this."

“Not as simple as point and shoot, is it?” Roman nodded in agreement, not really caring about the conversation but faking it well enough. "It is fascinating to watch."

Laura nodded appreciatively. "She’s good, isn’t she?” Roman nodded, “You’d never know she hates her job.”

Roman did know that she hated her job, well, rather, she didn’t enjoy it, hate seemed a bit strong of a word; she had a good assistant in Daisy and her boss seemed a fair woman, and judging by his digging; it paid pretty decently too.

"You don’t say?" Roman feigned surprise, intrigued by what she had to say about Belladonna's preferences.

"No surprise there, is it?" Nope. He fought a roll of his eyes. “It’s a shame really, she could do so much more if she wanted to.”

“Sounds like you’re looking for someone to take your place,” Roman added, knowing all too well how to read between those particular lines. Laura smiled in response but just shook her head in resignation.

“She’ll never do it. Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s reciting the alphabet backward in her head right now.” Roman scoffed at that. Then he started to try it. Did Q come before R or the other way around?

“No, she’s never been a fan of fashion shoots unless lingerie is involved.”

Full stop.

Romans raised eyebrows and asked the question he didn’t, Laura just smirked and nodded.

“It takes confidence to make a woman feel beautiful and sexy at the same time and Belladonna doesn’t lack that particular skill to make people feel comfortable around her.”

Roman thought again of that same night when she crawled into his lap like she belonged there in his penthouse. Like his lap had been a throne.

"Really?"

Roman raised an eyebrow, a playful edge to his voice. Interest piqued, he tucked away this newfound knowledge like a secret, imagining Belladonna amid the haunting beauty of ancient stone and shadowed nooks—a contrast to the vibrant energy she commanded now.

A slow smile crept across his lips. His angel, he mused, was full of surprises.

"She’s gonna be impossible to replace, but if I’m being honest, I’m shocked she’s stayed on as long as she has."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I didn't think she would come back after- " She paused and glanced at Roman warily before continuing, "after what happened."

Roman's face hardened as he replied, "I know about the assault."

Relief and guilt flooded her face, one after the other, and there was a tremor on her lips like she wrestled with whether or not to let the words loose that were dancing on the tip of her tongue.

“I asked her to stay late that night.”

Roman stiffened slightly at the admission, “No one expected her to come back but she did, we never really knew why. She didn’t care for the work, and most people would probably have packed up and left Gotham.”

She couldn’t… Roman thought with a bit of venom, he knew the truth; she couldn’t leave Gotham without finding her mother. But her boss probably didn’t know that, and by the looks of it, the woman felt guilty even though reasonably, none of it was her fault. He could see it in her eyes, she felt responsible for what happened to Belladonna and maybe a compassionate man might have tried to alleviate her guilt; tell it it wasn’t her fault, and while Roman lacked in the compassion department, he wasn’t completely devoid of it. But he still had none to spare. He’d never been able to get those images of Belladonna in the medically induced coma out of his head.

He supposed part of her was hoping or maybe waiting for him to give her some assurance that it wasn’t her fault and logically, it wasn’t. She couldn’t have possibly known what was going to happen, but this was Gotham, and something about this city was just sick. It really did take a special person who lived in a protective bubble to think that just because you worked in a nicer end of town where the violence was sneaky, and less visible, didn’t mean it couldn’t touch you.

No; Roman wouldn’t be handing her any ‘get out of jail free’ cards. Sometimes you had to live with the careless choices you made, so you didn’t make them twice. But he did give her this, from what he could see, she’d taken steps to protect her people more; security in the lobby, additional cameras inside and outside the building, and the building was often locked so that you had to be buzzed in. It wasn’t much, it sure as hell wouldn't stop him but he supposed that some level of accountability was better than complete apathy.

The more Roman thought about it, the less it made sense. A random mugging outside a fashion house in one of the downtown districts? The busiest and one of the most expensive blocks in Gotham, during rush hour? It didn’t add up, but then that was Gotham math for you.

"But Belladonna isn’t most people," Laura explained, her eyes scanning Belladonna's movements as she adjusted a model's pose. That she wasn’t. “It was quite a transformation.”

“How so?”

"We were all shocked when she showed back up to work a few months after the attack. I think most people would shrink back into themselves and keep a lower profile if they didn’t pack up and leave, but with Belladonna...”

“It was like we were finally seeing her personality, she was sharper, harder and in a way, more self-assured at work, asserted her opinion, and spoke her mind more. Started telling more people to fuck off, that was fun to curb.” Laura paused briefly as if thinking over the change, trying to make sense of it. “I’m not sure how she did it, the investigation went nowhere and her ex left her... God knows I couldn’t handle that.”

He knew exactly how Belladonna had changed. You know when your life flashes before your eyes and you either come out scared or pissed off? Well, she came out absolutely livid. A brush with death will do that to a person.

"What kind of man leaves a woman after something like that happens?" Roman scoffed. The question was rhetorical, but behind it lay a hunter's keenness for details.

"A model," Laura replied with a bitter laugh. Roman's jaw clenched at the revelation, disappointment evident in his eyes. Laura noticed this and nodded in a way that suggested she understood Romans sentiment. “Oh, come on now, don’t tell me you’ve never dated someone because they were just pretty to look at? In this industry? Hell, we all do it.”

Well, that was fair. Roman had dated, wined, dined and fucked his fair share of pretty faces just because they were nice to look at.

“They looked nice together but you two?” She gave Roman a nod of approval, “You’re bringing something out in her lately,”

“Oh?” Never the one to pass up praise, Roman smirked.

"I don’t imagine that you’ve known her long enough to know what she was like before and after the attack," Laura leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

Roman processed this information silently, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Laura's expression softened, and it was clear that beneath the professionalism, genuine concern lingered.

"Back before the attack, she was all about work, like it was her whole life but not in a way that people who eat, sleep, and breathe this stuff. For her it was like she just had nothing else," Laura replied. "She was always reliable, hardworking, did her job, but she kept to herself. Never really rocked the boat, always been something of a lone wolf."

"Yet even wolves need a pack,"

As if on cue, Belladonna suddenly looked up, her gaze colliding with his from across the room. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up into a knowing smile and she returned her attention to the models milling about, leaving Roman to wrestle with the unsettling realization that she had gotten under his skin far more deeply than he cared to admit.

"Some men just don't know how to help a broken woman." She glanced sidelong at him, a hint of approval in her gaze.

Roman watched Belladonna laugh at something one of the models said, her head thrown back in genuine amusement—a sight rare and captivating. His chest tightened with a mix of pride and something fiercer, possessive.

She was never broken, just bent.

"You look absolutely ravishing when you're focused," His voice was like velvet, as he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek.

"Ravishing? Someone’s feeling suave today." Belladonna lowered her camera, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. Roman grinned, women had a way of lighting up when given the right compliment.

“I’m suave every day.” His lips curled into a smirk. "Though, I must say, waking up alone this morning was a cruel twist of fate."

"Work waits for no one," She replied, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and amusement.

"Besides, I did kiss you goodbye. Not my fault if you don't remember it. Must have been quite the dream."

“Oh, angel, you want to know what’s in my dreams? I’ll give you a front-row seat,” He chuckled, glancing around the bustling club. The low rumble of voices and clinking glasses filled the air, adding to the energetic atmosphere. "How's the shoot going? Everything running smoothly?"

She wanted to be serious but also wanted to play into his flirty banter, these moods of his where she was the center of his attention were growing on her and she wasn’t sure but she thought them to be somewhat genuine.

