Black Mask X Reader - Tumblr Posts
That was so fucked up, give me more or I will die
Wanna be his young girlfriend so bad
★ Daddy's pornstar ★
Black Mask/Wayne!Reader, 4.8K AN: Based on, (but not 1:1) on this ask! It just activated something in my brain and I had to put it into words. I could kiss you anon! FYI, he's (partly) maskless in this one, just because I felt like shaking things up a bit. Warnings: Roman being absolutely foul, he’s a warning all of his own. Swearing, blackmail, dub-con, insults/name-calling, spit, ass to mouth but barely, spanking, choking, verbal degradation, unprotected sex, manipulation, lying, gratuitous daddy kink. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Excerpt: “Don’t look so glum, doll. You’re gorgeous.” Roman's gravelly voice is thick with conceitedness. More than usual. He’s seated just to the side of the camera, smiling at you like he’s the cat and you’re the cream between puffs of a cigarette. His eyes shamelessly rake across your body. “If you ever wanted to get out from your father’s shadow, you could make a killing in the adult industry.” “Please, I don’t want to talk about him right now.” You don’t even want to think about him. Not just because it’s a figurative boner killer, but because he’d be so angry, so disappointed in you and your actions. You stare at the blinking red light of the camera as you try not to recall the destructive series of events that had led you here. The reckless, downright stupid behaviour that had handed Roman the ammunition to bend you to his will. “Alright. I’ll be your daddy tonight.”

Selina had told you once, after helping your father take down an infamous Gotham-based trafficking ring that the little spiel adult actors give at the beginning of pornos was often complete bullshit. When Cherry Rose or Missy Sin said, “I’m of sound body and mind, and I consent to everything I’m about to do.” they were fucking themselves, metaphorically and literally. That as soon as those words were caught on tape, sketchy cast and crews could use it as a free pass to do whatever they wanted to those performers without repercussions.
That fact, while upsetting, hadn’t really solidified in your head until you were staring down the lens of a Panasonic camcorder, barely faking a smile as you made the very same speech, wondering how many pornstars had been blackmailed or otherwise under duress from the start.
“Don’t look so glum, doll. You’re gorgeous.” Roman's gravelly voice is thick with conceitedness. More than usual. He’s seated just to the side of the camera, smiling at you like he’s the cat and you’re the cream between puffs of a cigarette. His eyes shamelessly rake across your body. It’s not clear if he’s appreciative of you in general or of the sheer, feather-hemmed lingerie he’d picked out for you. It’s exactly the kind of thing you’d expect to find on the body of an heiress gone wild in the pages of an 80s Playboy magazine; cute but still a humiliating mockery of the rich kid archetype the media so loves to sexualise. From the shade of pink that compliments your skin tone perfectly, to the way it tastefully clashes with the bedspread, you're pretty certain Roman has put a lot of thought and planning into this whole production. “If you ever wanted to get out from your father’s shadow, you could make a killing in the adult industry.”
“Please, I don’t want to talk about him right now.” You don’t even want to think about him. Not just because it’s a figurative boner killer, but because he’d be so angry, so disappointed in you and your actions. You stare at the blinking red light of the camera as you try not to recall the destructive series of events that had led you here. The reckless, downright stupid behaviour that had handed Roman the ammunition to bend you to his will.
“Alright.” His smile twists then, into something wicked and you will the heat growing in your stomach to cool. “I’ll be your daddy tonight.”
The suggestion simultaneously makes your skin crawl, and your hair stand on edge. You fight the lurch in your chest by scrunching up your face and glowering at his mask on the bedside table. It’s easier to be repelled by him when he’s Black Mask. He’s not really a person, he’s a symbol, a deity to all that’s wrong with Gotham and its seedy underworld. He laughs aloud, low and throaty, clearly enjoying your visible discomfort. God, you hate him. You hate his laugh. You hate his olive skin. His empty black eyes, his salt and pepper hair, the way he smells so good like sugar and spice and smoke. You hate the way he commands a room simply by being in it. But apparently not all of your body had gotten the memo.
“Agreed?” He says sarcastically, the implication that you don’t really get a choice hangs thick in the air and you nod in reply until he fakes a cough to draw your attention back to him. “Out loud, for the camera.”
“Yes…” He quirks a brow at you, eyes fixated on the shake of your breasts as you attempt to steady your breathing. The name feels wrong on your lips, you haven’t even called your own father Daddy since you were a little girl, but you manage to bite it out. “Daddy.”
