#like V's own private creep

[jacksothereye]

"Maybe I could'a had her.

Problem is I couldn't keep her."

[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.1

Chapter Summary: Tommy asks for your help proposing to Maria, causing both you and Joel to reflect on your own relationship.

Chapter Warnings: language, mentions of alcohol, fear of commitment, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v unprotected sex, dirty talk

WC: 6.1K

Series masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: hi everyone! if you're new and didn't read the first story, this follows a slightly different timeline. Essentially, Joel and Tommy had a very successful construction business in NYC and reader worked for them pre-outbreak, so I've written in this story a slightly younger version of Joel given the timeline.

Thank you to everyone who loved the first one so much that it encouraged me to write a sequel! I really hope you like it, and I want to emphasize there will be a happy ending to this story. Thanks for reading!

June 2007

"Can't thank you enough for your help, darlin'," Tommy said, his voice trying and failing to hide the anxiety that plagued his mind.

"Don't mention it," you told him, finishing up the final touches on the bouquet of flowers, wrapping a beautiful satin ribbon around the stems before handing it over. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me," he blurted out, and your hands instantly flew to your mouth, covering your excited gasp.

"Tommy!" you squealed, bouncing on the balls of your feet, trying to contain your energy before giving up and rounding your workstation to wrap your arms around him, being mindful not to crush the flowers he was holding. "I'm so happy for you, oh my god!"

"Well, thanks, but she ain't agreed, yet," he said, running a shaky hand through his long hair.

"She's going to say yes, don't be silly," you told him, a smile permanently etched on your face. You and Maria have been close friends ever since you met three years ago. You considered her to be your closest friend in Jackson, and you were thrilled at the idea of your best friend about to experience the happiest moment of her life. Tommy had come a long way from the man you knew before the outbreak, his days of chasing every girl that tossed him a smile long behind him.

"So, how are you going to do it?" you asked excitedly as he shifted back and forth on his feet. He paused and flicked his eyes up.

"Uh," he said, growing shifty. "Well, I dunno. Do I gotta plan somethin'?"

"Yes!" you said, rolling your eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

"Well, shit, I didn't think that far ahead!" he exclaimed, turning to pace around the greenhouse.

"Don't stress, we'll figure something out," you assured him, scooting back so you could lift your hips and sit on your workstation tabletop. "Did you find a ring?"

"Yeah, I got that, at least," he said, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he dug it out of his pocket. You plucked it from his fingers carefully so you could get a better look at the three round, shiny diamonds set on the center of a gold band.

"It's perfect," you told him warmly, handing it back. He allowed a small smile as he shoved it back into the safety of his pocket.

"Will you help me figure out how to do it?" he asked.

"Of course I will," you told him. "She doesn't like a fuss. It should be private. Small. Romantic. And you need to come up with something thoughtful to say." He nodded, his gaze traveling to the wall, lost in thought before he shifted his eyes back to you.

"Like what?"

"Tommy! Come on!" you scolded him, shoving his shoulder.

"I ain't good at all that, cut me some slack!" he said with a grin. "I need an example. What would you wanna hear?"

You paused, your smile frozen on your face as you felt your blood run cold. Your smile began to slowly slip as your heart slammed in your chest, anxiety creeping up your neck, ears ringing. Naturally, you were thinking about Joel bending down on one knee, professing his love to you and begging you to be his forever. A thought that should have filled you with warmth, but instead, scared you shitless. And your reaction itself made it even worse. Why would the thought of Joel proposing scare you? You never wanted anyone else. Once you met, it just wasn't a question anymore. You were his, and he was yours. An understanding, it didn't need to be said. So why does the thought of him saying it make you feel like you're falling down an endless hole in the ground?

"Um," you managed to squeak out, but Tommy had already moved on, wrapped up in his own dilemma.

"I think I know what I could say," he said, not noticing your sudden paralysis. "Can you do me a favor, though? Could you round up any candles you ain't usin'? Preferably unscented, don't need the whole place smellin' like a mix of cookies, pine and roses."

"Yeah, of course. I'll look when I get home and bring them over," you mumbled.

"Great, thanks again, darlin'! I'll see you in a bit," he said with a more confident smile, rushing out the door to leave you with your thoughts, your legs swinging mindlessly over the edge of the workstation. The workstation Joel had thoughtfully built for you because he insisted you needed somewhere proper to work in the greenhouse.

And he also broke the only desk you had.

You hung your head, feeling shameful and confused. Why hadn't you ever thought about this before? What would you have done if he proposed and you never sorted out your feelings about marriage? About kids?

"Shit," you whispered, the mere thought of kids making your throat squeeze shut. Bringing a child into this world? He wouldn't want to do that, would he?

Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. Maybe he felt the same as you. Why change something that's working so well? You both loved each other, what difference did it make? But the devil on your shoulder threw back a counter argument.

If it didn't make a difference, then why didn't you want to do it?

You rubbed the heels of your hands into your eyes aggressively. You really needed to stop making problems out of nothing. This wasn't about you and Joel, it was about Tommy and Maria.

You sighed and made your way down the long aisle towards the door, deciding it was close enough to the end of your shift.

"Hey, I was callin' your name, didn't you hear me?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin and turned around to find Joel leaning against the doorframe of the spare bedroom. He eyed up the half empty box next to you on the floor and looked back at you questioningly.

"No, sorry, guess I was lost in my thoughts or something," you told him, turning back to rifle through the plastic storage tote. Joel took a few steps into the room and sat down on the spare bed, the springs squeaking under his weight.

"What're you thinkin' about?" he asked as he watched you pulling out each candle and giving them a sniff before deciding which pile to add them to.

"Huh?" you asked him, still jumpy from your revelation earlier. "Oh, it's nothing, really." Even to your own ears, the excuse sounded lame, so you weren't surprised when Joel didn't buy it.

"Must be somethin' if it's got you all distracted," he urged you gently. You shook your head and gave him a believing smile.

"No, really, it's nothing. Just thinking about work. I left early today, I'm just thinking about what I need to do tomorrow," you lied as you finished up going through the candles, snapping the plastic tote lid back on and shoving it into the spare closet.

"Why'd you leave early?" Joel asked with his eyebrows knit. "Feelin' okay?"

He's always so thoughtful, so concerned about you. It made the pit in your stomach worsen, the guilt flaring.

"Oh, yeah, fine. I just told Tommy I would get him these extra candles as soon as possible, so I'm gonna head over there real quick," you explained. As you leaned down to pick up the box, Joel's hand shot out to stop you, choosing instead to lift it up himself.

"I can do it," he said, then looked back down at the open box curiously. "Why does he need so many candles?"

"Well," you said, turning to leave the room so your face wouldn't give anything away when you told him. "He's going to propose to Maria. He has some special thing planned, involving candles, I guess. We should probably standby in case he lights the house on fire," you joked over your shoulder as you made your way down to the kitchen. You knew you were rambling a bit, but you hoped Joel didn't pick up on your nervousness.

"He's what?" Joel exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks in the hallway, still holding the box of candles. You turned your attention towards him again as you leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Yep, he told me today. He asked me to make a bouquet for him at work," you told him, studying his face carefully. Joel looked stunned as he stared out the window behind you while he processed the information.

"Well, goddamn," he said, finally snapping out of it with a smirk. "I'll take these over so I can give him shit for not tellin' me sooner." He readjusted the box in his arms before he turned around towards the front door, his reaction giving you a bit of relief. He was just happy for his brother, and didn't appear to be overthinking your own relationship, like you couldn't stop doing.

Naturally, you worried about nothing. You were both perfectly content with the way things were. Feeling silly for even being nervous in the first place, you followed him to the front door and stopped him before he left.

"Hey, wait," you said from the door, causing him to turn around just as he was about to descend the stairs. "How about a kiss before you go?"

He grinned and, dropping the box in a chair by the front door, reached forward with both hands to cradle your face and pulled you towards him, his lips pressing firmly against yours. Your fingers gripped the front of his T-shirt as you sighed contentedly against him, his usual scent of gunpowder, sweat and something uniquely him filling your nostrils. You opened your mouth and licked gently at his lips, causing him to smile and slide his tongue alongside yours with a quiet groan while one of his hands released your jaw to get tangled in your hair. He gave your head a gentle tug backwards in an attempt to get you to open your mouth wider, but when a soft moan escaped your lips from the sensation, he felt himself stiffen in his jeans. He pulled you back further so you lost contact and he looked down at your flushed face, his hands still in your hair and on your jaw.

"I'll take these later," he said huskily, nodding to the candles next to the door as he walked you backwards inside the house.

"No, no, you have to take them now," you giggled as his mouth latched onto your neck. "He needs them before Maria gets home." He growled against your skin and begrudgingly pulled away, his eyes raking up and down your body before he stepped backwards.

"Don't move, I'll be back in ten minutes," he told you, grabbing the box and jogging down the steps. You laughed and closed the door behind him, wondering why you let yourself get worked up over nothing. Everything was great between you, you were never more sure of anything in your life. In the back of your mind, you knew you had to figure out why you had such a negative reaction to the thought of marriage in the first place, but you decided to put that off for another day.

"Can't believe you didn't tell me, you little shit," Joel teased with a smirk the minute Tommy swung the door open. He pushed his way into the house and glanced around quickly to make sure Maria wasn't there before turning back to Tommy.

"Heard you needed some mood lighting," Joel said, raising an eyebrow when Tommy ruefully snatched the box from his arms.