"I’ll pass on the midnight performance, for now,” She teased, Roman pouted slightly, his lips forming a cute little frown. “Bit of a madhouse here, it’s an organized chaos, but everyone's thrilled to be here. You're still the man of the hour, keep this up and they just might hold a parade for you."

Roman preened at this, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Roman's eyes trailed over her. "I hear Adrian Blackwood is eager to meet me. Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"A little of both." Belladonna continued, teasing him a little. "I think he may have a little bit of a crush on you." She smirked playfully. “Rumor is he loves a man in a suit.”

“And why wouldn’t he? The mans clearly got good taste," Roman replied with a roguish wink, “Don’t go getting all jealous, Angel. I’ve played on both sides of the fence but these days I’m a one woman man. I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint the poor fellow.”

Curiosity piqued by his admission, but it didn’t entirely surprise her. Roman was a man all about excess, he certainly wasn’t shy and with a wardrobe like his she was pretty sure he’d at least toured the closet which made him more secure than most men. She’d have to ask him about that sometime, she didn’t mind swapping stories, hell, she was sure he already had a few notions about what her education was like at a private all-girls school.

"Tell me, how long will you be tied up here?"

"Why? Are you angling for your close-up, Roman? I had planned on you being our grand finale."

"Saving the best for last, I like it," Roman said smugly, but it was short-lived when his expression quickly turned serious. "But something's come up actually. I need to slip out briefly to handle a personal matter."

The playful ease to her expression faded and her face fell. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Roman remained silent, his nonchalant expression only fueling her annoyance. “Roman, you're a part of this now. You can't just leave." She reached up to rub her temples combating the headache she knew was coming from Roman’s inability to not cause drama, "When were you planning on sharing this change of plans with me?"

"Maybe this morning if you hadn't been in such a rush out the door," Roman replied, a hint of mischief in his voice.

She pursed her lips, displeased but before she could argue further, Roman leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper.

"It concerns your mother, Belladonna. Just trust me and don't ask any more questions."

The mention of her mother made Belladonna pause, her eyes searching his for a moment before her expression softened slightly. The irritation didn't vanish completely, but she seemed less combative, and as he had said, she didn’t ask him any questions. But she sure as hell wanted to.

He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed and the twitch of her lips, like locked gates stemming the tide of endless inquiries and what he hoped might have been a few grateful kisses. She was trusting him. Or maybe she didn’t have a choice.

"Fine, but don't be late. We're planning on wrapping up by three, which means you need to be here by at least noon."

Roman scoffed, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It's a simple errand, angel. You don't think I can handle that in a timely manner? I mean Jesus, it's barely nine."

Her eyes narrowed at his playful tone. "Nothing is ever simple with you, Roman," she retorted. He wanted to argue, but she had a point.

"Have I ever let you down?" Roman asked earnestly, hoping to ease her worries. But her critical look and quick recall of recent drama had him adding "Lately?"

He pulled her into his arms, enjoying how hers immediately wrapped around his neck, that was a handy little trick, "I'll be back before you know it with your favorite rose-infused white mocha. Hot or iced?"

A small smile appeared on her face at the mention of her favorite coffee, “Iced.” Oh, how she tried to hide that smile, but she couldn’t. Roman couldn't resist leaning in to steal a brief, yet tender kiss from her lips. "Just hurry back," She murmured as they parted.

"Count on it." With a final, lingering glance, Roman turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd, leaving Belladonna to return to her work, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

In the confines of an unmarked car, Detectives Craven and his partner Ramirez observed Roman as he sauntered out of his club with Zsasz at his side, practically skipping, not a care in the world. The sight made Craven grind his teeth and he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands.

"Looks like Sionis is on the move," Ramirez noted,

"About time," Craven grumbled, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "Question is, do we follow him or keep our sights on Miss Black?"

"Isn't she just collateral damage?"

"Maybe, but she's also the weak link," Craven replied, a sinister smile creeping onto his face. "It's only a matter of time before she gets spooked and does something dumb."

Roman reached his car, where Zsasz had been waiting for him. Their brief exchange was drowned out by the noise from the streets, leaving Craven and Ramirez guessing at the content.

"Let them go," Craven decided, his gut churning with anticipation. "We stay here and watch her. She's bound to slip sooner or later."

Roman's generous offer to use his club as the location for the shoot was met with awe and gratitude and would be the talk of the fashion house for weeks. The club itself was a statement of luxury and extravagance, with every detail meticulously planned and executed. When they first arrived, the pristine venue welcomed them with open arms, ready to cater to their every need.

To everyone's surprise, Roman had gone above and beyond by providing additional staff for the day. A non-alcoholic bartender served non-alcoholic drinks, working hours, and all that. A bouncer ensured their safety and that no one wandered where they shouldn’t have, and a sound technician stood by for any technical or musical needs. And just when they thought it couldn't get any better, a delicious catered lunch was laid out for them to enjoy.

Throughout the day, Roman's name was on everyone's lips in glowing praise and admiration. Even long after he disappeared on his mysterious errand, his impact on the day lingered.

Taking a moment to savor her sandwich, the crisp lettuce and tomato paired with the spicy aioli burst on her tongue with each bite, and she grinned as she eavesdropped on her coworkers' praise of Roman. He’d be lapping all of this up if he were here, all with a feigned humility while in reality, she was pretty sure he’d be sporting a praise erection. She knew he liked being praised but then what man didn’t enjoy a little ego-stroking?

It made her wonder what kind of things he did like, and her thoughts began to drift to more salacious territory. She and Roman had been together for a few months and with each new hurdle what they had felt less like a facade and more real, the thought bothered her because her gut told her it was just a game for him and while she’d hardened her heart, Roman had a way of making her swoon a little more than she’d have liked.

It wasn’t real. She reminded herself but it sure as hell was fun, for now at least.

It was easy to forget that earlier in the week first the disastrous trip to the precinct, then she’d put a gun into Roman’s hand and dared her to use it on her, then stormed out of his place to what she thought was the safety of her own home where she’d been held at gunpoint and nearly shot. Then the glucose crash and all the fun physical effects that came with that.

Their romance may have been fake, but everything else surrounding it was very real - including the bullets.

"Can you believe it? I mean, first, he lets us use his club and now he’s catering it? I’ve been on the waitlist to see this place for months!"

"Isn't Belladonna just so lucky? I mean, Roman is not only hot but really generous too," someone whispered nearby.

"Who knows if it'll last, though?" another coworker chimed in, skepticism lacing their voice. "You know Roman's reputation in the tabloids.”

“Oh, come on, those are gossip rags. Nobody gets painted in a squeaky clean light.”

“Bruce Wayne does.”

“Besides, you’ve seen how he is with her, he treats her like a queen.”

“Yeah, and everyone does dumb stuff when they’re young. Seriously, those paps go too far sometimes.”

"Maybe she's finally the right woman for him. Belladonna deserves someone to take care of her,"

"Did you see those two creepy guys in the car watching us?"

Belladonna's brow furrowed and she paused mid-chew, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs

It could have been something else, maybe just a random pair of creeps loitering doing a drug deal or trying to pick up models, right? But that icy feeling creeping up her spine didn’t lie.

Her lunch was suddenly very not interesting and her appetite had disappeared. She found herself turning down the hall the two women had just come from, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke wafting in from their smoke break as good as a trail of breadcrumbs to trace their steps.

She slipped out a back door and into the empty alleyway where delivery trucks would come and go.