“Good girl.” It shouldn’t, but the way he drawls the pet-name makes you feel flushed. “Well, what are you waiting for? We’re rolling.”
For the first time since you’d met him here, you look at him dead on, staring dumbly, hoping for at least a little direction. You’d never done this sort of thing before; you didn’t know where to begin. And you certainly didn’t want to perform so badly that he made it an excuse to have you do it all over again. He stares back at you, head tilted, eyes wide and hungry, watching you expectantly.
“Touch yourself.” He clarifies impatiently. “Play with your tits, finger you pussy, whatever you do when you’re lying in bed alone at night, wishing somebody would fuck you the way you need.”
But you don’t want to be fucked, at least that’s the story you’re feeding yourself. You half gesture to your nether regions as you whisper. “But I’m not wet yet.”
“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, cause you’re not very bright, are you?” He states sharply, straightening his posture and biting his tongue in annoyance as he stubs out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. His patronising should piss you off, but instead you’re embarrassed. You wish you’d had something to drink before coming here. At least then you could blame your simmering arousal for his mistreatment of you on being tipsy. “Come here.”
He grabs onto your wrist, standing to tower over you as his gloved hands tug you across the bed. Much to your shock, he spit down onto your open palm, amusement palpable as he watches your shocked face.
“What’s the matter? Think you’re too good for my spit?”
“No.” You do. You are. However, ‘no’ instinctively felt like the right thing to say.
“No? Good.” The grin on Roman’s face is pure malice, it makes your heart drop and your knees weak. “Open your mouth for me.”
When you take too long prying your dried lips apart, Roman releases your wrists in favour of gripping the back of your head, yanking you back until your mouth falls open to cry out in pain. Before you know it’s happening you feel a glob of spit hit your tongue, and suddenly your bodies desire for him finally wins. You don’t need lube anymore, your folds growing slicker with each second sat under his burning gaze. The shame of knowing he caught it all up close and personal on film only fuelling the fire in your belly. Your whole body practically boils at your indigent actions as you close your mouth and swallow.
“Very good girl.” Roman offers his approval as he releases you, falling back to his position beside the camera.
“Thank you, Daddy.” You’re not sure where the sudden bravery comes from, but you reply cutely as you lay back on the bed once more, spreading your legs and showing the camera how your newfound wetness has started to seep through the delicate fabric.
“Beautiful.” Roman coos, and it’s the most genuine sounding thing he’s ever said to you. The confusing mix of pride and self-loathing has you grunting in annoyance as you push your fingers under your waist band and begin to run your fingers between your folds, collecting moisture from your leaking entrance and rubbing it against your sensitive clit.
You’ve masturbated many times before, but you’ve never been able to cum from your own hands alone. Now seems a bad time to bring this up, so you channel all your energy into it, building as much friction as you can with your hands and focusing your mind on how good you feel right now. Multiple times Roman has to whistle at you, drawing your attention away from the ceiling and back to the camera as you attempt to force your climax. Each time he looks less entertained by your wandering eyes, until eventually you look over at him only to be greeted by the sight of his penis. Immediately you look away once more, gawking down the lens of the camera, no doubt looking flustered and debauched.
“It’s okay baby, you can look at it.” It’s not really a suggestion, so much as an order. Even when he’s speaking softly, he sounds dangerous, so you angle your head to the side. Watching as he idly pumps away, matching your own strokes with a now ungloved hand. “Like what you see?”
A part of you had been hoping it would be smaller, uglier, something to turn your nose up at, but by all accounts, Roman Sionis has a fucking beautiful cock. Something else you could hate him for. It’s straight, cut, a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, and just big enough to stretch you out in all the right places if you sunk low enough to let him fuck you. A thought that’s becoming more and more appealing with every brush to you heated core.
“Yes.” You strain to form words, joints twitching as you continue to play with your oversensitive, under-climaxed cunt. “Your dick is… nice.”
He chuckles at you, again. While admittedly it was not a good word choice, his constant amusement really makes it difficult to ignore the fact that this is all fun and games to him. You’re a joke, a pawn in his agenda. Damn if the sight of him, leaning back, nonchalantly jerking off over your display doesn’t make your toes curl. But it’s still not enough.
“If you hurry up and cream those pretty panties, I‘ll let you play with it?” You surprise him, and yourself by dramatically kicking your feet against the mattress.
“I can’t!” It comes out petulant and needy. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve never been able to do it myself.”
His eyes narrow, head rolling from side to side as he processes your predicament and considers his next move.
