Roman Sionis - Tumblr Posts
“Birds of Prey” character posters combined together
Over here having a heart attack don’t mind me
A collection of my favorite Ewan McGregor photos, as requested, by @mishafuckincollins
im really excited for arkham origins but mostly for black mask because wow what a cutie
au where roman acts like an awkward teenager around tough guys who wear leather jackets
There’s a man going around in the town Spreading lies, he’s the bad businessman Does his business while he can He just does his business bad
He’s a clown, going to get bounced around If he don’t keep his business underground He’s a player and every time he deals a round It’s just a bad hand, what a bad man
Bad This Time - Roman Sionis
Roman Sionis x Fem!Reader (Joker & Harley Daughter)
Warnings: none
Word count: 201
Summary: Being the daughter of Joker & Harley and dating Roman Sionis. But when her mother had been disturbing his business.
Authors Note: First Roman Sionis imagine.
Masterlist
DC Masterlist
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“Sweet;s.” Roman greeted Y/n with a kiss on the cheek and a wide smile.
“Roman.” Y/n greeted back.
“Your mother is here. Again.” He told her as they turned and headed towards the bar.
“I noticed.” Y/n glanced over to where she saw her mother dancing on a table.
Roman tilted his head letting out a breath. “Sweet’s I don’t think I need to say it, but-”
Y/n nodded looking down at her signature drink the bar keep placed in front of her. “I know. She’s been more out of control lately.”
Roman noticed Y/n’s glum expression and he didn’t like it. It didn’t sit well in his chest. “Mind sharing?”
Y/n let out a stressed sigh. “Her and dad broke up. Again. But it’s bad this time.”
“How bad this time?” Roman asked, wrapping his arm around her waist and started to rub circles into her hip.
“She burned down Ace Chemicals. That was their place.” Y/n told him looking up into his eyes. They both knew how bad that was without further words needed.
“Don’t worry, Sweet’s.” Roman squeezed her closer, his way of saying that he’ll help her through this.
Taglist: @padawancat97
Black Mask/ Jason Todd
fan art
Would Roman get pussy drunk or really into nailing his S/O? Just almost coherent and lost into them ... as they're getting slammed real hard from behind 👀
Oh, for sure. Anon, you caught me in a mood cause this might have gotten away from me a little bit.
≈ 350 words 18+ Minors DNI
When you wake him by riding his morning wood, and he’s still half asleep. Nothing going on in his dozy head but the sight of you above him like some kind of erotic angel, your walls tight and warm and wet around him. He tries to say something, a sarcastic 'good morning', or comment about how beautiful you look but all that escapes him is a pathetic groan as his eye’s role back, cumming deep inside you with no prior build-up.
When his tongue is buried between your folds, his chin already slick with your juices. He doesn’t partake in the narcotics he ships out to the poorer neighbourhoods, but he swears this must be what its like, you’re like fucking crack. He doesn’t care what you’re a crying, twitching, pleading mess. Doesn’t care that your pussy lips are already red and swollen. He just cares about consuming you, completely. About making you cum again and again. About swallowing up every drop of that salty-sweet nectar he forces out of you.
When he has you bent over the nearest surface he can find. When he’d started, he’d showered you with alternating praise and degradation, the kind that always had you hot and flustered with red hot shame.
“That’s it pretty baby, stay still, ooohhh good girl/boy/enby/whatever.”
“Yeah, you like that, like it when daddy stretches your tight little whore pussy?”
“God you’re useless, really just a needy fucking cocksleeve, huh?”
But by now he’s lost in it too. Pounding in and out of your already oversensitive folds. He’s already made you cum more times than either of you can count, its dripping down your legs, aiding to the pornographic sounds of your skin slapping together, to the lewd squelching triggered every time his tip hits your cervix. Theres no words in his head, not a single thought that isn’t ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, pussy, so good, fuck’, he doesn’t even realise his panting, exhaling raspy uncharacteristic whimpers. He has no idea how long he can keep this up for, how long he has until he cant hold back from pumping you full of his load, but damn if he doesn’t intend to keep going for as long as his body will allow.