Looking both ways, she saw that there was nobody around. She tried to calm the anxious feeling pulsing through her fingers and toes, but it wouldn't go away. She took a few tentative steps towards the main road, where the entrance to the club stood in broad daylight. Peering cautiously around the corner, her heart skipped a beat when she didn't see anything at first. But on her second scan of the street, she spotted it - the luxury car, its polished surface gleaming under the midday sun. Parked illegally in a fire lane, its windows tinted darkly. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of two figures slouched in the front seats. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled—she knew those silhouettes.

Craven and Ramirez.

She felt ice flood her veins, they were just there, watching the entrance. She wanted to storm out and scream at them but honestly, what was that going to accomplish, calling Roman didn’t seem like a good idea, they’d be gone before he got back. A little cartoonish lightbulb went off in her mind and she reached for her phone while staying hidden dialing the only other person who could help her.

"Derick, they're here,"

"Please, Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything I know!"

The man's eyes widened with fear as Roman grabbed his shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh like talons. He let out a pained whimper as Roman squeezed harder, his face twisted in sadistic pleasure.

But Roman didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the man's ear. "Are you sure about that?" His tone was low and threatening, causing the man to shrink back in terror.

Roman released him and stepped around to face the trembling man, moving slowly, predatory, a tiger circling its prey. His expression softened in a way that mimicked sympathy but his eyes remained cold and calculating.

The silence that settled was awful, especially considering the only other sound was the sound of the clock hands ticking away. And the man trembled under his gaze, knowing that he was at the mercy of a dangerous and unstable man. But it only grew worse when another chilling sound cut through the air - the distinct scraping of metal against leather as Zsasz drew his knife from its sheath. The man's eyes darted towards the assassin, who stood nonchalantly against the wall, casually cleaning his nails. The glint of the blade in the light sent shivers down the man's spine.

"Please! Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything. And I haven’t told anyone about our conversation, I swear!" He recoiled as far as he could in the chair away from the glinting knife, oddly enough he didn’t try to get up, he wasn’t tied or cuffed to the chair at all, it was Romans presence that kept him in place.

“No one! No one knows!”

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, Roman held up his hand to Zsasz and the sound of his knife against his fingernails stopped and the painfully slow ticking of the clock resumed. Several long and uncomfortable seconds of silence passed, where there wasn’t a shred of emotion on his face. A mask of complete and utter indifference.

"Mr. Barnes… I want to believe you," Roman purred, his tone laced with insincere sympathy. “I really do.” He leaned in, hands braced on the arms of the chair, caging the man in. "But how can I trust a man who would falsify medical records to this degree? Keeping a perfectly healthy woman locked up in a psychiatric facility while her daughter searches for her...how many years has it been, Zsasz? Five?"

“Four.”

Roman grimaced, “Well, now that's still no good. Mr Barnes, Howard- Can I call you Howard?” he asked, feigning interest and camaraderie.

The man nodded slowly, perhaps feeling slightly reassured by Roman's use of his name. Humanizing him.

Roman leaned against Howard’s desk and lit a cigarette, the smoke coiling around him like a sinister serpent as he took a long drag.

"Tell me, Howard," he drawled with dark humor lacing his words. "How would you feel if it was you trying to find your own mother for five long years-”

“-Four years.”

“Right, four years. Four years, looking for your mother because she was trapped in a hospital by some pencil-pushing lackey who falsified her medical records? Just imagine the anguish of never knowing if she would ever be free again. How would you feel?"

Roman's gaze bore into Howard, but the man remained silent. The easy demeanor on Roman's face quickly dissolved as his question went unanswered. "Howard, I asked you a question,"

“I- I’m adopted,” Howard stammered, fear evident in his eyes. "I don't know who my mother is."

This was the wrong answer.

In a sudden surge of controlled fury, Roman slammed his fist down on the desk before lunging at Howard, his hand gripping tightly around the man's throat. His eyes were dark and abyssal, devoid of any emotion except for pure rage.

"Howard," Roman growled through gritted teeth, "you're not making this easy for yourself. I suggest you suspend your disbelief for just a moment and try to see things from someone else's perspective. Can you do that?"

Howard nodded furiously, his breaths coming out in short gasps.

Roman continued, his grip still firm on Howard's neck. "Now, let’s use the power of our imaginations, shall we? Pretend your mother didn’t hate you enough to abandon you like the trash you are and that you and your mother were close, inseparable even. But one day at sixteen, you come home expecting a warm hug from your mom, only to find her gone without a trace. Poof.”

Howard swallowed or tried to but it came out more like the croaking of a frog with Romans had on his throat.

“Then, dear old dad tells you she's not well and has been sent away for her own good. And then you only see her once a year until you're twenty-five. Then nothing. Four years of radio silence and no matter how hard you look, where you look, she’s gone. Can you imagine that kind of pain, Howard?”

Howard whimpered but managed a slight nod, but it didn’t satisfy Roman. Cigarette smoke curled around them like a menacing fog and his eyes glanced to the glowing embers of the cigarette trapped between his fingers, then he glanced back to Howard.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. Mental anguish is difficult to comprehend, physical pain however,” Roman paused menacingly. “Did you know cigarette ashes can burn from anywhere between 450 degrees and 1400 degrees?”

Howards eyes went wide in terror as Roman raised the cigarette and looked at it while his grip on Howard’s throat tightened a bit.

“There’s plenty of room for variation depending on the amount of ash, composition of the cigarette, and airflow…”

"What do you want from me, Mr. Sionis? Please!" Howard pleaded.

"I just want a little empathy, Howard," Roman taunted. “Can you do that, Howard?”

Howard wasted no time in nodding his head.

“Ok, so, where we’re at now is you’ve given me what I asked for and that's good, that buys you points. However, I don’t know if I can really trust you not to talk to anyone about our conversations here and your attitude is certainly lacking, that buys you nothing.” He released Howard and took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Believe it or not Howard, I am looking for a reason to let you live. It’s a risk, but it always is. The last time I took a risk on letting someone live it turned out pretty nicely, I mean, she’s gorgeous and the woman can’t keep her hands off me.” Roman chuckled and Zsasz nodded in agreement, relishing in their sick sense of humor.

“I won’t say anything, I promise.” Howard's voice trembled as he glanced nervously between Roman and Zsasz.

“Pinky swear?” Howard blinked at the unexpected request. “Oh, come on now Howard, that’s the most sacred of promises. Everyone knows that, right, Zsasz?”

“Sacred.”

Roman held out his pinky for Howard and his very shaky hand slowly rose as if sensing it was a trap, he linked his pinky with Romans and they shook on it.

Roman’s smile should have been a warning sign, but Howard was blinded by the charming grin and didn't pull away. In one swift movement, Roman dropped the cigarette, clamped a hand over Howard’s mouth, and twisted his hand, breaking Howard's pinky with a sickening crack. The air instantly shifted from tense but calm to filled with muffled pain-filled groans.

Tears streamed down his face as he realized he had made a grave mistake by trusting Roman.

“See, there’s a lot of work involved with getting rid of you, and it’s expensive, isn’t that right Zsasz?”

“Inflation is a bitch.” Zsasz added with a sympathetic nod.

“Killing you involves calling a cleanup crew, paying them, and hoping they don’t fuck up their job again, I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He paused and nodded to the closed office door which led down the long hallway they’d come through. “Then there's witnesses to handle out there, in the waiting room and anyone who will see the building's security footage. Trust me when I say I’m not interested in that much work for a pencil pusher. But I won’t stop at hurting just you.”