“Sit up and look into the camera.” He eventually instructs, standing up himself to get a good look at you through the viewfinder. “Ask daddy real nicely to help you cum, and I might fuck you with my fingers.”
You can feel his eyes glowering into you through the camera as you hesitate. Deliberating whether you’re really going to beg Black Mask to get you off as you follow his command. The moment your fingers seize movement you feel lost. Yes. If it’s the only way to sooth your desires, then yes, you’re going to swallow your pride and beg him.
“Please daddy.” His eyes don’t leave the screen as he bites down on the tip of his remaining glove to remove it, nor when he loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. “I need you, please make me cum.”
“I think you can do better.” His hard-on would disagree, but you’re in no position to point that out. “Roll over, put your ass up for the camera and keep begging for me baby.”
Somehow, having your entire sex front and centre for the camera, hardly concealed by your see-through panties feels a thousand times more exposing than anything you’ve done do far.
“Please.” Your voice grows smaller, but Roman is having none of it.
“Louder.”
“Please fill me with your finger, Daddy.” You start again, willing yourself to speak as loudly as possible. Calling him daddy feels less and less forced each time it rolls off your tongue. “Please, please, please. I’ll do anything.”
Even in your current state, the irony of your last statement isn’t lost on you. Regardless, it has the desired effect. You wait with bated breath, listening to each footfall as Roman deliberately drags his feet across the carpet until he’s stood behind you, completely out of the cameras view you presume but for his hands which come up to cup your ass. You can’t help but moan as he digs his nails into the fat of your cheeks and makes of show of jiggling them.
“Barely even touched you and you’re already cryin’ out like you’re in heat.” He comments, smug as he hooks his fingers in your underwear and works them down your thighs. He teases you by running his pointer finger lightly across your slit, void of any pressure, before delivering an unexpected slap to your cheek. Your legs flinch, another pathetic whine escaping you in reaction, but ultimately it only adds to your pent-up frustration. Only makes you want him more. “You act so prim and proper, but I always knew what you were.”
“What- ” Your question is silenced as Roman finally sinks two fingers between your pussylips, lazily brushing them against your clit in circular motions. It already feels so much better than you’d accomplished alone. You’re so caught up in the feeling that you no longer care about your rapidly deteriorating dignity when he uses his thumbs to pull apart your lips, showing off your dripping entrance, wolf-whistling as he gives the camera the money shot.
“So fuckin’ wet.” Despite his statement, Roman hawks another bead of spit onto it before sliding two more fingers in without resistance. “D’you know what this is?”
“It’s my pussy, daddy.” You answer earnestly, eyes rolling back at the feel of him plunging inside you.
“That’s right baby.” He purrs. “Your pussy. The pussy of a cock hungry slut.”
“Or maybe it’s mine.” He continues, unapologetically shoving his long fingers in and out of your cunt at a demanding pace. All the while his other hand strokes your clit. The wet squelch that emanates with every touch makes you feel so lewd. You squeeze your eyes shut, holding back hot tears of humiliation and desperation as Roman easily brings you closer and closer to the edge. “Maybe I’ll claim it. Maybe I’ll put my nice dick in there and pump you full of daddy’s cum.”
“Fuck!” You can’t think straight, the only thing on your mind is how fucking good this feels. How much better it would feel to have Roman’s cock pulsing inside you. A damp slapping sound begins to ring throughout the room. You realise quickly that it’s your slit, smacking against Romans hands as you subconsciously rock back onto them, matching his rhythm.
“Is that what you want baby? D’you want to give daddy your pussy?” He growls, perfectly in time with the eruption of your orgasm.
“Yes, it’s your pussy, Daddy. Take it, take my pussy.” The words roll off your tongue completely uninhibited. You’ve no capacity to censor yourself, to think for yourself as shockwaves roll through every vein and nerve of your body. “I want your cock, Roman. I want your cum. Please ruin me.”
Roman lets you ride it out, holding still while you grind against him until you come to a complete stop, quietly panting into the comforter until he’s satisfied that you’re done. Then before you know what’s happening, he rips his hands back and delivers a series of rapid strikes to your ass. Harder than the previous one, sure to leave a mark.
“What’s. My. Name. Bitch?” He bites between each hit. “Whose. Your. Fuckin’. Daddy?”
The sudden change in pace has you reeling and scrambling to pull away, but Roman follows until you surrender. “Daddy! You’re my daddy!”
“And don’t you fuckin forget it.” It’s absolutely an order, bitter and laced with scathing levels supressed rage. A reminder of who he is and that he’s calling the shots right now. “Get up here.”