Hi! Here I am with a Black Mask request 🖤. Could you write something where someone is threatening towards the reader and Roman gets protective about it?
Possessive Roman is great too but I wanna see this man go full protective mode!
You don't have to be sorry, Sweetheart.
Black Mask/Reader, 1.8K words
Request Info || Masterlist || Ko-Fi
Rubbing my hands together like a hungry little racoon being fed. I forgot how feral this man makes me. I took me a while to find my Black Mask head space again, but my Roman is almost always based on an amalgamation of his 60-2000s-ish comic appearances, for reference. Oh and the mask, that does NOT come off. 🖤
Roman doesn't take kindly to an ex employee affronting you, after leaving you alone in a bar. Rated: 18+
CWs: Swearing, blood, spit, threats of violence, actual violence, and some more violence, switchblade, derogatory names: bitch, petnames: sweetheart, failure to wear seatbelts (- please don’t do that irl), protective Roman, somewhat possessive Roman, unhealthy relationship/toxic dynamics.
Please remember: You are stronger than your fears and doubts
Roman Sionis is no stranger to getting his hands dirty. In fact, anyone who’d worked close enough with him, himself included could tell you that Roman thrills in dirty work. However, there are some essential jobs that even Roman won’t touch. When these errands come up, there’s only one place to go to find a runt with morals low enough to get it done.
Noonan’s is the worst bar in Gotham, at least in your opinion. Roman didn’t seem to care much for it either. In fact, the first time you’d accompanied him on a business meeting there he’s told you; “This place is dicey at the best of times. Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as fuckin’ looks at you the wrong way, you come get me, alright, Sweetheart? I’ll set 'em straight.” And hadn’t let you leave his side until you’d sworn to come find him at the first sign of trouble.
Usually, you didn’t run into any real problems during the scarce amount of times you’d been there. Roman would conduct his dealings in a function room out back while you tried to keep to yourself. Most people knew who you were, who you were with, and were smart enough to keep to themselves. Nursing a drink in a dark corner typically didn’t draw any more issues than a few side-ways looks. Looks that didn’t seem worth mentioning to Roman. You love him, but he knows how to make a scene, and a scary one at that. It isn’t always worth the fuss. Usually.
It seems somebody was feeling unusually gutsy today. From the moment you’d entered, a familiar face had been watching you. You didn’t know their name, honestly, you likely couldn’t name a single person in this place. But you knew a lot of their faces, Noonan’s always seemed to draw the same crowd of washed-up and bitter ex-goons. Moments after Roman had taken his leave, your watcher approached, tripping over drunken feet until he was close enough to slam his drink onto your table, splashing you with beer in the process.
“Hey, you.” He leans over, pointing a finger in your face, far too close for comfort.
Careful to avoid elevating the situation you remain as still as possible, only moving your eyes in order to get a better look at him. Up close you can see smatterings of scars, and tattoos. He’s clearly tried to pay his dues with a lot of Gotham’s crime bosses and villains. A question mark, a penguin, a black skull.
“Yes, may I help?” You ask cordially, offering a smile.
“You’re Sionis’ bitch ain’t ya?” He slurs as he speaks, spit dripping onto his chin, and ricocheting towards you. “I got a bone to pick with that asshole.”
“Well, I’m afraid he’s busy.” You’d tried to be amicable but now your hospitable tone is gone, replaced with as much nonchalant venom as you can muster. “And his ‘bitch’ doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“I don’t give a shit what you want.” He bangs a fist against the table. Luckily, you’d seen it coming and had had the foresight to grab your drink. But whoever this fucker was, had not. More of the amber liquid spills out onto the table. “That bastard fucked with the wrong guy when he laid me off. Do you know who I am?”
Do you know who he is? No, and you relay that information by staring at him with a pointedly blank glare.