The man squirmed, breaking eye contact and clutching his hand, which was still firmly in Roman’s grasp.

“I could be tempted to forget about all of that if I knew you had just as much to lose from anyone knowing about this conversation as I do. Say, if you told me what doctor gave you the order to make the changes to Maria Caruso’s medical records…”

"I-I can't tell you. I'll lose my job, or worse."

The man's eyes bulged in terror as Romans' smile faded. He crushed Howards hand in his and Howard groaned, covering his own mouth, saliva coating his palm.

"You're a dead man if you don’t tell me," Roman growled, his voice a dangerous snarl. "I’ll take you apart. Piece. By. Piece. In ways the darkest snuff films have never dared to touch, and then… Then it’ll get worse."

Howard’s eyes flickered nervously towards Zsasz, who grinned menacingly, exposing the scars on his neck as he lightly traced a knife over his own palm, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Who gave the order for the falsified records?" Roman demanded. "Don't make me ask again."

Howard trembled violently, finally gasping out a name: "Dr. Elias Antoniou."

With a satisfied smirk, Roman loosened his grip slightly. He had finally gotten the information he needed. In an instant, Roman's demeanor shifted to one of casual amusement as he took a step back.

"There, was that so hard?" he asked lightly. He glanced at Zsasz. "Why can't people just make things easy on themselves?"

Zsasz gave a casual shrug, flipping his knife deftly between his fingers.

A sinister smile spread across Roman's face as he turned his attention back to the trembling man. The man's hands were shaking uncontrollably, betraying his fear.

"Feel better now that you've got that off your chest?" Roman's voice was like honey laced with poison.

The man just stared for a long moment, eyes wide. Finally, he croaked in a hoarse voice, "Will you let me live?"

Roman tilted his head, seeming to consider it. "What's in it for me if I let you walk out of here?"

The man licked his dry lips nervously. "I-I can keep feeding you information. About the doctor, his meetings, the patient..."

Roman's eyes glinted with interest at that. "I mean, I can get that anyway" he purred. "You've got a few minutes to convince me."

“I can get you access to Ms Lopez.” He offered desperately.

“What if I wanted to hurt her? Would you really throw such a lovely lady under the bus to save your own skin?”

Howard froze. He didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a trick, some sick game and he didn’t know what Roman might do next. His whimpering turned to soft crying.

“Oh, for Chrissake, Howard, pull yourself together. I’m not going to hurt her, Jesus, if I wanted to hurt her I wouldn’t be going through this much trouble. Use that fancy degree of yours.” Roman shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

Howard hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dr. Antoniou meets with someone once a month to discuss her. It’s like clockwork." A flicker of excitement crossed Roman's features at this revelation, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

“What do they talk about?”

“All business. He wants to know who tries to visit, who asks about her, what she does, who visits around her, and what changes there are to the staff.”

Roman's eyes glinted with genuine interest now. “We can work with that. Anyone else?”

“Uh, seem to talk about another woman too. I'm not sure who she is. But the doctor is clearly interested in her, he always asks about her, where she is, what she’s doing."

Roman's focus sharpened. "A woman? Give me a name."

The man swallowed hard. "Bella...Belladonna Black, I think he said."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Roman's face. This had proven useful after all. He released

a controlled breath and his fists clenched and unclenched,

"Now, you know talking about our conversation would be very hazardous to your health, you know that, don’t you sport?" He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket.

He nodded his head frantically. "I know, I promise. You were never here.'“ Roman looked at Howard’s swollen hand, quick on the uptake he quickly stammered out, “I-I slammed my hand in my drawer, happens all the time!”

“You’re smarter than you look, Howard.” Roman finished his cigarette with a smile, “So, in exchange for not slitting your throat from ear to ear and raining hell down on every living soul in this building, you now work for me. Understood?”

A sharp breath. The man's head bobbed. "Y-yes, sir."

"Good." Roman straightened, strolling around to face the man. He smiled, cold and sharp as Zsasz's knife. “Believe me when I say, I am very good and raining hell down on those who make me angry, and you know the wild thing, Howard?”

The man swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.

“I don’t even care about Maria Lopez.” Roman looked at Zsasz and shrugged with a smile, “I’m doing this all for a woman.” Roman laughed as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “I think you know her.” Howard looked curious.

“Miss Belladonna Black.”

Tears and snot streamed down the man's pale face as he openly wept. "Please, I only did what I was told."

"Well now, you're going to do what I tell you to do."

"Did they see you?"

Derick's voice was taut with tension, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to snap. It was ten seconds into the call and he could already tell he wasn’t going to like how it went. The mere thought of Roman discovering what was happening sent chills down his spine. He had seen Roman's molten temper before and didn't want to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end.

"I don’t think so," Belladonna replied,

Belladonna replied, her tone hushed as she crouched behind a set of dumpsters. Her eyes darted around the edge, trying to get a better look at the situation while still keeping her phone pressed to her ear.

“What the hell are they doing here? Can they even be here?”

"The detectives were assigned to the case. As long as they're not bothering or harassing you, they have every right to surveil places where you or Roman might be."

Belladonna's nails bit into her palms and her mind raced, this didn’t feel right.

“Are they doing anything unusual?”

Belladonna scoffed in frustration. "Define 'unusual'."

Derick let out a frustrated sigh, he liked Belladonna as a client, he really did but the woman was spending far too much time with Roman for his liking.

"What exactly are they doing right now?"

"They're parked in their car just outside of Roman's club, watching and listening. I overheard a few coworkers talking about them when they came back from a smoke break."

“Did they approach your coworkers or engage with them in any way?”

“I don’t think so, but they’re creeping everyone out. Creeping me out.”

“Yes, the detectives have that quality in abundance. However, unfortunately, that’s not illegal, Belladonna. Unless they’re actually doing anything suspicious or illegal then we can’t do anything apart from asking them to leave and if they’re in the street, which is city property, public property they don’t have to go unless it veers into harassment. Which it doesn’t sound like it is.”

“They’re illegally parked in a fire line but that’s it.”

“Well, you can call the police but odds are it won’t go anywhere, they’re on duty and the most another police officer will do if one shows up at all is tell them to move out of the fire lane. The best you can do if you think you and Roman are being harassed is take photos and document them being there. Other than that, there's nothing to worry about."

Belladonna let out a disappointed sigh, her gaze drifting to the sleek car in front of her. Her eyes narrowed as she took in its details, letting out a curious "huh" as she did so.

"Everything alright, Belladonna?" Derick asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," Belladonna replied a bit hesitantly, still studying the car. "I guess I just didn't expect undercover detectives to have such a nice ride."

“What do you mean? Are they not in a marked car?”

"No, it's unmarked, but it doesn't look like an unmarked car. It's too... nice."

"Too nice? What kind of car is it?" Derick inquired, his interest piqued. "If they're driving their own personal vehicle, then they might not be on duty. In that case, we could potentially have something on them for harassment if they're not officially surveilling you or Roman."

Belladonna squinted, trying to make out the details of the car. "It's an SUV... wait, no way.” She paused. “It's an Audi. That seems well above the GCPD's budget or a typical cop's salary."

“An Audi?” Derick's tone shifted from nonchalant to concerned at this revelation. "Indeed, that's not standard for the GCPD. Those cars cost more than the entire department makes in a year. Can you see what model it is or any other distinguishing features?"

"Sure," she said, clutching her phone tighter. "It's a dark blue, possibly black, looks like a Q7. Looks like a dent on the driver's side wheel well and what looks like a scrape along the side. First three of the license plates are RT5 and I can’t quite get the last four, the sunlight is hitting the plate."