As soon as you’re in range to be gripped without roaming too far into frame, Roman locks his hands around you, manhandling you until your back is to his chest. His hand is around your throat, squeezing just tight enough to restrict but not stop your breathing as he threads a finger between your ass cheeks, poking at the rim of your hole. For a second, he cinches his grip on your neck, causing another tear to roll down your face, adding another streak of mascara to the dried marks from your finger fucking.
“Call my name one more time baby, and I won’t just ruin your pussy.” To emphasis his point, he bullies the tip of his finger inside, grinning when you whinge at the dry, hot pain. “And trust me, no amount of spit is gonna help you then. Got it?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.” He pulls his fingers back from your ass, your sigh of relief cut off by his stiffening grip on your windpipe once more. Instead, you let out a pathetic mix of sputtering and moaning. You deliberately try to stay limp for him, obedient, but when he brings the fingers he’d been fucking you with to your mouth your muscles automatically tense. His warm digits pass your lips, and he brushes his musty fingers on your tongue, forcing you to taste the bittersweetness of both holes. You instinctively try to protest but all that comes out again is weak gasp and strings of drool.
“You like how you taste?” He mocks. “Like being choked?”
If you say yes, he might do it more. If you say no, he’ll definitely do it more, so you hedge your bets and nod for him, coughing out a sad little “yes” around his finger.
“Fuckin’ whore.” That infuriating laugh, again. This time more to himself than to you as he releases your neck and steps away from the bed. He surveys you for a moment, examining your position on the bed as you gasp for air before grabbing the tripod and moving it further down the bed.
“Get on your hands and knee, facing the camera this time.” Once you’ve caught your breath, you reposition yourself as instructed. Weary eyes watching as Roman retrieves his mask from the nightstand. The cosmetic red eyes stare you down as he crosses the room to stand behind you. The bed dips under his weight and your hazy brain finally clicks why he’d been so pissed at you for using his name. It’s not just a humiliation thing. He intended from the beginning to remain anonymous, even if the video was solely for himself. Everybody knew Roman was Black Mask, but nobody could irrefutably prove it, a technicality that kept him out of prison.
The train of thought however is lost when Roman barks out his next instruction. “Take the bra off.”
You're way passed modesty at this point. Frankly, you're relieved to be rid of the plasticky faux feathers digging into your cleavage.
If your bare and open core had been the money shot, this would be the clickbait. A Wayne Scion stripped naked and practically presenting herself for one of Gotham's most notorious crime lords. Sure, nobody could confirm it was him, but between the voice, the suit, and the mask, it was obvious.
You’re grateful when Roman doesn’t spend much time admiring or groping at your breasts, but that gratitude is quickly swallowed by torment when he starts repeatedly thrusts his shaft into your slit, denying your cunt in favour of teasing your clit. The sensation causes you to clench around nothing. Having barely come down from your previous orgasm, your body greedily wants more.
“You should know by now what I want to hear.” Roman croons, securing a hand on your waist to keep you still as he drags the tip of his cock between your folds. He wants you to plead, and at this point you'd do anything to finally feel him inside you. “Don’t make me ask you for it.”
“Please, Daddy.” Clearly also feeling eager, Roman is quick to line himself up with your entrance, pushing in just deep enough to part your labia, but withholding any satisfaction. You let out a salacious moan, nonetheless. “Please fuck my cock hungry pussy!”
“Oh, I’m not just gonna fuck it, baby.” His cock plunges into you without resistance. He’s not overtly thick, but your walls immediately start spasming and stretching around him, hugging him tightly in all the right places. Mouth and pussy drooling for him in an instant as he begins ramming in and out of you, allowing you no time to adjust. It hurts like hell for a few moments, but the pain is so worth the pleasure. “I’m gonna ruin it. That’s what you wanted, right? Want me to pound this filthy fuckin’ cunt like nobody else ever has. You're not gonna want anyone else by the time I’m done with you.”
Every nasty word out of his mouth feels like a threat, it only adds to the sex drunk haze that fogs your mind, and he just keeps snarling. For the first time in your tenuous relationship, you hope he never shuts the fuck up.
“You fuckin’ love it.” He snaps, gripping the back of your neck to keep your head up, all the while slamming into you at a painful pace, knocking the wind out of you as you sob for the camera. “Say it. Say you fucking love being a helpless whore, split open on Daddy dick.”