"Yeah, thanks," was all Tommy could manage, his nerves getting the best of him the more time passed.

"Nervous or somethin'?" Joel asked his brother as he casually took in the half-done scene he was setting in the living room. Candles were randomly dispersed throughout the room and two empty wine glasses were placed on top of the mantle.

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' nervous, 'course I'm nervous, shit," Tommy said as he raked a hand through his hair and got to work sifting through the box.

"Well, it ain't like she's gonna say 'no'," said Joel in a poor attempt at easing his brother's nerves.

"Don't matter. I gotta do it right. It'll mean a lot to her, she's probably got some fantasy in her head already 'bout how it'll go. I can't screw this up," Tommy said as he pushed past Joel to balance more candles on the bookshelf.

"Nah, you're overthinkin' it, they just like the ring so they can show it off," Joel replied, thinking back briefly to the time when he was engaged before the outbreak. Amy hardly cared about the effort he put into the proposal, but her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw the huge diamond he picked out.

"Oh, brother, you couldn't be more wrong. Your own girl told me I need to do somethin' thoughtful. Somethin' romantic. Shit, you're lucky you got me before you swiped the biggest rock you could find and think that'll be enough to make her happy," Tommy grinned as he nudged Joel's shoulder playfully, making his way back into the kitchen to pick out a bottle of wine.

Joel chewed on his lower lip and cracked his knuckles before scratching his beard, his eyes flicking around the room, lost in thought, while Tommy began to light the candles. Tommy noticed the sudden silence and paused, straightening up and raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"You already got a ring, don't you?"

Joel met his gaze for a moment before clearing his throat and running a hand through his hair.

"I've had it for months," Joel admitted, bringing his thumb and pointer finger up to rub his eyes.

"Holy shit, Joel! Why didn't you say anythin'?" Tommy exclaimed, walking over to clap his brother on the back.

"I don't know. You never said anythin', either," he said with a shrug.

"Well, when are you gonna do it?" Tommy asked, turning back to light the candles, grateful for the distraction.

"Don't know. Never seems like the right time," said Joel as he picked up the bottle of red wine Tommy placed on the mantle, scrutinizing the label. "And it's a good thing, too, seein' as I need to rethink how I'm gonna ask her, apparently."

"Yeah, well, one of these days I can ask Maria for advice, if you want," Tommy said, brushing his palms on the sides of his jeans as he made his way to the window, peering out to make sure she wasn't coming home early. "Least I could do, since I got help from your girl."

"Yeah, maybe," Joel replied as he distractedly ran his palm over his mouth.

"Alright, get the hell out of here, I gotta change and put the flowers in a vase before Maria gets home," Tommy said, pushing Joel towards the front door. He opened the door but Joel paused, turning around quickly and enveloping Tommy in a rare, quick hug.

"Congrats, brother. She's gonna love it," he said, gesturing vaguely around the living room. Tommy grinned and nodded.

"Thanks. Now leave, I mean it," he said, giving Joel a shove. Joel laughed and shook his head.

"I'm leavin', I'm leavin'," he said with a wave over his shoulder. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he made his way slowly down the street.

He was telling Tommy the truth about the ring. He hadn't gone out looking for it, but one day, months ago, when he was on patrol with Eugene, he just happened to see it. They had been exploring an abandoned shopping mall, and when he walked by the jewelry store, he had glanced inside at the broken glass display cases and spotted what he thought was the perfect ring for you. It was an oval diamond set on a delicate, white gold band. He had picked it up and examined it thoughtfully, imagining what it would look like on your finger. He briefly looked at the other choices, and none of the others seemed to resonate with him the way that one did. So he pocketed it before Eugene noticed he was lingering, and hid it in an old shoe he had in the closet when he got home.

When he first came home with the ring, he couldn't stop fantasizing about how he would ask you, what he would say, what you would say. But he hadn't been in any rush to ask, and he hadn't really thought about it much after that, he just knew he wanted to spend his life with you. He had almost forgotten all about it until you told him about Tommy's plan earlier that day. But now that his brother had him thinking about it again, the idea of officially making you his and calling you his wife made him feel excited.

He walked through the front door and kicked his boots off before he made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen, where he saw you drying some plates and putting them away. You glanced over your shoulder when you heard him enter the room before turning back to your task.

"Little longer than ten minutes," you teased. You were drying your hands on the dish towel when his arms snaked around your waist and he buried his face in the back of your neck. You squirmed, his grip loosening so you could turn around and gently circle your arms around his neck. "What took you so long?"

He shrugged and leaned down to press a chaste kiss where your neck met your shoulder.

"Just got to talkin'," he murmured, pressing another kiss in the same spot. You hummed and tilted your head to the side a bit, closing your eyes.

"I was thinking, maybe we should throw them an engagement party," you whispered, trying to stay focused as his lips brushed along your neck, his scruffy beard giving you goosebumps. "I can ask Carrie to help, she loves that kind of thing."

"That'd be nice," he mumbled in agreement, flipping his head in the other direction so he could continue his torture on the opposite side of your neck. "We can have it here."

"Yeah," you sighed as you shifted your weight, trying to ignore the ache growing between you legs. "I thought we could - "

You inhaled sharply when he pinched the skin of your collarbone between his teeth, leaving an angry red mark there. Your fingers found their way into his dark curls, gripping them tightly as your breathing became shallow.

"Hm?" he asked, hiding his smirk against your skin.

"Thought we could do it outside," you mumbled, quickly finishing your thought.

"Whatever you want," he said, his voice gravelly as he pulled you into him roughly, earning a small yelp from you. His lips latched onto yours, softly humming against your mouth, the warm exhale from your nose fanning gently over his face. You pulled away, breaking the kiss as he began slowly walking you backwards towards the stairs, his eyes dark as he stared you down.

"Maybe Julia's class can make decorations. I think Maria would like that," you said breathlessly, gazing up at him, meeting his heated stare. "What do you think?"

Joel gave you half a smirk when the backs of your legs bumped up against the lowest step.

"I think you better get up to bed right now before I toss you over my shoulder and do it myself," he said lowly, sending a shiver down your spine.

A playful grin spread across your face as you turned on your heel and raced up the stairs, Joel following hot on your trail, taking them two at a time.

You barely pushed the bedroom door open before his hands were on you, eagerly skirting over your hips and up your arms before coming to rest on your jaw, cradling your head in his hands tenderly as his tongue slid between your lips, reveling in your warmth. Being with you always felt like home to him, it was where he was always meant to be.

"So beautiful," he mumbled against your mouth before he pressed his lips against yours again, his fingers gripping your head a little tighter, like he was afraid you would float away.

Your fingers deftly worked on undoing his jeans as he continued to walk you towards the bed. Just as you were about to reach below his waistband, he scooped down to pick you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, clinging to him as he softly placed you both down.

He lifted his head up a fraction to look down at you underneath him, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, looking at you with admiration. His eyes flicked up to the open closet door, the urge to confirm the shoe with the ring in it was still in its rightful place, that you hadn't accidentally found it.

"What is it?" you asked him breathlessly, noticing how his attention had been stolen away. He quickly brought his gaze back down to you with a sly smile.

"Nothin'," he said with a shake of his head, then leaned down to part your lips again with his tongue, curling his fingers along the back of your neck, deepening the kiss with slow, leisurely licks inside your mouth. Your fingers danced over his broad shoulders for a moment before you made your way down his chest and stomach, pausing to gently rake your nails through the coarse hair at the top of his boxers, then plunging down to wrap your hand around his stiff cock.

He groaned softly into your mouth when you gave him a squeeze, his hips shallowly thrusting forward into your hand as you stroked him up and down.

"Slow down," Joel gasped, tearing himself away from your mouth and flexing his fingers around your wrist, stopping you. "Wanna take my time with you tonight," he drawled, taking your hand away and pinning it lightly into the mattress.

"Joel," you whined, lifting your hips up from the bed, frustrated. He tutted and shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you. You know I always do," he said huskily, his mouth latching onto your neck. "Wanna take care of you for the rest of my life," he added quietly, his voice muffled against your skin and lost in the sounds of your moans. You tipped your head back, your free hand sliding through his thick curls, fingernails raking against his scalp just the way he likes.

He let go of your hand so he could lift your shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. Slowly, his eyes swept over your bare chest, his knuckles brushing against your nipple and watching as it perked up in response, then once he was satisfied, did the same to the other.

"So soft," he muttered to himself before diving down and sucking one into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking against your nipple before he flattened it against your sensitive skin, licking slow, hot stripes up and down. He lifted his mouth from your skin and blew gently over the wetness his tongue left behind. You gasped at the sensation, your cunt clenching around nothing as he switched sides, giving the same attention to your other breast while his fingers roamed around your waist, then dipped down to squeeze your ass and hips.

You whined his name and tugged on his hair, begging him to touch you, vaguely wondering why he was in the mood to take things so painfully slow, but you were unable to form a coherent thought other than why are my fucking jeans still on?

"Joel, please," you whimpered, pathetically jutting your hips upwards, trying to find friction against him to no avail. He finally released your breast and looked up at you, your chest heaving, hair a mess and your eyes glazed over, already looking completely wrecked. He smirked at the sight and pushed himself up, hovering over you.

"Alright, sweetheart, I'll give you one," he said, much to your relief as his hand came between you to pop open your jeans. He pulled down the zipper and you hooked your thumbs into your belt loops, helping to pull them down as quickly as you could and kicked them off. His eyes glanced down, feeling his cock twitch when saw the dark spot leaking through your panties.