"Let me check," Derick said as Belladonna could hear the sound of his fingers rapidly typing on a keyboard in the background. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she discreetly observed the detectives.

Derick felt a weight settle in his stomach.

"Alright, Belladonna, listen carefully," Derick's voice came back, serious and focused. "The car you described matches one that went missing after its owner was found murdered, the investigation is pending. Without the VIN number, I can't be sure, but this is not good."

“What do we do?”

“We? We do nothing. At best, those detectives are driving a stolen car. At worst, maybe they’re involved in something shady. You need to get someplace safe and we need to inform Roman and the police about this.”

“You said, without the VIN, we can’t do anything. Hypothetically, if we had the VIN what could that mean for the detectives?”

Derick hesitated before answering, his words laced with caution.

“Hypothetically? It could create enough doubt or suspicion to get them tossed from the case and

investigated by internal affairs. But the case wouldn’t go away.”

“But they’d probably assign different detectives, right? Maybe detectives who aren’t after Roman’s blood, right?”

There was another long pause as Derick weighed the options. “Possibly.”

As Belladonna processed this, movement caught her eye. Craven and Ramirez were exiting the car, their steps deliberate as they began to circle the club like predators stalking prey.

"They're moving, Derick. They're casing Roman's club, can’t tell what they’re saying."

"Take a photo from where you are and step away, Belladonna. Do nothing else," Derrick insisted, but there was a crackle of urgency in his voice that betrayed his calm demeanor. “We need to inform Roman."

“Derick, where would a VIN be on a car?” Belladonna asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“No. Belladonna, no. Don’t even think about it. Go back inside. I’m calling Roman right now.”

“Derick, you can either tell me where it is, or I’m gonna find it myself.”

"I'm not giving you legal advice, you are going against the advice of your attorney, '' Derrick replied, cautious. "Buthypothetically, it's usually located on the dashboard near the windshield, on paperwork in the glove box, or inside the driver's side door."

"Hang on a sec," She muttered, her determination overtaking her fear. Derrick's continued protests faded into the background as she darted towards the opulent car, her heels clicking on the pavement.

"What do you see?" Derick demanded.

She wet her lips, scanning the empty street, keeping somewhat low and her head on a swivel.

“It’s a black Audi, Q8," she muttered under her breath. "Front driver's side is dented, and there’s a huge scrape that's been painted over but the paint doesn't quite match." Her eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. "License plate RT524F0."

“Great, that’s enough.” Silence, then, "Get out of there. Now."

"Not yet." She cautiously approached the vehicle, using the hem of her shirt to open the unlocked passenger slide door. The interior was a mess, with crumpled coffee cups and scattered police files emitting a strong stench of stale caffeine. She grabbed a napkin and began rummaging through the cluttered glove compartment. No ownership papers.

“No registration.” She muttered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice.

Glancing up at the windshield, she searched for the VIN, but saw nothing. “Nothing on the windshield.”

"Checking the driver's side door now,"

"Belladonna, I'm serious. Leave. Now." The warning in Derick's voice only pushed her further.

She ignored him, circling to the driver's side. Her adrenaline spiked, the driver's side door was on the street, where anyone could see her, there was no cover. But she figured she'd come this far and if this was the thing that could get rid of Craven and Ramirez, it was worth the risk, and this far, Roman had done all the dirty work.

The door was unlocked and it gave a little pop as the weatherproofing seal broken, the dome light turned on.

And then she saw it - the VIN stamped on the doorframe.

“Got it. VIN WBAPH93567KM12345.” She snapped a picture and looked over her shoulder surveying the street again. Still clear.

"Fantastic, now get the hell out of there!”

She quickly wiped down the door handle, making sure to get every inch clean before closing the door with a soft click. Her heart stopped. The dome light was still on, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t run, couldn’t even turn around. She just stared at the dome light and the seconds dragged on and on waiting for it to go out.

Mercifully, after what was probably only thirty seconds the light faded and she breathed a sigh of short-lived relief, before turning around just in time to see Craven and Ramirez rounding the corner of the club and heading straight her way. With a deep breath, she slipped her phone into her pocket and pasted a scowl on her face, trying to appear unfazed by their sudden appearance.

Adrenaline pulsing through her veins giving her guts she didn’t know she had as she met them in the street.

Craven and Ramirez strode towards her grim smiles twisting their lips as if they were pleased to see her. Her heart leapt into her throat and her arms hugged her sides, for some reason, despite the warmth of the day, she’d have given anything for a coat.

"Am I under surveillance now? Is that what you're doing, creeping out my coworkers?" She snapped.

The men looked at her with smug amusement, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Should you be under surveillance?" Craven asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Anything you want to tell us?”

Belladonna squared her shoulders and met his gaze trying to ignore that awful shaky feeling in her voice. "If you have questions, ask them. Otherwise, leave me and my coworkers alone."

Ramirez's chuckle was dry as chalk. "We did ask you. But it seems there are...inconsistencies in your story."

“Like what?” Panic flared in her chest, but she kept her face impassive. "You have no right to harass me or Roman. You took your shot and you missed."

A primal fear screamed at her to turn around and check the car to make sure the light was really off, but she knew if she did that, they would know what she had done. They couldn't possibly know about the VIN. She was sure she’d closed the door before they’d seen her. The light was off.

It was off.

It was.

Craven prowled closer, his steps heavy and deliberate as he closed in on her. She felt herself being backed up against the cold metal of the car, a physical barrier between her and this dangerous man. His voice was low and dripping with venom as he spoke to her.

"You've gotten yourself tangled up with some very dangerous people, sweetheart. But you still have a chance to do the smart thing and cooperate." His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his glare. Her heart raced with fear and outrage at his audacity. Before she could react, his grip tightened and she winced in pain. "Unless you want to end up like your boyfriend."

Belladonna's anger overpowered her fear as she knocked his hand away. "This is harassment! I'm reporting you to the chief of police! By the way, you’re illegally parked."

This was as good a spot as any to storm off indignantly but before she could make another move, Craven's hand shot out again, this time grabbing at her bun and catching a fistful of her hair. The two men formed a wall around her, blocking any potential onlookers from seeing what was happening. She cried out in pain as he wrenched her head back and forth, shivers running down her spine.

“Get your hands off of me!!”

“You’d better be careful, Miss Black. Think about the last time someone had a fistful of that pretty hair of yours, screaming didn’t help you then did it? Six weeks in a coma is nothing compared to what might happen next time.”

Her blood ran cold and the color drained from her face. A memory of sharp pain in her back shot through her freezing the breath in her lungs as she looked into Craven’s eyes, dark and soulless. Not dark like Romans. Romans eyes burned, they were alive, Craven’s looked empty.

"Your boyfriend is a dead man," He snarled. "We're going to bury him so deep in Blackgate prison he never sees the light of day again.” He jerked her head again and she let out a yelp.

Desperate now, Belladonna scrabbled at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers from her hair. "You have nothing on Roman," She growled out, trying to sound half as angry as she felt, and a fraction of as angry as Roman would be.

"Oh, little girl," Craven sneered, his hot disgusting breath wafting over her face. "Evidence can be fabricated, witnesses can be paid or disappear entirely." He paused and then added with a chilling smile, "And once we take care of Roman, there'll be no one left to protect you."

Suddenly there was a hand on Craven's shoulder and he turned to see Ramirez gently prying him away from Belladonna. "I think you've scared her enough," Ramirez said coolly. "For now."