Any words out of your mouth at this point are completely unintelligible at best. Broken, feeble cries at worst. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to say. Eventually you manage to muster a small “Please… please I want…”, relying on Roman’s strength as you reach for your clit. You’re so damn close, you just need that little push. “Want to cum.”
To his credit, Roman knows exactly what you’re asking for, batting your uselessly pawing hands out of the way so he can rub at your tender bud in short teasing motions, making you arch your back into him.
“You’ll cum when I cum.”
“C-cum in me.” Once again, your voice is barely a whisper, strangled by your tensing muscles, shaken with every snap of Romans hips as you selfishly beg for his release so that he’ll give you your own. “Fill my whore pussy, please, daddy.”
Sick, loud, slapping echoes through the room as Roman hammers into you, using your body to chase his orgasm in bruising, frenzied strokes. His body shudders, breath growing hoarse as he finds it. The combined feel of fingers kneading your clit, and the heat of his seed releasing inside your guts has you tumbling straight after him.
“Take it.” The command isn’t necessary, your walls are milking him for all he’s got as your body trembles beneath him, ecstasy making every aching bone feel like putty as he ladens your sex with his seed. He just loves the sound of his own voice. “Take all of it you greedy little bitch.”
Roman’s breathing is erratic. He stays put, dick growing soft inside you for a long time as he steadies himself. As your high begins to falter you start to process the reality of what you’ve just done. Fortunately, you can find solace in the fact that it’s over.
To nobodies’ surprise, Roman is the first to talk. Finding his voice again as he finally pulls out of you.
“I was serious you know.” A chill runs along your back as he skims a finger between your swollen folds, collecting the excess of his cum. “I've got some live-in cam models over in Tail’s End. You’ve got the potential to make it big, doll.”
“No thanks.” Despite your deadpan, when he guilds your weak body up and shoves his sticky fingers in your face, you open wide, unashamedly cleaning every speck until he retracts them. You watch as he holds them up to the light, inspecting your work. Face now hidden behind his fearsome mask, you’ve no idea what he might be thinking which is probably his intent.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, your body falling forward at the sudden weight displacement as he stands. Your legs are still like jelly, so you resolve not to move until they’re steady or he’s gone. Which ever happens first.
“I gotta head out in a minute, you know your way to the door, right?” You only nod. Quickly coming down from your post-orgasm high whilst you watch Roman making himself presentable again. Well, mostly presentable. He re-buttons his shirt, straightens his tie, and redons his gloves. There is however a wet patch on his crotch, cause by you no doubt. Dependant on where he’s going, you wouldn’t put it past him to leave it on display so he can brag about his latest lay. “Oh, some of Penguins boys are trying to move in on The Basin. Be careful if you're passing that way.”
“Why?” He got what he wanted from you. What should he care what happens to you know? Tim is currently building a case on Cobblepot. So, the only part of that statement you care about is how you’re going to feed that intel to him without revealing your source.
“I don’t want that creature puttin’ his hand on what’s mine.” What’s his? He says it so factually it’s almost laughable. Sure, he’d been a good fuck, but that wasn’t enough to keep you coming back to him. Cocky bastard.
Despite your derision, you nod, humouring him. The sooner he leaves, the better. Then you’ll rarely have to see him again. “Right.”
“Don’t clean up.” He rattles off another demands, now focused on the camera. His hands work quickly, turning it off and ejecting the memory card so fast it must be muscle memory. He’s done this sort of thing before. How many others had he extorted like this? When the memory card is tucked safely away in his wallet, Roman scoops the discarded panties from the floor, pressing them to his wooden nose and sniffing before tossing them over to you. “Put those back on. I want you to stink of your own arousal all the way home. Want you to feel all that cum inside you and know who put it there.”
You can’t hold your contempt back any longer at this point. Glaring, you scoff at him. “I’ll pass.”
“I don't think you understand the nature of our arrangement.” He snarls back. You were so close to being rid of him but now he’s doubling back to you. The permanent leer of his masks red eyes staring you down as he leans close to your supine form. “You don't get to pass.”
“My debt to you is paid.” You spit. When you make to sit up his gloved hand latches onto your jaw, muffling your speech as you try to argue with him. “Tonight was me getting straight with you.”
“Thats right.” His faux-soft tone contrasts with the demeaning drip of spit he aims onto your cheek. In retaliation you attempt to pull away, digging your nails into the thick fabric of his suit jacket to no avail. “I’ll make sure nobody in Gotham, especially that bitchboy father of yours ever finds out about your little incident.”
Rubbing in his control over you, Roman begins massaging his saliva into your skin. Seemingly trying to clean up your smudged make-up, no doubt purposefully smearing it further around your face.