“I said, do you know who I FUCKING AM?” Spit fires from his lips, hitting your face, you feel your already simmering blood begin to boil with each drop. “I’m. Henry. FUCKING Byrne.”
“Good for you, ‘Henry fucking Byrne’ but…” You shouldn’t say it, you know you’ll only provoke him, but he’s on your last nerve. “I. don’t. FUCKING. care.”
“You don’t care, I don’t bleeding care, I don’t care who cares! But he’s gonna care…” Your comment has set him into a long, drunken, incomprehensible ramble, you presume the ‘he’ in reference is Roman, but all other thoughts are cancelled out by the sight of Henry removing a switchblade from his back pocket. As he leans in closer, pointing the blade in your direction, the gravity of the situation sets in. If you don’t act soon, you might just meet your maker in fucking Noonan’s. Tragic. “He’s gonna fucking care when I wreck his bitch.”
Searching for a defence, an exit route, anything, your eyes dart around the bar, quickly locating your salvation.
His pristinely tailored suit highlights him amongst the crowd, the waxy polish of his mask glowing under the dingy low-handling lights. He advances with confident, assertive strides. Instant relief floods through you, followed by a completely different brand of panic.
Relieved to know that you’re almost certainly safe, panicked by the thought of whatever mess he’s about to make.
Despite the tap of Roman’s shoes and your obvious stare, Henry is too wrapped up in his own anger and babblings to notice the impending danger. Like a frantic school of fish being advanced upon by a shark.
He doesn’t deserve your kindness, but you offer it anyway, sliding your chair back, out of his reach as you shout; “Roman, don’t.”
“I just wanna talk.” He spits, holding both hands up, feigning innocence, showing that he’s unarmed. As if he needed a weapon to be dangerous. It’s a lie, you both know it.
Alerted to Roman's presence, Henry begins to turn but is stopped by a leather-clad hand fixing to the soft spot on the back of his head. With rapid force, he’s pushed face-first against the table. Once, twice, three times. Blood is pouring from his nose, mixing with the already murky puddles of spilt beer. Stray chunks of what you can only assume are broken teeth jump with every collision.
Henry’s knife clatters against the floor, narrowly missing your foot. You grab it, holding tight.
“Roman stop.” You say, certain you’re no longer at risk. “He’s had enough!”
Roman's brown eyes bore into you as he slows, gripping tight to your almost attacker's neck, guiding him back into a standing position.
“Do you think you’ve had enough?” He asks through gritted teeth.
“Yes, yes sir. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Henry’s already slurred speech is muffled even more by his own fluids.
“Oh, you’re sorry.” Roman mocks, his neck is red with rage, his mask creaks as he juts his jaw back and forth, a habit you’ve learned is a calming mechanism, something he’d picked up since getting his pacemaker fitted. It isn’t working. “See ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it, you need to be taught a lesson.”
Using his free hand, Roman reached over to you, pulling the switchblade from your clutching fingers.
“Cause you see, when you mess with what’s mine, you mess with me.” Tension hangs thick in the air, every patron is watching, waiting to see how this unfolds, what the infamous Black Mask will do next. “And nobody messes with me.”
“Roman.” You warn, standing and placing your hand on Roman's shoulder, gently tugging at him, urging him to cool off.
“Fine, I’m gonna let you go.” Henry’s face hits the table one last time with a hard smack, followed by the sickening crunch of his own blade being stabbed through his hand, pinning him to the table. “But be grateful, and know that if I see your face anywhere near us again, I won’t be so gentle.”
All eyes remain on you both as you turn to leave. Roman doesn’t care. He firmly wraps a hand around your upper arm, leading you between tables, past the bar, and toward the door.
“Let that be a lesson to all of you.” He chides the onlookers in one last display of warning, before making his exit.
The time passes in a blur as Roman guides you outside, summons the car, herds you inside, and informs the driver to take you home, all the while his hands never leave your form, but once the car starts running time rapidly slows.