A shiver shook Belladonna's body, sending a chill down her spine.

With a brutal shove, Craven threw her head back, causing her head to smack the window of the car before tumbling to the ground. The detectives said nothing more as they slid into their vehicle, slamming the doors shut. The engine roared to life, the tires screeching as they peeled off down the street and disappeared around the corner.

Dazed and in pain, Belladonna slumped on the ground, cradling her throbbing head, blood pulsing in her temples. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone.

“Derrick, did you get all that?”

There was a brief pause before Derick's tense response: "Every single word."

The camera shutter clicked in rapid succession, capturing Roman's intense gaze and the slight curl of his lips, giving off an air of playful mischief. Behind the lens stood Belladonna, her dark eyes locked with his as she snapped picture after picture. The chemistry between them was electric, tangible in the charged atmosphere that seemed to crackle around them.

Belladonna had only a brief fifteen minutes between her altercation with Craven and Ramirez, which she said nothing to Roman about, and his arrival. But in that time, the anticipation between them had grown even stronger. And now, as she lowered the camera for a moment to admire him, she couldn't help but appreciate how effortlessly he wore the custom-tailored black embossed suit that had been specifically set aside for him. It accentuated his dangerous edge, adding to the allure that surrounded him.

Adrian Blackwood, the designer behind the collection piece, practically fell over himself with excitement upon seeing Roman in his creation. And who could blame him? Roman looked good, leaving no doubt that Adrian had excellent taste. She had playfully teased about the designer having a crush on Roman, but now seeing him in person...was there some truth to it?

But any thoughts of the designer quickly vanished as Roman's focus shifted solely to Belladonna. She commanded every bit of his attention, and he reveled in the fact that he held hers just as strongly. He needed no direction from her as he effortlessly exuded charm and charisma in each frame captured by the camera. They were a perfect match - both captivating and captivatingly drawn to each other.

She raised the camera again.

As she resumed taking photos, Belladonna offered him a knowing smirk, one that made his heart race and his muscles tense with anticipation.

At first, he thought something might have been wrong when he arrived and Belladonna was nowhere to be seen. Going right past anyone who tried speaking to him, through the employee-only doors, a man on a mission. Following the virtual breadcrumb that had been the mysterious text message from Belladonna:

Deja vu?

"Perfect," Belladonna breathed, snapping another shot. She offered no direction, just an occasional smirk when his gaze lingered too long. He soaked up her attention like a flower tilting toward the sun.

In the storage room where their little adventure began, there she’d been. She’d taken him by surprise, and while it wasn’t the type of kiss that made his dick immediately hard, there was something different about it. An intensity that she rarely displayed and left him wanting more. No smart words from her despite Romans prodding. Just a sharp jerk on the lapels of his suit jacket and the crushing of her lips on his that saw no room for subtlety. Her rose-infused mocha had quickly been forgotten as little beads of condensation inched their way down the cup.

As she continued to snap photos, Roman found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the burning desire he felt for Belladonna. He couldn't shake the memory of their earlier encounter, nor could he ignore the heat pooling in his gut at the thought of what might have happened if not for his self-imposed 'no sex in the club' rule.

‘If it weren't for that, I'd drag you back into my office right now...’

"Last one," Belladonna announced, breaking through his heated thoughts. She stepped closer, bringing the lens up to his face before snapping the final photo.

"You're a natural, Roman." She praised, a hint of mischief dancing in her dark eyes. "I think we got it," she said finally, lowering the camera.

Cursing under his breath, he struggled to restrain himself as she packed up the equipment. The shoot was over, but he wasn't ready to relinquish her attention yet.

"One more," He insisted, his eyes burning.

Belladonna hesitated, then lifted the camera again with a shrug. As the flashes continued, Roman's thoughts raced. What would her reaction be when she learned of the tasks he'd set in motion today? When she saw the lengths he'd gone to for her? Roman suppressed a smile.

Sparing her life that first night had been an impulsive decision, but now it was proving to be a most interesting one.

The camera clicked a final time and she lowered it, shaking her head. "We're done, Roman."

He nodded slowly. For now, they were done. But soon, very soon, they would begin again.

OK! Before you throw your tomatoes at me, hear me out!!! THERE WILL BE SMUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!

-Emerges from behind her laptop shield-

Ok? I had to set a up a few more things so the next few chapters will be some kinky, smutty fun! Promise!! And that chapter is already half written and I promise it's going to be worth it!! We good? Come on guys, stick with me!

So, do we have any guesses on whats going to happen next or are we all just sitting around waiting on smut? Smut? That's fair. You guys are going to need a whole damn carton if cigarettes after this next one!

If you'd like to join the taglist, leave me a comment or a reblog, you guys know the drill. Love y'all. Stay toxic fangirls, stay toxic.

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

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loycspotting · 4 months

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Jonathan McQuarry Fic

Synopsis: Jonathan McQuarry comforts you during an anxiety attack

Gender Neutral Reader

Author's Note: this is my first ever fanfic! Jonathan McQuarry is dear to my heart so I felt he should be the first I write about. I couldn't think of an actual title so just went with something simple. I hope you enjoy!

The feeling hits you like cold water to the face. You feel your breath shorten and your muscles tense as if on auto pilot. You know this feeling all too well: an anxiety attack. You know the cause of the trigger. Having grown up in a big city you're no stranger to the hustle and bustle of New York City. The yelling and honking and screeching of subway brakes don't faze you. However, when you walked outside to throw away the trash at the exact moment an old beat up car backfired three times, you were thrust back to your home town. Yes, you grew up in a noisy city but the noise was from guns echoing down the street day and night. You were so used to the sound of gunfire that it was almost hard to sleep without it in the background once you moved. You thought you had gotten over it until this moment. You suddenly felt unsafe. No, not just unsafe, helpless. You scrambled back inside and for a moment thought you had calmed down until that familiar feeling rose in your chest. Now you sit in the bedroom closet curled up like a child hiding from the Boogeyman. Now matter how much you tell yourself that you're okay, your body refuses to respond. With tears in your eyes you hold yourself and bite your thumb. You don't know how long you were sitting there when you hear the front door open and close. Then the sound of a familiar voice reaches your ears.

“Darling, I'm home!”

It's your boyfriend Jonathan back from his accounting job. You weren't expecting him back for awhile since he usually works late. Ever since you moved in together last month he’s been cutting back on late nights to spend more time with you. You tried to protest as you didn't want to get between him and his job but he insisted that you were more important. Now, you're grateful that he's home early.

“Y/N, are you here?” He calls out.

You want to call out to him. To run into his arms and be comforted by the smell of his cologne but you're frozen in place. You hear him walk into the bedroom.

“Y/N?” He asks.

“H-here” you manage to squeak out.

You hear him softly walk towards the closet door and squint as light hits your eyes from the open door. As he crouches down to your eye level you rush to explain yourself.

“I thought I heard a gun and I didn't know what to do and I'm sorry I was so scared and-” Jonathan cuts you off with a big hug.

“Y/N, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. I know you're still sensitive to these things because of your past. It's okay. I'm here. You're safe.”

You lean into his warm touch as you rest your head on his shoulder and he gently rubs your back. You feel his lips tenderly place a kiss on your forehead. Under different circumstances, you’d think two adults huddling together in a closet wouldn't be the best way to relax. But wrapped in the arms of your gentle Jonathan, you couldn't imagine a better place to be than here with him.