“But unless you want the contents of our little home video on the homepage of every tabloid and gossip site in the country, you'll keep doing as I say.”
The reality of the situation kicks in, and suddenly you do feel like a little girl. Roman Sionis had tricked you, he’s never intended to make things even. From the moment he’d ‘requested’ a meeting, he’d been planning on keeping you under his thumb and like the naïve child you were, and you’d fell for it, every step of the way.
“You promised nobody would ever see it.” Your voice is small and pitiful, even to you. No doubt Roman is grinning like a fat-cat beneath his veneer.
“And if you make a liar out of me, neither of us is going to be happy.” You’re not proud of the tears the follow, releasing Roman’s arm in favour of dabbing at your eyes. Breathing deeply, you try to stop from blubbering. You’re so angry, but you don’t have the energy to fight. “Now you're getting it.”
You sit stiffly as Roman’s leather clad hand wander your face. Patting and pinching your cheeks in mock affection.
“This is a cute look. Bet your brother's fawn all over it. Personally, I just wanna stick my dick between those pouty lips.” His words sting, they make your stomach nauseous. Your brothers would fly of the handle if they could see you know. Jason in particular would probably be more pissed than your father.
Eventually Roman releases you, and you hastily stand to start redressing yourself, but as you do his cum begins to trickle out from your still gaping cunt, and you almost retch at the feeling.
“This must be hard for you. Tell you what, why don't you stay here? Avoid the family until you've come to terms.” Continuing to parody genuine tenderness, Roman catches your wavering body and brings you close, gently wrapping you up in his arms. You can’t deny it feels nice, his warmth, his smell. Your fickle centre betrays you, growing wet once more, even as the rest of your body wants to curl up and die from your foolishness. “I've got some business to attend to, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Get some rest, and when you're good and ready we’ll test how much of daddy’s cock you can take down your throat before you start choking?”
Keep Me Forever ♥︎
“I will get you back. Might not be today, might not be any time soon. Hell, if it takes years, I will have you again.”

Black Mask/Reader, 2.3K Warnings: Non-explicit non-con, spiking, alcohol consumption, mild threats of violence. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT AN: This senario has been floating around in my head for a few days, and then I was struck by the writing bug in the middle of the night and just had to turn it into something. Side note: Story contains maskless Roman.

Roman has intentionally been dragging his feet with the divorce proceedings. Which is why you're outright shocked when you find him lingering outside your place of work one morning.
His commitment to maintain even a shred of control over you is almost impressive, you wish he’d shown that kind of adherence to mending your marriage before it was too late. The purposeful delay in signing the paperwork is the latest in a string of stunts to prevent the inevitable. Predictably it had started a lot more confrontationally, with threats of, and often actual acts of violence and criminal damage. He’d had people following you, he’d slandered your name across town, any dirty, underhanded tactic you could think of, he’d tried it. That had been difficult to handle for certain, but his newest strategy of outright ignoring the issue at hand came with its own issues.
Frightful that he's done a 180 and is here to yell and scream and demand you come home again, you spend a long time watching him from afar until you can't put it off any longer without being late for your shift.
“Roman you had better-” You’re disorientated when he greets you with a smile. Not just any smile. A round-cheeked, soft-eyed smile, the kind he used to give you when you'd first fallen for each other.
He pulls you into a hug and holds your face as he tells you that you look good, that he's missed you. “No, not like that, just, uh, yeah…”
There's an endearingly nervous energy to him that you haven't seen in years. He sure knows how to keep you guessing.
“Look, I'm sorry I dropped in on you like this.” His gloved hands gently squeeze yours, holding them against his chest. His dark eyes gaze at you through wispy lashes that you've always admired, if not envied. You've missed calm, close moments like this. “I want to take you out for dinner.”
When you wince, he squeezes you a little harder.
“No, no, no. It's not like that. Please, let me take you out, my treat and we’ll get this whole divorce thing straightened out, okay? I promise.”
Against your better judgement, you bite. As amiable as he’s being, you're certain there’s an ulterior motive at play.
The next night he sends a town car to pick you up, and you're all kinds of rueful when it pulls up outside the lions den; The Riverside condo Roman and you had shared for the majority of your relationship.
“I know, I know, I swear I didn't plan this.” He chuckles playfully when you pull him up on it. He’s dressed casually, or as casual as Roman gets in slacks, a linen button-down, and a novelty apron you’d bought him years ago. As he pulls out your chair and pours your drink you note that he’s removed his gloves and is still wearing his wedding ring. “I just thought it might be nice to stay in. I made your favourite, come on, you can't be mad at that can you?”