You sit together on the back seat, in silence. Roman is not traditionally expressive, for obvious reasons, but you’ve been together long enough to pick up on his emotional tells. He’s rolling his jaw again, and flexing his hand in and out of a fist shape, trying to cool off, trying to prevent himself from snapping at you.
In an effort to help soothe his anger you manoeuvre closer, until your sides brush together. You move to place your hand on his chest, but he grips your wrist, denying you.
“What did I say?” He isn’t yelling, but there’s still an anger to his tone, and a hardness in his eyes that you’re not accustomed to being on the receiving end of. Before you can respond he continues; “I told you, if anything happens, you come get me. What was that?”
“I know, I know, but I’m fine.” You reassure, nudging your arm until he releases you. “I’m sorry, I thought I could handle him, but it just escalated so quickly.”
His look softens, never able to stay mad at you for long. He lets your hand fall against the soft fabric of his blazer. In a quick, practiced motion he lifts your legs up and over his own, positioning you into a cradled position. Removing his gloves before resting one hand on your lower back, and the other on your thigh where he strokes his hand in slow circles.
“You don’t have to be sorry, sweetheart, just promise me, next time you sense trouble, you come to me.”
It would be easy to lie to him, to make an impossible promise, he tells white lies all the time. But you know he values your honesty, he has expectations for you that he does not hold himself to, you’re the light to his darkness. “If I can, I will, I promise, but it’s not always that simple Roman. I’ve got to defend myself sometimes.”
He lets you talk, but he’s shaking his head, disagreeing before you can finish.
“This isn’t up for discussion.” He speaks in the gentlest tone, a voice that is reserved for your ears only. “I know you’ve had to look out for yourself in the past, but you’re mine now, and always. You don’t have to do that anymore.”
Your back hits the plush upholstery of the car seat, contrasting with the hard wood of Roman’s mask pushing against your lips. You welcome the familiar mahogany smell, the taste of spice that invades your senses. Kisses from Roman are never gentle, they’re harsh and cold against your skin, no matter how gently he runs his hands along your body.
When he’s satisfied, he pulls away, just enough to get a good view of your face, to look into your eyes. The coolness of his forehead presses to yours.
“Nobody is more important to me than you.” His voice is sharp and gritty. He holds you just a little bit tighter. “I’d burn this city to the ground before I let anything happen to you.”
WE ARE SO (TENTAVELY) BACK
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?”
I live for the Bruce and Roman rivalry
Have we discussed Roman’s separated wife hooking up with Bruce Wayne? You and Bruce have always been cordial, so when Roman doxxes you, Bruce lets you stay at the Manor and cry on his shoulder until the wine bottle is empty. He’s so nice and his hand is so warm on your cheek and oh Lord, it’s bigger than your face and you can’t remember the last time you felt safe while a man was touching you. You try to make a move, but Bruce knows he’s overindulged you (partially to get info about Roman but he’ll feel guilty about it later), so he stops you…but promises he’ll be more than ready and willing when you’re in your right mind and decide you still want this. You wait anxiously the entirety of the next day, until Bruce shows up at your door in the sluttiest t-shirt and sweatpants you’ve ever seen, his ginormous hand finding its place on your face again while the other one is slipping under the hem of your shirt.
Slutty top? You've hit a nerve anon, cause now all I'm thinking about is Brucie in a slutty little crop top, like sir put that washboard away before I bite it! Honestly, feral for anyone of any shape and size in a crop top, just show me your belly, please. Yeah, that would work on me.
But to answer your question, no we have not discussed this but we certainly can!!!!
Like, I can say earnestly, when he invited you to stay with him, sleeping with you did not cross his mind; he was purely thinking about;
Helping you get out of a bad situation
Good for the Brucie Wayne image (so long as the press don't get wind of it until you've found somewhere permanent to move too)
(as mentioned) Chance to get info on Black Mask
But the moment you flash that perfectly poised smile, even though you’re clearly on the brink of tears, he's thinking ‘Uh oh. I'm in trouble.’