#ewan mcgregor #jonathan mcquarry #film: deception #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #ewan mcgregor x reader

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gameguy20100 · 4 months

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Some guys will be in a fit of self-loathing and delete their writing folder, and spend weeks depressed about it

Then go into their documents and realise they only deleted the shortcut and feel like a massive idiot while at the same time be relieved.

It's me.

I'm some guys.

#personal #my writing #fanfiction #wings of Deception

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cameronspecial · 4 months

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Assisting In Deception (Part 4)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Thoughts about Sexual Content

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: Rafe shows his protective side for Y/N when gossip turns away. The wedding went better than they thought it would.

Masterlist

The next day, Rafe enters the office to the whispers of his employees. He can’t hear anything specific that they are saying as he glides to his office. He looks over to see if Y/N is at her desk and is surprised she isn’t there. He checks his watch to make sure he has the time right. It’s 10 AM, which means she is an hour late for work. She’s never been late before and this worries him. He heads into his office to call her but is interrupted by Jenna knocking. “Ms. Walsh, do you know where Ms. Y/L/N is?” he asks her, looking at both his work phone and personal one to see if Y/N left any sort of message. Jenna gives him a sad smile and enters his office, “Yes, sir. It’s actually why I came to talk to you. The news about you and her dating got out yesterday and the others have been saying some things she must have overheard and it upset her.”

A scowl crosses his face and he feels his blood boil. He storms out of his office into the bullpen outside. The loud slamming of his feet on the floor as he takes a stand in the middle of the room quiets everyone. “It has come to my attention that Ms. Y/L/N and mine’s personal relationship has made itself public knowledge,” he begins his threat. “If I hear anyone say anything about our personal business in this office or on a digital platform, you will be immediately fired and I will make sure you never get hired anywhere again. Is that clear?!” The crowd turns away in embarrassment at being caught and a few nod to show that his point was made.

“I’m sorry I’m late Mr. Cameron, I overslept a litt-,” Y/N apologizes while walking into the office to hear silence and Rafe in the middle of everything. She turns to Rafe in perplexity, which is met with her being ushered into his office. He lets her settle into the couch and he sits beside her. He leaves some distance between the two because they don’t need to keep up with the appearance of a relationship in the privacy of this room. “Are you okay? I heard that people were saying things about you when they learnt about us,” he worries, hesitantly placing his hand on her back to rub it in reassurance. “Yeah, I’m fine. I have thick skin. Don’t worry about it,” she tries to brush it off. He turns her to face him, tilting her chin to look him in the eyes, “Please, don��t lie to me. I know it’s the reason why you were late today.” She adverts her eyes from him for a second.

“Fine, they got to me. But I’m fine now. It’s water under the bridge.” As she says those words, she can’t fight the tears that form in her eyes while she remembers the insecurities she feels because of their words. Rafe brings her into his embrace and buries his head into her hair. He inhales the strawberry scent of her shampoo and presses a kiss to her hair in a friendly manner. She feels more comfortable with him, letting her sobs release into his neck. “It’s okay. They won’t be saying anything about you anymore,” he promises. She nods, lifting her head to look at him, “Thank you. Can we just get back to work, please? It’s my turn to be apathetic.” He lets out a chuckle and gets up from the couch. “Okay, sounds good. Could you book a meeting with Mr. Kingston?”

——

The workday ends later than planned with multiple meetings being longer than planned and new ones needing to be urgently booked in. Y/N couldn’t leave work for the day because he needed her to go over next month's planning. By the time they finish, it is midnight and she is getting ready to head back home by subway. They get on the same elevator together and when she goes to press the ground floor button, he stops her. “I’m not letting you go on the subway this late. I’ll drive you,” he offers, pushing the parking garage button. She looks over at him with warmth, “No, I can’t let you do that. I live in the opposite direction of where you need to go.”

“Then you can stay at my place for the night. I have lots of empty rooms for you to sleep in.”

“Boss, I promise it’s fine.”

“Butterfly, please, let me do this so I don’t have to worry about you.”

Knowing she won’t win this argument and that he is right about it being safer, she moves her hand from the elevator buttons and steps back. Once the elevator gets to the parking level, he leads her to his car and opens the passenger door for her. The ride to his apartment is filled with another one of her playlists, both of them being tired from the late work day. The door opening catches Dax’s attention and he rushes to his owner’s side. However, Dax finds intrigue in the girl beside his dad. “Omg, who is this little cutie?” she gushes, kneeling down to give the boy attention. She gives him the belly rubs he normally begs his father for. Dax sits up from the sitting position and she gives his face multiple kisses.

Rafe feels jealous that her focus is on his dog. He never thought he would want to be a hairy four-legged creature. Yet, he wants to capture this moment forever. He pulls out his phone and snaps a photo of the scene. “I saw that,” she quips, looking up at him. “I’ve been thinking. And I think that you should post that picture on social media.”

“Okay, but you can see your face in this one. Let me take another one with your hair blocking your face.

“Um, that was the point. The cat is already out of the bag with who I am at the office. My cousin’s post is bound to make my identity known to everyone.”

“Are you sure? I can have my lawyers force your cousin to take it down and then get everyone at the office to sign an NDA.”

“That’s sweet. But I’m sure. That is all too much of a hassle to hide something that we are going to have to reveal later anyway.”

“Okay.” She gets up from the floor and makes her way over to him to watch as he makes the post. In turn, she pulls out her phone, scrolling through different pictures she has taken of them. She lands on one she took while he was driving and shows it to him. “What about it?” he questions, glancing at her phone for a second and then going back to writing a caption.

“Are you okay with me posting it too?”

“You want to post it?” He looks up at her with a glint of happiness. Rafe didn’t think she’d want to do that. Most relationships he has been in, romantic or otherwise, have had the other person want him to show them off through posts on his social media. They either wanted more followers or the chance to advertise whatever they had. And when they posted about him, it was for the same reason. Yet, he knows that’s not what it is for Y/N. Her account is private and she only ever posts about things that she loves or special events. She posts every few months and doesn’t just let random people follow her. Something about her posting him felt more intimate to him. He realizes it might be to just keep up appearances of a relationship, but he doesn’t let his excitement of the action turn down. “Yeah, you can post it. It’s actually a really good picture,” he confirms.

A few minutes later, they both receive a notification that the other posted and they both go to like the picture. They both stare at the caption of the posts and marvel that they are both on the same wavelength. Rafe’s My Butterfly 🦋 causes Y/N to instinctively play with her hair while her My Boss 😍 causes Rafe to fidget with his rings as he realizes how much he likes the nickname. They look up at each other and smile before she lets out a tired yawn. His smile continues at how adorable her face looks while she does it, holding his hand out for her to take. He takes her to the guest bedroom closest to his room in case she needs anything. He tells her to wait for a second so he can get her a new toothbrush and some clothes to sleep in. He returns with gray sweatpants and a t-shirt that appears to be from his high school varsity days. She goes into the adjoining bathroom to change and brush her teeth.

When she comes out and gets herself settled into the bed, he catches a glimpse of his last name on her back and he wants to melt at the sight. “I’m just next door to the right if you need anything.” As he says that, Dax prances his way to the room and hops onto the bed beside her. “Bud, you can’t sleep here. Give her some space,” Rafe orders, getting closer to the bed to get the German shepherd off. Y/N shakes her head and holds up her hand, “It’s okay. He can sleep here if he wants.” He pauses his advancement and bobs his head.

“Okay. Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she smiles, giving him a small wave while petting Dax. Rafe leaves the room with a sigh. He gets ready for bed and he can’t stop himself from thinking about the girl in the next room. His cheeks redden at the thought of her in his clothes. He can’t explain why he feels this way.