He looped his fingers around the sides of your underwear and pulled them off, then flattened his palms on the insides of your thighs so he could admire the mess he made of you. He ran his middle finger up the length of your seam, testing the waters before dipping inside, marveling at how soaked you were already. His eyes drifted up to your face, mesmerized as you writhed underneath him, your eyes screwed shut and your brows pinched as you focused on his second finger entering your aching cunt.

"Oh, fuck, Joel," you whimpered, snapping your eyes open just to find him already gazing down at you, his eyes dark and filled with want. You rocked your hips forward, trying to make him go faster, but he continued to slowly pump both fingers in and out, in and out, curling his fingertips as he reached inside, brushing against the spot that he knows makes you fall apart.

"That feel better?" he breathed, and you nodded, clutching the sheets in your fist as the fire in your stomach began to burn, the warmth creeping up your chest and neck with every plunge of his fingers. His thumb brushed gently over your clit and you cried out, your body stiffening underneath him as you felt your orgasm steadily approach, your breath coming in short gasps when he finally began to circle the swollen bundle of nerves.

"Faster," you croaked, tipping your head back, but he shook his head and continued his torturous pace.

"It'll feel better this way," he said, and you groaned. "Do you trust me?" he asked, and you brought your head back down so you could look at him again.

"Yes," you whispered, watching as his eyes lit up and a smug grin spread across his face.

"Then let go," he ordered. You inhaled sharply as you felt your walls clench down and your release drip down his fingers, your orgasm slowly ripping through you with a strangled moan. You reached out and grabbed his wrist when it became too much, your body relaxing onto the bed and your eyes fluttering shut.

He slid his fingers out, earning a hiss from you before he popped them into his mouth. You opened your eyes weakly as you watched him suck his fingers, his other hand palming his erection over his jeans and looking down at you panting beneath him, his gaze dark.

"I need more," he murmured as he shimmied down the bed to settle his face between your legs, his hands sliding up your shaky thighs to pin them down to the mattress.

"Wait, Joel," you told him breathlessly. "Too soon, I - it's too much," you said, pulling feebly at his hair. He ignored you, too lost in his own thoughts, the fantasy of making you his and calling you his wife consuming him.

He licked a stripe through your folds, his tongue plunging inside briefly before taking another long, slow drag. You wiggled under his hold with a gasp, your body involuntarily trying to squirm away from overstimulation, but his large hands pinned you down as his tongue probed further inside you.

He knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he couldn't stop. He felt like a man possessed. He alternated between licking and nibbling at your sensitive cunt, trying to avoid your most sensitive area until he knew you could handle it. Only when he finally felt your legs relax under his palms and heard your breathy moans of encouragement did he venture up to press his tongue flat against your clit. Your fingers tugged at his curls, his eyes rolling to the back of his head with a moan. He always loved it when you pulled on his hair. He sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling it around his tongue slowly, trying to drag out the pleasure as long as possible.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The pressure building inside you too intense. You felt like you were vibrating, Joel's expert hands and mouth making your body pulse and thrum, your breaths shallow and sharp.

You tried to say his name, but it came out as a pathetic whimper instead. The way he lapped at your fluttering cunt was making you dizzy. You were hyper aware of how rough his facial hair felt on your raw skin, a stark contrast to how soft his tongue felt on your folds. The muscles in your stomach began to clench as you felt yourself rocketing towards your second orgasm.

Joel felt you twitch under his forearm and knew you were close. He pressed his face further into you, thrusting his hips into the mattress to find some relief while he sucked and nibbled on your swollen clit, your moans morphing into high pitched cries, fingers frantically grasping and slipping through his curls.

Your back arched off the bed, tears trickling down your cheeks as you fell over the edge, your body jerking underneath him while you screamed his name. His hands clutched your legs, trying to keep himself attached as he worked you through it.

He finally pulled back with a gasp when you managed to writhe away, desperate to give your trembling body a break, completely overwhelmed. You each panted for breath as you stared at one another for a moment, your legs still shaking from the aftershock.

"Christ, Joel," you rasped, your voice hoarse as you wiped your tears away with the back of your hand.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said, running a hand through his hair before wiping his mouth, his gaze softening as he took in your wrecked state. "Can't get enough of you."

"I can see that," you teased, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into a smirk. Your eyes flicked down to his pants, noticing his cock straining painfully against the denim. "Come here," you whispered, beckoning him with your arms. He grinned and quickly pulled his shirt over his head before kicking off his boxers and jeans. He crawled up the bed slowly, hovering over your body. You ran your hands gently over his arms, sending a shiver down his spine, before grasping the back of his neck and pulling him down for a deep kiss. He moaned against your mouth, his lips gently massaging your own while his tongue gave you a taste of your arousal.

"Are you sure you can handle it?" he asked, looking down between your bodies where your hand was directing his cock to your entrance.

"We're gonna find out," you said with a sigh, feeling his thick head notch against you. He pushed forward and you gasped at the familiar sting of being stretched open. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pressed on, slowing giving you every inch of him before bottoming out with a groan of relief.

"Fuck," he whispered, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck while he took a moment to just appreciate the feel of you. You wiggled your hips slightly underneath him to get more comfortable as your body relaxed and adjusted to his size.

"I'll never get tired of that feeling," you murmured into his hair.

"Hope not," he said, lifting his head up with a smirk. He held your gaze as he slowly dragged his cock in and out, in and out until your head tilted back and your eyes slid shut, your lips parted as you gasped softly each time he pushed back inside. He nibbled tenderly at your jaw, fucking you with deep, long strokes while your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him closer each time.

"God, you feel so good," you moaned, yanking his face up and kissing him messily, your fingertips digging into his skin. He kept up the slow pace, savoring the feeling of just being close and intimate, while each powerful thrust caused tip of his cock to make contact with the most sensitive spot inside you, stoking the flames and pushing you to the edge.

"Fuck, I love you so fuckin' much, you know that?" he gasped, his lips hovering above your open mouth as he gazed down at you, watching your eyes glaze over with each slow drag, in and out. "D'you - shit - d'you see what you do to me? Huh?" He gripped your jaw when he saw your eyes begin to flutter close, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. "Look at me, sweetheart. Need you to look at me," he begged, his climax quickly approaching but he refused to pick up the pace, enjoying the slow way he was fucking you way too much.

"Yes," you whispered, forcing your eyes open to give him what he needed. He nodded, loosening his grip on your jaw and letting his hand fall limply. He looked down, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and coming back out, coated in your slick. He groaned at the sight and glanced back up at you, your gaze still transfixed on his face, just as he asked.

"Can't believe you're really mine," he muttered to himself in disbelief with a small shake of his head, his eyes roaming over your face and chest. "Can't believe I'm the one that gets to fuck you."

"I'm yours," you whimpered, biting down on your lower lip as you felt your body begin to tense up, like a band ready to snap.

"Yeah?" he asked hopefully, his wide eyes locking back onto yours. He knew you didn't mean it the way he wanted to hear it, that it was just something you said in the heat of the moment, but he didn't care. He allowed himself to have the fantasy, anyway.

"Just you, only you," you babbled, knowing exactly what he liked to hear. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, fucking into you a little faster now.

"Keep talkin', just like that," he said through gritted teeth, his arms wrapping around your ribs as his hips snapped into you, eliciting a low moan from your throat.

"N-nobody else, all y-yours, only want you," you rambled before the band snapped and your vision went spotty. You cried out and clenched down around him, the intensity of a third orgasm depleting all your energy and almost immediately, your muscles went slack.

"That's right, good girl," Joel said, watching you fall apart under him. "All mine. Mine - mine - mine!" he grunted, each word punctuated with a harsh thrust before pulling out just in time to come all over your stomach, watching in a daze as each burst of his hot spend coated your soft skin.

He collapsed next to you, both struggling to catch your breath. Your arm draped over your eyes and you contemplated falling asleep just like that, not even sure you had the strength to stand anyway. After a moment, he reached over to his nightstand to snatch up a handkerchief, and he gently cleaned you up as your breathing stabilized. Gingerly, he lifted your arm away from your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, then your swollen lips before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Wow," you whispered hoarsely, finally opening your eyes. He chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, wow," he said, laying back down next to you. "That was somethin' else," he added, rubbing his palms roughly over his face.

You rolled onto your side, wincing at the soreness in your legs and hips already, and draped an arm across his body.

"Where did all that come from?" you asked sleepily, nuzzling your face into his chest. He shrugged.

"Don't know," he lied as he rubbed small circles across your back. You hummed, accepting his response without a second thought. His eyes drifted back over to the closet briefly before reaching over and turning off the light, tugging the sheets over your bodies and resuming the circles on your back until he heard your breathing slow, confirming you were asleep.

He stared in the dark at the ceiling, thinking about how and when he should ask you to marry him. He didn't want to take away from Tommy and Maria, so he figured he should put it off for a while, but that didn't stop him from closing his eyes that night and dreaming about what it would be like to be your husband.

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow - lmk if I missed anyone or if you want to be removed

[somanyratsinthewalls]

The Crew's Whore Part 7 (+18)

The Crew's Whore Part 7 (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Zoro x Female Reader x Luffy

WC: 2300

TW: threesome, body use, p in v sex, no protection (don't do that), creampie (also don't do that), Luffy isn't asexual (ah), Zoro like has the biggest gay crush on his captain, facefucking, cum eating, no aftercare, being walked in on.