He never thought much of you while you were with Roman, if maybe a little bit sorry for you. The extent of your relationship was occasional networking with Bruce at events, and Batman peeking through your windows at night to check on you when Roman was at his worst or imprisoned.
It helps that he thought you were pretty.
But now, as he's getting to know you on a personal level, seeing that you're stronger than he'd thought, and smarter. You're letting down walls and actually relaxing, and in his domain at that! It stirs something within him.
And for you, like Roman and Bruce are the same age, from similar backgrounds, similar personas for the public (charming and rich) but it's crazy to see how different they really are.
When you talk, Bruce isn't just waiting for his turn to speak, he listens.
There's no coercion when you set a boundary, he just respects it. Which funnily enough makes you more willing to share. He's just so easy to trust.
When you ask about interesting pieces around his house, he doesn't brag about where it's from and what it costs. Instead, he tells you stories about his parents or his kids interacting with it.
He's funny, and respectful, not at all what you'd expected.
And did you mention handsome? Oh, he's very handsome. That dark hair and those blue eyes. The chiselled jaw and the dimples and he smells good too, you find that out after you bury your nose into his chest while he's carrying you to bed that first night. You're tipsy, and his house is a maze, he's just trying to help and not at all showing off his strength.
The same way he's just dressed so casually the following day when he comes to find you, this is what he always lounges around. He's totally not subtly flexing his glamour muscles as you open the door.
Now, Roman is by no means bad in bed. He's just, shall we say, selfish? He has a set way in life and sex that he expects you to live up to.
Bruce though? He's a giver. He can take, when appropriate, but right now, he knows what you need.
You need those big hands on your waist as he chases you into the bed with his mouth. You need them soothing your tired body, massaging all the stress out of your aching body. You need his thumb to rub circles into your inner thighs while he kisses, and sucks, and laps at your hot, wet sex. You need his long hard fingers pumping into that sweet little hole, again and again until you cum all over them.
And that is just the start.
But you know one other really important thing you need? Some goddamn aftercare.
He knows it straight away, shouldn’t have been surprised. But when your body immediately falls limp after he rolls off of you, when you look at him confused as he asks if you need anything he knows your life has been lacking kindness for so long that you barely even recognise when it's extended to you.
He's not good at the emotional stuff, at comforting words but he reasons that you probably don't need to hear it right now. Don't need to be reminded of your mistakes, of your past.
Instead, he pulls you into him, wrapping his warmth around you like a giant weighted blanket. Holding you until you accept his affection and melt into his arms.
Meanwhile, the False Facers can't breach Bruces security, can't get a good look into the Manor. Which means they don't know what you're doing there. But they know you're there, and that means Roman knows you're there.
And Romans not stupid, you sneaky, no good, selfish whore.
He gave you everything, and this is how you repay him? You nasty little bitch.
Don't get comfy, because the moment you step outside those gates, the second you let your walls down, he's going to rock your shit. You're going to pay for all the crap you've put him through, tenfold.
Would anyone like to talk about Ewan McGregor with me?
Which Ewan character should I make a headcanon alphabet for next? I want to write and I'm not feeling inspired.
FANDOM ALERT 🚨 FANDOM ALERT 🚨
Attention all Ewan McGregor fans! This is not a drill!
I'm pumped! I'm hype! I'm frothing at the mouth cuz TODAY'S THE BIG DAYYYYYY 🎉🎉🎉
Ewan is getting his star on the Walk of Fame TODAY at 11:30am Pacific Time!
Make sure to double check the time conversion for your zone!
The ceremony will be streamed live on www.walkoffame.com
I'm excited to show up and SHOW OUT for our mans!🤩🤩🤩
At my job, we're allowed to wear Halloween costumes throughout the month of October!
It'd be a shame if I didn't dress up as at least ONE Ewan McGregor character.
Obi-Wan is probably the only genuine costumey character, but in the very likely event that I can't find the materials to do his outfit, I need a backup.
Can you guys help me brainstorm costumes to put together?