——

The wedding ceremony was beautiful and the reception was just as stunning. Y/N and Rafe watch the first dance with fond smiles. He leans in to whisper against the shell of her ear, “Do you ever think about getting married?” She turns her attention towards him. “Not really, I guess I’ve always been a little scared of planning my future. I can’t imagine anything more past next month,” she clarifies. The disappointment that settles in his heart is inexplicable, but he can’t think about it for too long because Nancy is asking him to dance with her. He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. Y/N gushes at the sight of Rafe dancing with Nancy and takes a picture of the pair.

She goes to talk to a few family members, looking over her shoulder every so often to see her sister still dancing with her boyfriend. Her sister’s cheeks are so red that it is adorable. “Can you dance with me?” a little boy begs and by his blond hair, she guesses that he is from Gwen’s side of the family. Y/N smiles at him and takes him over to the dance floor. She takes his hands into hers, swaying them to the sound of the music. The song switches to a slow one and Rafe takes this as his opportunity to cut in, “Can I have my girlfriend back, please?” The boy pouts but runs off to find his parents. Rafe wraps his arms around her waist and she puts hers around his neck. Y/N’s head rests on his chest. They sway to the sound of the music and this is probably the closest they’ve ever been.

Nate points out the dancing duo to his wife and she smiles at the scene. Her phone captures the moment, “I’ve never seen her so in love before.” She knew her daughter had issues with believing in love, but she always hoped that love would find the girl. She’s glad that it did.

The music stops and the dessert is announced to be out for serving. Rafe mutters that he’s going to get them some dessert and another drink, breaking apart so he can do so. She heads back to the table. “Where’s Rafe?” Nancy inquires, looking around for her sister’s boyfriend. Y/N shakes her head, “It feels like you like him more than you like me. And he is getting some dessert and drinks.” Her little sister’s face lights up when Rafe comes into view. He is balancing two plates in one hand and two drinks in the other. A tingling feeling passes through her body as she sees the way his long fingers stretch out to hold both glasses. Rafe sets the drinks in front of his place and hers then lays a plate down for Nancy before he gives Y/N hers. Both girls give thanks for his gesture.

Upon looking at all of her favourite sweets, she goes to toy with her hair but can’t because she puts her hair up for the wedding. Seeing that she needs something to do with her hands, Rafe takes her hand into his and fiddles with the rings on her fingers. It is moments like these that make it harder for Y/N to remember that this is all not real.

——

Saturday means Y/N lets herself lounge around all day. The only source of substance that she consumed was coffee even though it was late into the afternoon. Rafe and her have been texting all day and she just forgot to make something for lunch. She makes the mistake of telling him in passing that she hasn’t eaten anything. Disappointment floods her when he doesn’t respond after that. About an hour later, a knock comes on her front door, assuming it is just her sister, who is meant to come over from dinner, she opens it without another thought.

Rafe stands before her with two paper bags in hand. “What are you doing here?” she queries, letting him into the apartment. He looks back at her with crossed eyes, “You can’t tell me that you haven’t eaten all day and expect me to just do nothing about it. I’m cooking you dinner.”

“I had something to eat.”

“Coffee is not a meal, Butterfly. So you are going to let me cook for you because I know you don’t like it. I’m making farro mafaldine with black truffle butter and mushrooms. Something I picked up when I was in Naples.”

“Okay, but I was supposed to make dinner for Nancy. She’s coming over soon.”

“Well, now, I’m making dinner for all of us. I bought enough for four people. Is your roommate here? Or how about that neighbour you say has a crush on her?”

“No. Juni is at her parents' place and Alexander is working a twenty-four-hour shift. So it’s just gonna be you, me and Nancy.”

“Sounds good.”

He gets to work moving around the kitchen and she sits at the kitchen island, watching his process. She is entranced by the sight before her. He came from the office, so his buttoned-up shirt had his sleeves folded up his forearms, which always makes her drool. He unbuttoned the top few buttons and she could see the glimmer of his chain from underneath. The naughty thought of what it would look like dangling over her as he pounded into her infiltrates her mind. She imagines him bending her over the kitchen counter and slamming himself into her. The opening of the front door snaps her out of her dirty daydream.

“Y/N/N, do you really have to cook? Last time you made me something, I’m pretty sure the rice was overcooked but the meat was undercooked. How about pizza instead?” Nancy suggests, stopping in her tracks when she sees Rafe. Her cheeks heat up and she tries to hide herself because she is wearing her paint-stained sweatpants and moth-eaten shirt. Her backpack hangs from her shoulder; a clear sign she is planning on staying the night. Rafe looks over at the girl, “Good thing I’m making dinner then. I promise your food will be appropriately cooked.” Nance giggles at the joke and sits at the kitchen island beside her sister to enjoy the view.

They eat the meal with pleasant conversation. “Oh, before I forget to tell you, Butterfly, there is a charity event that I have to go to and I’d like for you to come with me,” Rafe informs, looking up from his food to look at her. She pauses her chewing, “I would love to go. Although, I’m not too sure if I have anything to wear.”

“That’s not a problem. We can go dress shopping tomorrow. That way I know what to get to match you.”

Nancy interrupts, “Yes, a fashion show would be so much fun. Can I please come?” Rafe lets out a chuckle at the girl's excitement. “Of course. I’ll just clean up this mess and head out. I’ll pick you guys up in the morning.” Nancy’s head moves from side to side, “Nonsense. I’m a big girl. I know that sometimes boyfriends sleep over at their girlfriends’ houses. You don’t have to change your plans on my account. And you cooked, so I’ll clean up.” After Nancy cleans up, the trio plays a few board games until they decide it is time to head to bed. Nancy goes to sleep in Juni’s room and Rafe awkwardly follows Y/N to hers.

“You can sleep on my bed. I’ll get a pillow and blanket from the linen closet to sleep on the floor,” she proposes, moving around the room for her pyjamas.“No, I can sleep on the floor. It’s your bed after all,” he begins when another thought pops into his mind. “Or we could just share the bed. I mean if you are comfortable with that.” Y/N’s hair finds its way between her fingers, “Yeah, that can work. I…uhh… Don’t think I have any clothes big enough to fit you, so if you want, you can just sleep in your boxers.” She adverts her eyes from his and looks anywhere but near him. He agrees with the statement and she lets him go to brush his teeth before she goes to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

She gets back from the bathroom to find Rafe already under her blankets. His clothes are folded on her dresser. She bites her lip at the site of his shirtless figure peaking from the top of the blanket. His chain is now on full display and it takes everything in her not to pull him into a kiss with it. She quietly makes her way to her bed. She slides in beside him and they both turn on their sides, facing away from each other. They exchange goodnights and then let the sweet release of sleep come over them.

——

The sunlight coming from the curtain wakes Rafe from his slumber. He feels a weight on his chest, which confuses him. He looks down to see Y/N cuddled into his side. She shifts in her sleep and lets out a sigh that would make him hard if he didn’t already have a morning wood. He moves her hair out of her face, so he can see the small smile on her face. He wants to stay within her grasp, but the last thing he wants is for her to wake up to his boner in such little clothing. He untangles himself from her hold and goes to the door to see the clothes he ordered at the door already. He heads to the bathroom to get changed. By the time he gets out of the room, Y/N is waiting for him to finish up.

Rafe heads back to her room to get his phone and he feels guilty about how it felt to wake up with her in his arms. All he wants is for that moment to be real. For their relationship to be real.

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