No, you suppose not, but you can be mad when he proceeds to spend the next few hours distracting from the dinner's intended subject in favour of trying to wistfully remind you about the good times you've shared, or cooing over how good you look. For all his flaws, Roman is very charming when he wants to be. Between the company, the food, and the drinks, it’s not an unpleasant night, but a trip down memory lane and honeyed flattery is not what you’re here for.
“Look, it's clear you have no intention of actually talking about our separation.” You finally crack over dessert, throwing in your napkin when he attempts to hold your hand.
“Well excuse the fuck outta me for tryina’ mend the bridge you burned.” His skin is growing hot, muscles taut as an all too familiar fury rises to the surface. There's the Roman you served papers too. So typical of him to blame you. To start seeing red the moment you refuse to be twisted around his little finger.
“Don’t lie.” You cross your arms. “You're not trying to make reparations; you're trying to kiss and make up!”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes.” No sooner does the word leave your mouth when he grips the table, lifting it to hurl in anger.
You dart up as well, instinctively grabbing for the plates and cutlery as it topples toward you. Roman’s red wine hits your chest, the sudden wetness causing you to gasp and all of a sudden, the table is back on its legs.
The embrace he wraps you in this time is much more forceful. One arm loops around your back and holds you in place by the elbow while he pats you down with tissues. A purveyor of white suits, Roman knows how to dab at a wine stain, and this is not the correct method. He's just moving it around, likely using it as an excuse to grope the body he's been missing as he murmurs through gritted teeth.
“It's okay, I got it, I got it. Stop fuckin’ squirming, let me help you.”
Eventually, you surrender, growing limp in his arms to get it over with. It's obvious he's taken aback by your sudden compliance but clearly, he appreciates it as evidenced by the smirk that lines his lips by the time he's done.
“I wouldn't have hurt you.” He says quietly, leaning his body close to yours.
“I know.” You lie, too tired of this whole show to fight.
His fingers are too familiar, too intimate as he caresses your jawline, taking advantage of your passivity. His own jaw grows tight when you turn your head to dodge the kiss he tries for.
“I should go.” At your words he lightens his grip, not enough to let you go, but enough for him to rub his hands up and down your back, trying and oddly succeeding to comfort you.
“Don't go yet, please.” Roman doesn't beg, but this might be the closest he's ever come. “Your wardrobe is still full. Get changed, I’ll pour us fresh drinks and we’ll… we’ll talk about the divorce.”
That chestnut is growing old, but if it means never coming back here again, you're willing to take a chance.
An attempt has been made to clean things up from whatever chaos Roman had caused after you left, but your old walk-in wardrobe is barely recognisable. The mirrors are all but gone, empty frames and missed shards litter the walls and floor. Your vanity chair lays on its side, missing all but one leg. About half of the clothes you’d left behind, the pieces that Roman had curated for you have been ripped or discarded on the floor.
It takes a while but eventually, you find something comfortable and undamaged to wear.
With no mirrors to check your reflection in, you detour into your old bedroom, glancing at yourself only briefly before you spot something that causes a funny feeling in your gut. On the bedside table, your bedside table is a singular hoop earring and a handful of hair ties, none of which belong to you.
The green monster can be a funny devil, it grabs you when you least expect it. This doesn't change your feelings, you have no intention of running back to Roman, to ‘reclaim’ him, but the thought of another woman in this room, in his arms, on your side of the bed makes your chest ache. So much so that you find yourself settling on the comforter, toying with the soft fabric you’d picked out as you attempt to process the situation.
You must be gone for a while because Roman comes looking for you. Other than “Ah! There you are.” He doesn't say anything, just hands you a champagne flute and sits beside you in silence until you point to the foreign objects that litter your former space.
“Oh, erm.” He furrows his brows as he thinks hard. “Probably Candy or maybe Alexa.”
He picks up the earring, turning it over between his lithe fingers. “I think it might even be Francie… or was it Franny? Something with an F.”
You're not sure if it disgusts you that there's been so many women, all evidently interchangeable to him, or pleases you that none seem to have left an impression. A perplexing amalgamation of both, amongst other things.
To ward off the flurry of complex emotions you down the drink in your hand, chugging it all back in one go. The sharp taste and harsh bubbles that scratch your throat on the way down cause you to purse your lips and scrunch your eyes closed.