— — 

You roll over in your bed lazily and stretch your arms over your head. It wasn’t often that you got your bed to yourself all night so you truly enjoyed the occasion. You had over 10 hours uninterrupted on your own due to your callers' schedules conflicting and you could have sworn you slept like the dead. 

You slide out of bed and throw on some shorts and a sweatshirt, readying yourself for the quest to find breakfast. After sliding on your slippers, you creep quietly towards the galley and open the door. The galley smelled of coffee, melting butter, and the faint stale smell of cigarettes. You see the fresh carafe of coffee on the kitchen island and pour yourself a cup. You grab your mug of hot coffee and head towards the fridge and open it up to find something to eat. 

 “Y/n? My darling angel what can I get for you? Perhaps a late lunch?” Sanji comes in through the back door of the galley, snuffing out his cigarette. 

“Hi Sanji- wait, late lunch? What time is it?” You cock your head as you let your body lean into Sanji’s extended arms. Sanji wraps his arms around you as you nuzzle into his chest. 

“Almost 4:30, darling. You’ve been asleep, you needed the rest.” Sanji leaned down and kissed the crown of your head. 

“Ah shit, I promised Zoro I’d train today. Could you whip up something now before I head up there? If I show up to a training match with Zoro on an empty stomach I’ll be spending the night in the med bay with Chopper.” You pull away from Sanji to start wrapping up your wrists for your training session. 

Sanji sighed. 

“Of course, my love. I’ll make you something with lots of carbs and protein. Selfishly, I must have you coming home to me, no matter how badly that brute treats you.” Sanji smirks and begins cooking. 

You bring your blades into the galley and begin to sharpen them. At the counter, your eyes oscillate from your swords to Sanji preparing your meal. The way he smiled at you every time he turned around from stove to ask you your preference on something… he was such a dream. He asked you about what was going on in your life while he cooked you a pre training snack. 

“Did Franky tell you about his latest project?” Sanji asks you from across the counter. You didn’t have time to respond before Sanji swiftly slides his slim body to the stove. “Do you want butter on your croissant?” Sanji changes gears as he begins to plate your meal. 

“Yes please.” You respond. 

Before you had time to process Sanji’s previous question, the most beautiful presentation of scrambled eggs on a French pastry was being placed in front of you. 

“Jeez Sanji, if I knew I’d get this type of treatment, I’d snooze the day away more often.” Your eyebrows raise and you grab your fork. 

Sanji smiles as he sprinkles a few chives on your dish before you dig in. 

“Bon appetit, mon ange.” 

— — 

You scarfed your early dinner down and headed up to the crows nest, knowing Zoro would be waiting for you to train. You ascended the ladder and opened up the hatch to let yourself into the circular crows nest. Upon arriving to Zoro’s makeshift dojo, you find him bench pressing an impossibly heavy weight over his chest. 

“You’re late.” Zoro scolds you without looking in your direction. 

“Hello to you too, swordsman.” You shed your sweatshirt, leaving you in a sports bra and bike shorts. 

“I told Luffy I’d practice with him later, so I’m not sparring with you tonight. We’re doing weights. Grab those over there.” Zoro nods towards a pair 40 lb dumbbells and you grabbed them. You weren’t brought onto the crew as a fighter, but as a Straw Hat you were obviously able to physically hold your own. You grab the weights and begin your routine.

“You smell like that shitty waiter.” Zoro eventually remarks after you spent nearly 30 minutes working out in silence. 

“I slept late, I needed food. Leave it alone, Zoro.” You roll your eyes at him while you continued your workout. 

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me, and now you’re here smelling like cigarettes and male loneliness.” 

You chuckle and almost lose pace in your weight lifting. 

“Now that you’ve seen each other naked I figured you might be getting along better.” You smirk, purposely riling your swordsman up. 

“Don’t be gross, y/n. I didn’t need to see that to know I have the bigger dick.” Zoro continues pushing the heavy weight away from his chest. Endorphins were pumping through your veins from your workout so you decide to change up your routine. 

“Are you jealous, Mr Roronoa?” You pick up new weights and begin a rep of squats, making sure Zoro could see your ass flex in the tight spandex. 

Zoro scoffs. 

“I don’t get jealous. I just like having my girl to myself. And I know you enjoy our time together too…”

“Like last week when you had me bent over the aquarium bar?” You recall a particularly filthy instance where Zoro had taken you roughly after a tipsy night filled with sake bottles and inappropriate touches. 

“Yeah…” Zoro huffs out, continuing his reps. “Just like that…” 

You could feel his eyes on your body as you tried to maintain focus on your exercise. After several more minutes, Zoro puts the weighted bar back onto the rack and he breaks the silence. 

“Come sit on my cock.” 

You smile and set your weights down. You begin to saunter over to Zoro laying on his back on the weight bench, his pants tented. 

“No romance today, swordsman?” You lift your sports bra over your head, letting your breasts bounce freely. Zoro groans at the sight of your naked tits. You slip your bike shorts down your legs and step out of them as you reach your green haired lover. “Needy, hmm?” You stroke his growing bulge over his pants and smile down at him. 

“The only thing I need is for you to ride this dick and be good. Now hop up.” Zoro unfastens his pants and pushes them down his legs, freeing his now hard cock that bobbed towards his abdomen. You begin to straddle him before Zoro stops you with his powerful, scarred hands on your hips. 

“Nah uh. Turn around. Wanna see that ass bounce.” Zoro swings your body around so you’re facing away from him and towards the hatch to the crows nest in the center of the room. He lifts your hips again and settles your entrance over his erection. He spits into one of his hands and smears it over the head of his cock. He sinks you onto him without any prep and you whine out. 

One fully seated on Zoro’s lap, you wiggle your hips to get used to the full sensation. Zoro kneads at your ass cheeks to encourage you. 

“I know it’s a lot baby, take your time.” Zoro flexes his thighs and bounces you softly, feeling your walls become slicker and accept his intrusion easier and easier by the moment. 

“Fuck you’re so big, Zoro… shit…” You sigh as you feel the stretch of his cock inside of you turn into white hot pleasure. You firmly plant your feet on the floor and begin grinding on Zoro at your own pace. You find the perfect angle for Zoro to hit your sweet spot and continue your movements on top of him. You moan and throw your head back. 

“How are you this tight? Fuck-“ Zoro grunts and grips your hips tighter. “Am I the only one on this ship that fucks you properly?” 

Your body was alight with endorphins from the intense workout and the feeling of your lover inside of you, you couldn’t help but grin brainlessly as you bounce faster on Zoro’s cock. 

“You always fuck me so good, Zoro. Love your cock so much…” You were dick drunk so fast, you hardly knew what was coming out of your mouth. You hear your lover growl from behind you at your filthy words. He grabs your arms and pulls them behind you. He uses them as leverage to pound up into you from below. 

“Zoro, fuck, Zoro!” His name poured from your lips like a powerful waterfall as he held you completely powerless in his strong hands. Your body leans forward lifelessly as Zoro holds your arms from behind you. Your head bobs pathetically as he drills into your wet pussy from underneath you. 

“Zoro!” 

Zoro’s eyes are drawn away from your jiggling ass cheeks slamming onto his pelvis. Was that last ‘Zoro’ from you? It sounded different. 

The hatch to the crows nest slams open. 

“Zoro! We’re supposed to train tonight! Sanji just barbecued half of a whole sea king for me so I hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked haha!” Luffy hops up excitedly into the crows nest. 

You gasp. 

“Luffy!” You instinctively yell out in surprise. 

“Oh, seems like you guys are still busy, huh!” Luffy chuckles out at your shocked expression. 

“Oh hey Captain.” Zoro peers around your naked body atop his dick as he looks towards Luffy. “Sorry, training with y/n went a little long.” Zoro bucks his hips up again into yours and you moan. “Hope you don’t mind.” 

“Thats okay!” Luffy grins and walks towards you two on the weight bench. “Wow, y/n you’re really sweaty haha!” Your captain gets close enough to your to push your damp bangs off of your forehead. You had never been propositioned by Luffy, you hadn’t questioned it, just assuming he’d rather fight or eat than fuck. 

“You know, Luffy…” Zoro begins. “You could take her mouth, I’m sure she’s more than willing. Right, y/n?" Zoro punctuates his last sentence with a hard thrust into your sweet spot. 

“AH! Fuck, yes!” Your mouth hangs open and your tongue lolls out. “Oh yeah?” Luffy giggles. “She is already drooling everywhere. You’d share her with me, Zoro?” Luffy asks, getting closer to your face. 

“Whatever my captain wants.” Zoro smirks devilishly. Luffy smiles back and begins undoing his demin shorts in front of your face. Zoro moves his hold from your arms to your wrists behind your back so you could lean down further to be at Luffy’s crotch level, all while pounding into your soaking cunt. Luffy releases himself from the confines of his clothes and his cock bobs in your face. 

“Ok baby girl, time to suck off your captain. Open wide…” Zoro goads you from behind. Without having use of your hands, you clumsily take Luffy’s red, uncut tip into your mouth. You hungrily slurp down Luffy’s cock as you moan out from the powerful fucking you were getting from Zoro. 

“You’re really good at that, y/n!” Luffy praises you and pets your hair gently. “Mmm, move your tongue more… mm yeah just like that!” 

“Hnnmmpphh!” You groan around your captain’s thick length. 

“Oooh, that’s good too! Zoro do whatever that was again, she feels so good when she moans!” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” Zoro obliges and pounds into your g-spot again and again while leaving bruising fingerprints on your hips. 

You try to keep your throat open as your feel your body being hurtled over the edge of orgasm. 

“She’s cumming. I can feel it- oh fuck!” Zoro feels himself being wrapped up in the pleasure of your tight pussy milking him while you rode out your orgasm. Tears begin to fall from your lash line as you start to become overstimulated. So many hands on you, you didn’t know whose belonged to who… in your hair, on your breasts, squeezing your neck… you were in a world of pleasure. You whine. 

“I’ll fill you up baby, don’t worry.. shit-” Zoro finished inside of you with one final thrust of his hips upward into your soft cunt. 

“Me too, y/n.” Luffy remarks at you as he fucks your face. “Now don’t waste, it, okay? It’s good for you!” Before you could respond, Luffy shoots an impossibly large load down your waiting throat. You sputter and the rest of the cum you couldn’t swallow spills out around the sides of your mouth. Luffy pulls away from your face and wipes your lips with his pointer finger. He pushes it back inside of your mouth. 

“All of it.” Your captain has a sinister glint in his eye as he smiles down at you. 

You grin up at him stupidly, still coming down from your orgasm. Luffy quickly tucks himself back into his shorts and chuckles at you. 

“Okay y/n, I’ve gotta train with Zoro. Maybe you should take a shower or something! Hah!” Luffy grabs your clothes by extending his rubbery arms and helps you off of Zoro’s dick and back into your garments. You had felt well rested earlier, but now you’re totally wiped. 

“Maybe I should take it easy tonight, thanks Cap.” You pull your hair up into a messy bun and head over to the hatch of the crows nest to return to your bedroom. 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep. I’m coming by after training.” Zoro calls at you. 

“Oh? Maybe I’ll come too, hehe!” Luffy laughs. 

“I certainly look forward to it, gentlemen.” You smirk as you lower yourself out of the hatch and go to freshen yourself… just in case round 2 was in your future. 

xx

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 3: Gluttony

Pairing: (Terzo x f!reader)

Summary: Secondo's acting out of character, but you can't focus on that when Papa has invited you to a dinner at his private quarters, with a few surprises up his sleeve...

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings: A whole lot of teasing, indulging, alcohol consumption, food porn, feeding kink, food play, temperature play, cunnilingus, spit kink, p in v sex, cream pie

If you suffer with any disorders relating to food, please be wary this is a chapter literally dedicated to eating and feeding. There is no mention of EDs or troubles with eating, but if you struggle in this area, please be cautious. Your mental health is more important than a chapter of a fic. If you want to skip but want plot developments, DM me privately. I’m happy to share 🖤 

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m hoping to heal some of the trauma caused by the Olive Oil fic, with this one... 🤭 This is one of my favourite things I've ever written, and definitely the most erotic. Heavily inspired by @her-satanic-wiles's & @angellayercake's food fics. (Seriously, we need more of this kink. I had no idea I even had it until reading theirs...)

Prev: Day 2 - Sloth | Next: Day 4 - Wrath

October 27th 

Something felt different. 

There was a staleness in the air, the kind you feel after you’ve just been shouted at by your headmaster in front of a classroom of peers; that cold, shy embarrassment. For some reason, you couldn’t hold eye contact with Secondo today. When you’d arrived at the office that morning, Secondo was already there as usual. But upon your entry, he looked up from his desk over the top of his spectacles (ones you had teased him about needing due to his old age and spent the first month reminding him he should be wearing despite your jeers), and followed you to where you sat. Normally he wouldn’t even look up, grunting a greeting in your vague direction and allowing you to get on with your work. But his silent eyes tracked your every move until you were sat, somewhat settled for the day at your own desk.  

You looked up at him, and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile at you, but thought better of it. Instead, he opted for small talk – which you knew he despised. He’d told you before that a conversation with no purpose was for drunks and the simple minded. And well, he was neither. 

“Did you enjoy your day off, Sorella?” he asked, and you couldn’t quite tell if it was sarcasm or if he genuinely wanted to know. You didn’t realise he’d known it was anything other than a sick day, unsure of what Terzo meant when his note told you he would ‘handle’ Secondo. 

“Um... y-yes, thank you Papa. I’m sorry it was such short notice...” you stuttered. He waved his hand in the air and shook his head to convey indifference. 

“No matter, I hope you got the rest you needed.” 

“I-I did,” you blushed, thinking back over what exactly had constituted as rest yesterday... 

An uncomfortable silence settled over the two of you, a feeling of being watched creeping up on you every so often. When you looked, you would find Secondo’s eyes focussed on your face. It was as if he were waiting for something, his expression flickering between multiple emotions at the speed of a flipbook. 

You saw what looked like a hint of anger, mixed with vague sadness and a delicate softness that was incredibly uncharacteristic for such a usually steely man. It made you feel as if you were intruding on his thoughts, like you were wrong for trying to figure out what was running through his mind today. And so, every time you found yourself attempting to figure it out and holding his gaze, you quickly averted your eyes back to what you were doing. 

“______...” You looked up at him, brow furrowed in bewilderment – rarely did he use your name if it wasn’t first accompanied by ‘Sorella’. It felt strangely too familiar. “I would... I would hope you would be able to talk to me. If something was... on your mind, I mean.”  

You sat quietly, processing. Was this a dream? Had Secondo been possessed by some kind of kind demon? You took entirely too long to respond, eyes squinting in suspicion.  

He sighed then, removing his specs and dumping them on the desk, leaning back in his chair.  

“I must be getting old,” he chuckled to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing at his painted eyes as old men often did. “I just meant... Don’t be scared to ask if you need a break. You work hard, don’t think I don’t notice it.” 

“Don’t you like that everybody is scared of you?” you asked with an awkward laugh, trying desperately to lighten the mood because this felt too intimate, too much like an emotional connection that up until now you believed was entirely one-sided. You cared for Secondo, as your Papa, your boss – hell, even your friend. Six years of being at his beck and call, catering to his every whim to his exact specifications was always bound to create some kind of bond. But you never thought for a moment that he might reciprocate that.  

Secondo chuckled darkly, “I do, yes,” he leaned forward on his arms then, giving you his full attention, “but not you.” 

You fought the urge to ask him why he was saying this now, why all of a sudden, he had decided that you needed to know he cared. Instead, you continued to stare at him, eyes glazing over with a sheen of tears you were determined you’d never let slip. Not in front of him. He didn’t need to know what that alone meant to you – particularly in such a tumultuous time. 

“I-I’m not... scared of you, I mean. You don’t scare me, Papa,” your voice quivered with unspoken emotion. Had he known you were wavering and doubting your position, maybe crying in front of him at his sudden sincerity would have made sense but he didn’t, and so you held back. He didn’t need to know that his kind outburst had affected you so. 

“Perfetto... (Perfect...)” he nodded to himself, satisfied with your answer, and reaching for his spectacles again, placing them on the end of his nose and getting back to the notes on his desk. 

You blinked away your tears, willing your body to not betray you and allow them to disappear on their own now that Secondo wasn’t looking at you. Thankfully, they did, and you could see clearly again.  

“Sorella,” he was back to calling you by your title, business mode reactivated, “I’ll need your help later this evening. After dinner, to catch up on some missed work yesterday. If you don’t mind...” 

Inwardly, you groaned. The thought of having to join him after spending the evening at dinner with Terzo... Well, it felt embarrassing. Terzo would need to go easy on you with whatever he had planned in order to avoid detection. You could really do without Secondo catching on that you were sleeping with his brother, much less why. But reluctantly, you agreed with an “anything you need, Papa.” 

Secondo was under no illusions that he would be spending any time with you this evening at all – but that was the point.  

He and Terzo had a plan, and you were falling into the trap. 

Your heels tapped on the stone floors of the hallway where you knew Papa’s chambers resided. Your heartbeat quickened in your chest with each pace, coming ever closer to the large arched door at the end of the hall.  

As you walked, you could hear music. Effortlessly, it flowed through the halls, riding atop an aromatic scent you couldn’t quite place – other than it being vaguely familiar, as if coming home to your mother’s cooking after a long time away. 

The music grew louder as you drew nearer, grandiose and full of rich strings and stunning woodwind instruments. You couldn’t discern what exactly it was, unfamiliar with the style personally but enjoying how it seemed to relax your mind and still your fluttering heart.  

Knocking on the door, you made sure to be loud enough to be heard over the music, and took a step back, flattening out any wrinkles in your dress. The same dress, in fact, that you had worn to the clergy dinner only a week ago. Shoulders exposed, breasts pushed up and on display, glove-like sleeves that hooked around your middle finger in a point and wine red fabric hugging every beautiful ripple of your body. Except this time, you donned a black satin choker, tied at the back with a striking, yet small red gem dangling from the middle. Glass, of course; as if you could ever afford a genuine article. 

The door opened, and the music poured out into the hallway as if wrapping itself around you to pull you inside. It sounded like... opera. The beautiful bass notes of the male vocalist called to you, singing with so much longing. Mixed with the aromas of unmistakeably Italian food cooking away in the background, your head swam with a heady sense of passion. In dim candlelight, Papa Terzo stood leaning against the door frame, freshly shaven and moisturised with pristine paints in place as if they’d been redone before your arrival.  