Roman laughs at your funny face, not unkindly. It feels earnest, in ways he hadn't expressed in a long time. Affectionate even and you can't help giggling in tandem. The longer it goes on, the more flushed you start to feel. A strange warmth stemming from your stomach spreads throughout your body, making you feel light and giddy.
Roman draws closer and you sigh at his musk. You hadn't noticed earlier but he's wearing the aftershave you'd always fawned over whenever he’d worn it while you were together.
“You’re as beautiful as the day we meet.” You maybe-kinda-sorta recall him using that line earlier over dinner, but it makes you weak regardless. Determined not to cave however, you shake your head, ignoring how your cheeks feel hot. Tentatively he takes your face in his hands and guides you to look at him. “No matter how you try to deny it, you always were, and always will be mine.”
The weight in your chest is gone, replaced by the racing of your heart.
Obviously, you'd always thought he was handsome. The best-looking man you'd ever met, but from this angle, this close he’s really… wow.
You do say something in response, but you can hardly remember what.
Lightheaded, you fall back on the bed under the force of Roman’s lips on yours. As he presses you deeper into the sheets with his weight something cold clinks onto your neck, causing you to hiss into the fervid kiss. Roman pulls back to check on you, as he sits up the cold retracts with him. A gold chain has slipped out from beneath his shirt, dangling between your bodies. In lieu of a pendant, the wedding and engagement bands you’d returned to him hang between you.
That's the last thing you remember before you wake, alone, confused, naked, and sore as hell the following morning. You've no idea what he did to you, but it's not hard to put two and two together.
Your legs are weak, and the bright lights hurt your eyes, but you manage to find clothes and stumble down the hallway.
Roman’s voice echoes throughout the apartment, putting you on edge, but eventually, your mind wakes enough to realise he's on a ‘business’ call, which actually provides you with the perfect cover to get out without pursuit.
It doesn't last long, however, like the calm before the storm. Fate only spares you enough time to get home.
Two things are realised as you try to scour the shame from your skin under the hot stream of your shower. Roman realises that you’re gone and starts blowing up your phone with calls and texts, each ping disturbs your safe haven like a 21st-century omen. The second realisation comes when you feel something cool on your scalp as you shampoo your hair. Drawing your hands down to examine the cause, you realise that at some point Roman had returned the rings to your finger.
When the water finally runs cold you reluctantly head to your bedroom. Still damp, you scroll through the flurry of notifications on your phone. Skimming over each text, you can see his downward spiral as he descends from short, well-written messages to paragraphs upon paragraphs brimming with capitalisation. You’re prepared to turn your phone off and ignore him until a series of voice notes pique your morbid interest.
Bracing yourself, you pull the towel tight around your body like a comfort blanket as you press play on the first one.
[New Recording 001] 0:00 〇───── 1:23 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
Nothing but a strange tapping can be heard for the first few seconds. You're confused until you hear your voice whining and huffing in sync with what you now realise is the sound of skin on skin. Of Roman’s hips as he drills into you. You must have been excessively wet to make for such a vulgar slapping sound.
[New Recording 002] 0:00 〇───── 1:46 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
The second recording begins with Roman’s voice, whispering something low and indecipherable. You cringe when you hear yourself respond with a loud moan, and; “Oh fuck- oh FUCK, I missed your dick, Roman. Missed feeling you deep inside me.”
Heat rises through every inch of your body as you take it all. If Roman could see you now, stone faced and furious, he certainly wouldn’t call you beautiful.
[New Recording 003] 0:00 〇───── 5:04 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
“I love you!” “I love you too baby-” You choke on air, hitting pause on the third recording and taking a break to wallow before letting the rest play. “-you ever gonna leave me again?” “No, nonononono, I’ll never leave you, never ever.”
“Want you to keep me forever.” You sound dazed. Positively fucked. Every word out of your lips is slurred and breathless. “I know you do; always knew you couldn't keep away from me.”
[New Recording 015] 0:00 〇───── 1:59 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
“More? Only if you beg.” Roman sounds elated, like a pig in shit. “Please-”
Whatever he'd slipped you can't have been a roofie, you’re too lucid, too vocal. Possibly an aphrodisiac? He probably paid big bucks for something Ivy had cooked up.
There are so many more, varying in levels of filth and soppiness.
[New Recording 022] 0:00 〇───── 0:47 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
In the last one, he asks if you still want a divorce and your drugged-up, sex-hazed, idiot self cries “No, no Roman, I love you. I want to be with you forever.”
He follows it with one last text:
Call me, or I'm sending this to my lawyer.