He wore a long-sleeved dark green shirt, rolled up to the elbows and tucked into black slacks, showing off a broadness to his shoulders only those who had been intimate with him would notice. His dress shoes shined in the light of the hallway, significantly brighter than that behind him, and his hands were covered with his black leather gloves, a change from the white he wore day to day. But what you had noticed first – ridiculously so – was the white, frilly apron he had looped over his neck and tied around his waist, cinching him in deliciously, yet comically.  

He smirked smugly at you as he leaned, watching as your eyes dragged over his form slowly and allowing his own to do the same across your body. He didn’t have to behave at this dinner – he could ogle as much as he pleased. When your eyes met his, you smiled brightly. 

“I like your apron,” you started with, flicking at the frills over the skirt of it. 

“Sì, grazie. It was my father’s,” he gleamed, amused at his own joke. You couldn’t possibly imagine Papa Nihil ever wearing something quite so hideous, let alone being the kind of man to understand how to light a stove. “I hope you like Italiano, Principessa,” he winked, the innuendo not lost on you. 

“I find myself craving it more these days,” you flirted. He laughed at that – oh, how he loved when you humoured him. He could flirt back and forth like a ping pong match all day, every day.  

“Please, accomodati! (Make yourself comfortable!)” He stepped aside, however, not enough to give you a clear path – your bare shoulder brushed against his chest, and you triumphed in the way he seemed to tense at the contact while you remained aloof. 

His chambers were as regal as you had imagined, and you took a moment to soak it in.  

Far larger than your own small abode, it was filled with opulent furniture donned in fabric of his papal colour – a royal purple. His couch and chairs in his living room looked like they’d been stripped out of renaissance paintings and reupholstered with purple velvet. In front of the couch, an opulent wooden coffee table with a fresh fruit bowl placed in the middle of various berries and apples, all greens, purples and reds. The couch sat opposite a large fireplace carved into white marble with veins of black and gold, open wood fire burning welcomingly. Either side of the fireplace were two arched doors, that you assumed led to a bathroom and bedroom. To the other side of the living space, you noted a small dining table with purple upholstered dining chairs, matching purple runner draped over the table.  

He’d set candles up on brass candelabras in the centre, place settings made and ready with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket. The kitchen lined the far wall, hidden by a half wall and overhanging cupboards but open enough that you could see the pots and pans bubbling and steaming away on the large stove.  

As you became enamoured in the details of his apartment – the speaker playing the beautiful opera music you’d heard from outside, the fire crackling away on the far wall, the bookshelves filled with trinkets and books he’d collected over the years, the portraits that hung on the walls of his elder brothers – you were too distracted to realise he had shut the door, creeping up behind you. 

It wasn’t until you felt his gloved hands on your bare shoulders that you knew he was so close, the smell of his cologne – something akin to the spice of whiskey and the woodsy scent of fresh pine – filling your space and overtaking the smell of the cooking food. You could feel his lips ghosting over your skin, following his fingertips as he breathed you in.  

“I’ve seen this dress before, no?” he mumbled deeply against you, pressing his lips to where your neck began. You shivered a little at his touch, your eyes instinctively closing in content.  

“You seemed to like it when I last wore it,” you teased, relaxing into his hold as his hands ran down the glove-like sleeves, lacing his fingers with yours. The leather felt soft in your palms, the warmth of his hands radiating through them. 

“You noticed,” he mused, knowing full well he hadn’t been subtle in the slightest. You hummed in affirmation, letting him wrap his arms around your waist, and in turn, yours. He swayed to the opera playing in the background, your body naturally moving with his as his presence engulfed you.  

The moment felt incredibly intimate, his body heat turning your cheeks a hue of pink he couldn’t see from behind you. His chest pressed against your back, and he leaned into you as his lips continued to press feather light kisses to your neck.  

“I like this dress very much, cara mia,” his kisses became a little more sensual, his hips swaying like you’d seen him do on stage many times before, “sei così bella che potrei mangiarti (you look good enough to eat).” 

“But it would be a shame to let whatever you’re cooking go to waste,” you smiled, turning your head to look at him. His beautifully mismatched eyes met yours, and he settled his chin on your shoulder, the swaying coming to a stop. “I didn’t realise you would be cooking.” 

He stood up straighter then, feigning offense. “Do you think me incapable, principessa?” he pouted. 

“Of course not, Papa. I’m sure you’re capable of many things,” you played along. He chuckled, lowering to whisper in your ear. 

“You have no idea, principessa...” 

To your disappointment, he let you go, taking a step back, his warmth and the smell of his cologne disappearing. He walked over to the dining table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for you to take a seat. You did as instructed, not missing the way his eyes focussed on your hips swaying with each step. You made sure to sway them a little more than usual, your steps slower than your regular pace.  

Terzo felt his heartrate quicken ever so slightly, the beauty of how your body moved in that sinful dress of yours overwhelming. He let you sit, pushing your chair in like a gentleman before he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.  

While he pottered around in there, blissfully mumbling to himself you focussed on the opera music flowing through the air. The mood he had set within these four walls was like something from a romance novel – seductive and enticing, a feeling of anticipation tingling within you. You weren’t sure what he was planning, but judging by the indulgent scents of the foods cooking, you had guessed he was going for a specific sin tonight. 

Gluttony. 

He was barely gone for two minutes before he sauntered back in, untying his apron and revealing that his shirt was unbuttoned one button more than usual – enough to allow a peak at the chest hair you became acquainted with just the other day, along with a glint of a gold chain, Grucifix pendant weighing it down. He draped it over the back of the chair opposite you and reached for the black napkin folded next to the ice bucket. 

“For the lady?” he asked with a smirk, holding the wine up as if offering, “’Ponkler’ by Franz Haas. 2016; a very good year.” His accent sounded thicker, snobbier as if put on to tease. You decided you’d play into his game, test him a little and see if he would trip up. 

“What is the bouquet like, may I ask?” you feigned a terrible classic British accent, tilting your nose up at the bottle. Terzo’s eyes glimmered with amusement. 

“Small ripe red fruits, white chocolate, cloves and alpine flora – made with pinot noir grapes and from the South Tyrol region of Italy. It’s quite smooth,” he explained. Damnit, he did know what he was talking about. “Would the lady like to taste?”  

“Please,” you smiled warmly. Terzo lifted the bottle by its neck, then used the napkin to hold the base as he uncorked it. He lifted your empty wine glass, pouring a small amount and swirling it around to oxygenate it. You expected him to hand you the glass, but instead, he gently placed the bottle back into the ice bucket and sat on the edge of the table to your side, looming over you.  

With his now free hand, he curled his finger under your chin. “Open,” he commanded, and you didn’t argue, lips parting for him as you held his gaze. He lifted the glass, sitting the rim against your bottom lip, and agonisingly slowly poured the wine onto your tongue.  

Your heart rate quickened, every nerve ending in your body suddenly aware of the proximity of him leering over you, touching you, commanding you. He was in control, more so than he had been when you’d first slept together. Everything was carefully thought out, planned, and so elegantly seductive. 

He was right – you could taste the ripeness of the fruits, the smooth and sweet white chocolate elements... It didn’t have that sharpness to it, one of the things you didn’t mind about a red wine but would avoid if you were able. You basked in the taste for a moment before swallowing when Terzo set the glass back on the table.  

“Well?” he asked, expectant, still sitting on the edge of the table with his thigh dangerously close to your own.  

“Buonissimo (very good,)” you grinned, ignoring your heartrate and keeping your breathing as steady as possible. He laughed, impressed by your Italian pronunciation. 

“Perfetto (perfect),” he stood, grabbing the wine bottle to pour you another glass to enjoy with a little more in this time, and one for himself. “I’ll get the appetiser, shall I?”  

Before you had time to answer, he sauntered off into the kitchen once again, leaving you to calm yourself of the pounding heartbeat in your ear drums. After another moment or two alone, soaking in the atmosphere of the beautiful opera music and warm glow of candlelight, he came back with a plate balanced on the tips of his fingers, held up high with a fresh black napkin draped over his arm.  

Ever the showman. 

“To start, roasted pepper and goat cheese bruschetta...” he announced, placing the plate down as close to the centre of the table as he could with the candelabra in the way, and taking a seat opposite you. On the plate were six baguette slices, brushed with expensive olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper then topped with fresh goat cheese and roasted peppers marinated in a honey vinaigrette – or so he had explained as he’d sat.  

You couldn’t fault his presentation. It looked like a professional set up, the way the six slices were laid out almost like a flower, a small pot of extra vinaigrette in the centre. He leaned in on his elbows as you picked up your first slice, anxiously awaiting your review. 

In the first bite, you all but melted into your seat. The mixes of sweet and tangy within the roasted peppers and the fresh creaminess of the cheese were so welcoming, almost homely in nature. You were immediately whisked off to a balcony in Italy, overlooking acres of farmland with a fresh summer breeze blowing through your hair. 

You polished off the first slice, enjoying each bite more so than the last.  

“Good?” he asked, and all you could do was moan in agreeance as you chewed. “Bene,” he grinned, “here, let me.”  

He stood and moved his chair closer to you, and on instinct you swivelled your hips to face him. His legs parted, scooting forward until his thighs ran parallel with yours. Then, he removed the glove from his right hand, and lifted another slice of bruschetta to your lips.  

Terzo feeding you felt like a level of intimacy you had never had with another before, like you were so willingly submitting to him and entrusting him with your most basic of human needs. He never, not once let his eyes slip from where your lips parted, gently taking a bite. He saw the way your tongue skimmed the surface for crumbs or remnants of dressing, and it made his chest tighten. All he could think of, was kissing those beautiful lips... 

With your last bite, the slightest amount of vinaigrette dripped from the slice to the corner of your mouth and Terzo didn’t hesitate, swiping his bare thumb over the drop and bringing it to his own lips, sucking as he held eye contact with you.  

It was the single most erotic thing you had seen him do so far that evening. And heat burned inside you.  

As you finished your last bite, you realised he hadn’t had a slice of his own yet – a travesty. You must insist he try one, right now. And so just as he had, you lifted another slice, and leaned in further to him, raising it to meet his black painted lips.  

“Open up, Papa,” you instructed coyly, smirking as a natural response to the smug smile on his own face. Wordlessly, he parted his lips for you, arousal heating up his own body more so with your boldness. He would never let someone do this, never willingly be fed but for you, he would make an exception.  

“Grazie, principessa, (thank you, princess),” he thanked you as he chewed, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips so feather light you couldn’t help but chase him a little. But he just chuckled at you, sitting back to finish his mouthful.  

Before long, the plate was empty of bruschetta.  

“If that appetiser was this good, I look forward to whatever tricks you have left up your sleeve, Papa,” you teased, dabbing a napkin on the corner of your mouth.  

“Oh, there are many...” he smirked, “but first, a palette cleansing. More wine, Principessa?” He turned back to the table, lifting your glass again but instead of handing it to you, or even pressing the glass to your own lips like he had already, he took a mouthful himself.  

You were about to swat his shoulder for stealing from your own glass but he didn’t give you the option, instead leaning forward, fingers curling into your hair at the back of your head, and pressing his lips to yours. Naturally, you melted against him, lips parting to kiss him as if he wasn’t holding a mouthful of wine but when he parted his own lips, you were soon reminded that he most certainly was.  

Slowly, he shared some with you, careful not to spill any. It had warmed in his mouth, but you didn’t mind – the eroticism of the act itself was enough to heat your cheeks and earn a soft whimper from you. Once again, you could taste the berries, the grapes, the white chocolate... and something inherently him. 

He sat back, swallowing the small amount he still had and letting you follow suit. Your mind swam with lust, desperate for more kisses, more wine, more flavour – anything he was willing to give you. Your thighs squeezed together as your core was set alight with arousal; and yes, he did notice. But ever the gentleman, he said nothing.  

“I think our entrée is almost ready, cara mia,” he winked, standing from the table again and grabbing the apron from the back of his chair. Quickly, he tied it around his waist, forgoing throwing the bib over his neck and wondered back off into the kitchen.  

You stood, taking the time to pour both yourself and Terzo another glass of wine, coming slowly to the end of the bottle. You took your glass in hand, and wandered over to the stereo that Terzo had on top of a bookshelf. You needed to focus on something, anything other than the arousal he’d stirred up in you already, so you ventured over to see what he was playing.  

However, upon inspection the ancient boombox was playing a cassette tape, with a white sticker on the front, handwritten title in Terzo’s signature cursive.  

‘Principessa.’ 

The opera songs you were listening to weren’t from one singular performance but were in fact a mixtape of chosen songs from multiple operas. And he’d made it for your dinner – for you.  

Before you could think too much on the matter, you felt his strong arms wrapping their way around your waist again, his chin resting on your shoulder. Only now did you notice; he had removed his other glove. 

“I wasn’t sure you would like opera, Principessa,” he began, “but I think it adds a little... romanticismo to the evening, sì?” You stayed quiet, instead opting to sip from your glass while you thought of a reply. 

“I suppose I never gave it much of a chance, maybe because I can’t understand them,” you thought aloud. That much was certainly true – in the years you’d spent with men who spoke Italian, you had only picked up choice phrases – nothing so complex as this. 

“I see, well... This is a song from ‘La Traviata’, which loosely translates as ‘The Fallen Woman’,” he explained, his warm breath tickling your ear, smelling vaguely of the wine you shared... “This song is called ‘Un dì felice, eterea’ or ‘One day, Happy, Ethereal’. Alfredo falls in love with a courtesan, Violetta. In this song, he’s confessing his love to her. 

“In essence, he is saying ‘on one very happy day, you fell into my life and ever since, I’ve lived with unknown love. That love is the pulse of the universe, torture and delight, torture and delight...” 

His arms around you feel hot, burning into you as he surrounds you. It’s beautiful, the male vocals are stunning and grand. You can hear Alfredo’s longing, his confession heartfelt and passionate. It’s almost present in the way Terzo’s arms tighten around you as Alfredo sings, except you tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. It’s merely the atmosphere, the scene he’s created. It’s nothing but a fabrication, a ruse to fulfil tonight’s sin.  

And then, Violetta begins to sing.  

It’s a contrast, a surprising staccato soprano after the tenor. Her voice doesn’t sound like it longs for Alfredo; it sounds like she is... shooing him away?  

“Is she... rejecting him?” you ask, turning your head to look at Papa. His smile widens. 

“A good ear... Sì, she is telling him to forget about her, friendship is all she can offer him,” his eyes search your face for a moment, before they settle back on your own with a different demeanour, one you can’t discern. “She is saying ‘honestly, you must find someone else. Someone who knows how to love you.’” 

A breath of silence passes between you as you listen to Violetta’s staccato vocals. Eventually, the pair begin to repeat a line from Alfredo’s verse together.  

“This is where she admits feelings for Alfredo,” he whispers, eyes fixed on yours. There’s a tension there, a battle behind his eyes that looks to be saying ‘kiss her... just kiss her...’ 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he retreats. 

“Come, Principessa. Your entrée is getting cold,” he gently taps your behind as he wanders back to the table, moving his chair further from you and you can’t help but feel disappointed. He removed his apron once again, resting it on the back of his chair. You sit together, and realise he had already plated your entrées and placed them at your seat. “Lamb and rosemary ravioli. Made fresh, of course,” he smiles tenderly at the food on his plate, as if it reminded him of a fond memory. 

Your first bite, and you can’t believe the flavour he’s packed into such a tiny little parcel of pasta. It explodes, tender lamb mixed with the earthy notes of rosemary, hints of the onion and olive oil it was cooked within. You couldn’t help the moan you let slip, warmed from the inside out and transported back to that balcony in the Italian countryside.  

“Papa, where did you learn to cook like this?” you asked, very much aware of the effort that fresh pasta and homemade ravioli would take to create. He had made it all from scratch, and you couldn’t understand where he’d found the time, let alone learned the craft. 

He smiled down at his plate once more, memories dancing through his mind to the music in the background.  

“Mia nonna,” he said, before flickering his eyes up to show a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. His answer threw you for a loop. You thought for sure he had perhaps attended a class during his time in Italy, or it was just a hobby of his before he became Papa. But now it made sense; the familial tie to cooking explained the heart that he so clearly put into every flavour.  

“We were close. She and I spent a lot of time together after mia madre (my mother) passed,” a sadness flashed across his face, quickly replaced with a mask of happiness, “I was far younger than i miei fratelli (my brothers), and she would look after me when they were busy with Ministry things. She always told me I needed to learn to cook, to ‘impressionare una bella signorina’ (‘impress a beautiful girl’) she would say,” he chuckled to himself. 

He didn’t know why he was telling you this; you didn’t need to know anything about his childhood, and yet, perhaps the setting he had created for himself was all too realistic. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking this was more than what it really was – a scene in an opera of his own writing. Still, he felt comfortable enough to share this. He knew you would think no less of him for telling you something of his childhood. 

“She taught you well, Papa,” you smiled, allowing him a moment of tenderness. You figured he may need that, his life so full of duty and obligation. 

You both finished your entrées in silence, the music creating a comfortable backdrop. You shared the odd smile, little moans of satisfaction with every few mouthfuls, until eventually you had cleared the plate. 

When Terzo brought out dessert, your mouth watered... He carried a tray, filled with little bowls and a plate in the centre, towered with biscuits. In the bowls were different flavours of what you assumed were gelatos, scooped into almost perfect spheres. He set the tray down in front of you, and brought his chair back to directly beside you, slotting you between his thighs like he had earlier that evening.  

“For dessert, an assortment of gelato – unfortunately not homemade. I make terrible, tasteless gelato...” he laughed, “but paired with homemade ricciarelli biscuits. Those, I made.”  

Casting your eyes over the assortment, there were at least six different flavours to taste. Your sweet tooth was tingling, and the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering away with Papa’s thighs encasing your own again.  

“The biscuits are almond biscuits, I find they’re much more delectable than eating gelato with a spoon,” he began, already scooping a generous amount of a yellow coloured gelato up with one of the biscuits. “Mango first, my favourite.”  

He began as if to feed it to you like he had the bruschetta, except he moved it away, sticking the end between his teeth and leaning back. His eyebrow quirked up in expectation, and he beckoned you to him with two fingers. Ah, so the fun was beginning again... 

With a cheeky smile on your face, you leaned forwards, spreading your palms over the meat of his thighs. Slowly, you parted your lips, engulfing the gelato covered end of the biscuit and biting into it with a hum. The chill of the gelato soothed the heat in your cheeks, burst of flavour melting into the biscuit as you chewed. They complimented each other beautifully – fresh fruity flavour with light and airy biscuit.  

Terzo watched intently, half of the biscuit still stuck between his teeth, leaning into the back of his chair. He marvelled the way your lips parted, revelled in the hum you made at the taste hitting your tongue. Satisfied with the show you’d put on, he ate the rest of the biscuit.  

He repeated this with several different flavours, allowing you to take each from him while he watched over, and over. He adored your lips, could watch them move all day. But he wanted to touch them, to taste them, to feel them on his. With every bite you took from his own mouth, he wished he’d forget the food and kiss you right there and then. 

But this was about the gluttony of it all. It was about the greed, the excess. He would keep feeding you until he was satisfied. But still, just a taste... 

When you expected him to pick up another biscuit, he didn’t. Instead, he picked up his wine glass, draining the rest of the glass quickly, as if he needed the extra confidence. Then, he scooped two fingers into the bowl of strawberry gelato, leaned forward and pressed them to your lips. Shocked by the sudden chill you didn’t move for a second, but that was fine – he didn’t want you to. Instead, he ran his fingers along your lips as if he were applying lipstick and coated them in gelato. 

Terzo sucked the remaining gelato from his fingertips and moved towards you, pressing his own painted lips to yours. There was nothing sweet about it, save for the gelato. It was messy, indulgent, slow. His tongue laved at your lips, removing any trace of strawberry he could find. And you – you got too caught up in the kiss itself, gripping onto the open collar of his shirt and whimpering into his touch.  

Your body lit up, like your veins pumped gasoline in place of blood and Terzo had lit a match. Every tiny little touch, every look, every seductive little show he put on that evening had led up to an inhumane level of arousal that you didn’t realise would snap as quickly as it had. You thought you had this under control. You thought you had him where you wanted him.  

You did not. 

But it would be a lie if Terzo tried to say he also had control. That was not something he knew well around you. In every aspect of his life, he had control. Too much of it, even. Sometimes he despised it and yet when he was with you, he could lose it. He didn’t need to have control – he could let himself go and succumb to you. And so, he did, messily kissing you and groaning against your lips when your hands settled back on his thighs and gripped so tightly.  

He pushed on your waist to sit you back in your chair, standing up and towering above you. That look on his face was back; easily mistaken for rage but it was determination, need. It made your core clench, thighs pressing into each other.  

“I enjoy my food, cara mia. I like to indulge,” he began, darkly hovering barely an inch from your face, “I like to play with my food too, in the right setting, with the right person. And here you are; ready and willing, eh?” 

You nodded, breathless. You were so willing. 

He shoved two fingers into a chocolate gelato, depositing a large amount onto his tongue before he dived in again for another deep kiss. The ice-cold texture mixed with the warmth of his tongue against yours was maddening. He didn’t break away again until it had melted completely, and you both were able to swallow whatever you could take from each other.  

The act was lewd; filthy, even. But oh, how it turned you on... 

With the gelato disappearing between you, he decided your lips were not enough for him anymore and began to trail open mouthed kisses down your neck and collarbone, covering the expanse of your neck and adding new, fresh patches of purple to accompany the now yellowing ones he’d left just two days ago. He liked marking you, making sure you remembered it was him who had left them. You let your head fall back, enjoying how his lips still felt cold on your skin that burned under the heat of your passion rising and rising...  

In your bliss you lost yourself, only coming to when you felt the sting of ice-cold strawberry gelato being dragged across your collarbone, quickly warmed by Terzo’s tongue chasing the trail. The sensations heightened your arousal to new levels, awakening something in you that you’d never once explored before. But at the taste of strawberry on his tongue as he lapped it off your chest, Terzo groaned and fell to his knees between your feet as if it were him receiving this array of pleasure. 

With the hand that didn’t have fingers covered in gelato, Terzo reached around to your back where you arched off the chair and dragged the zipper of your dress down, pulling the material to expose your bare breasts to him. He reached behind him, this time dipping into a pistachio flavoured gelato and trailing a line with it between your breasts, where he immediately dove in, lapping at the skin as if he was a man starved.  

He was losing composure at an alarming pace, already filling out his briefs, blood rushing to his length. An indulgent swine at the best of times, this was where he lost himself; in the finest things he could possibly indulge in. Good food, good wine, and you.  

In his reverie he reached behind him, grabbing a handful of gelato and using that very same hand to cup one of your bare breasts, smearing chocolate gelato over you. Your nipple peaked at the temperature, freezing cold as you gasped, watching him with wild and blown out eyes as he mouthed at the area, sucking on your nipple and the surrounding breast until the smear disappeared, his hand still coated in dripping gelato of multiple flavours.  

Watching him like this was charging every possible nerve in your body, your core wet and ready for him whenever he might finally get there. For now, the pleasure he was able to give you through stimulation of your nipple alone was enough to have you gasping.  

“Mangia, amore mio... indugia, per favore... (Eat, my love... indulge, please...)” he begged from his knees, reaching up to paint your lips with the mess from his fingers before slipping two past them to rest on your tongue. You sucked the sweet mixture from them, wanting nothing more than a burst of flavour and pleasure together as he worked on your breasts below.  

Your mind felt hazy, a buzz from the few glasses of wine you’d shared now having an effect and mixing with the lust that clouded your mind of any rational thinking.  

“Papa...” you whined around his fingers, cleaning them off one by one. You didn’t know what you were whining for, other than more. More of everything. More gelato, more wine, more of him.  

"A moment, cara...” he said, pushing his fingers to your lips in a ‘silence’ gesture, and raising back to his feet. He left you alone in the chair, half exposed and half mad with want as he disappeared back into the kitchen for one final time, re-emerging with a new, freshly uncorked bottle of red Ponkler wine. He knelt before you again, drinking straight from the bottle by the neck before handing it to you to do the same. You did so gladly, enjoying the buzz it gave you and the taste of it on your tongue. 

With his hands now free and wiped clean, he ran his fingertips up your bare calves, under the hem of your dress and past your knees until he was able to push the dress up, revealing your thighs to him. He dove his head down, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to the skin as he rose further and further up, parting your legs to slot between them. You slumped against the chair, taking another gulp of wine and watching with hooded eyes and a knowing smirk as Terzo finally realised... 

You weren’t wearing any panties... 

“Shit...” he breathed, unaware he’d reacted aloud. 

“Can’t wear panties with a dress this tight,” you smiled, biting your lip. His gaze on yours changed, as if clouding over with a dark smoke. He looked positively ravenous, and his actions proved your theory. He gripped onto the top of your dress this time, pulling it down and over your hips to fling it from your legs before parting them again and slotting himself right in between.  

He reached behind him for one of the small bowls of gelato – a salted caramel flavour – holding it in one hand while he used his other to scoop another generous amount onto his fingers and draw lines of sweetness along the inside of your thighs. The cold made you shiver, but once again, his tongue warmed you, cleaning up his own mess and drawing ever nearer to your centre where you were desperately dripping for him.  

When his cold, caramel coated fingertips finally grazed over your clit, you keened under his touch. Your back arched at the shock and pleasure, until you were met with a warm tongue to replace the cold, and Terzo was lapping up the melted gelato.  

His tongue felt heavenly on you, finally a reprieve from the torture of waiting, of being teased on and off all damn night until finally you had both just snapped. His fingers were long forgotten, smearing the rest of the caramel gelato over your thigh as he pushed them open. Neither of you cared about the mess you were making, simply too far gone. Instead, he focussed on the sweetness pooling between your legs, and how you were the most divine thing he had tasted all night.  

His tongue laved over your clit over and over again, drawing circles, flattening against you, writing what you assumed to be Italian curse words letter by letter... Every so often, he would pour some melted caramel gelato from the little bowl still in his hand directly onto your clit, lapping it up like a parched animal by a riverside.  

“P-Papa...” you mewled, your hand fisting into his beautiful raven hair as you clutched the wine bottle in the other. The dance between hot and cold, the feeling of sweetness oozing over your core had you experiencing this like no other time you had – and Papa’s skill was certainly unmatched.  

You would take swigs from the wine bottle every so often, still desperate to taste something for yourself, to continue to spoil yourself in the name of gluttony.  

“Principessa, you taste sweeter than the finest gelato italiano,” he growled into your mound, “this is the nectar I would make my wine with... I’d be drunk on you every fucking day...” 

The moan that slipped from your lips at his words was pornographic, and he had put an idea in your head that you couldn’t push away the more he lapped at your centre. Slowly, you raised the bottle of wine over your chest, catching his attention as he continued to work you, and you began to pour it over yourself.  

The red liquid trickled over your collarbone, over and between your breasts, and began to run slowly down to where Terzo’s mouth was engulfing you. When the liquid mixed with your own juices on his tongue, his mind broke. He slurped and drank from you, the mess unavoidably dripping to the floor when he couldn’t catch it all. It stained his shirt, dripped onto his pants and between his knees and he loved every second of it. Watching as you doused yourself in not just his expensive, decadent wine but the very symbol of the Dark One’s own blood...  

It was intoxicating in every sense of the word.  

As Terzo dove his tongue through your folds, drinking every drop he could from you like the sweetest of fruits, two of his fingers slipped easily inside of you, curling the way he knew you liked having already committed your sensitivities to memory during your first encounter. When he hit your g-spot you jolted, forgetting about the wine and sitting up suddenly, half a bottle still sloshing inside the bottle. His free hand kept you planted by your hip, pushing you into the hard wood and upholstery beneath you. You didn’t have time to think about the red wine staining the fabric right now – the thought never even crossed your mind.  

As if he’d eaten nothing all evening, Terzo was starving for more of you. He was relentless, and the pressure was building inside you more and more, winding so tight you found yourself holding your breath. With his fingers inside you and his mouth engulfing you, you were seconds away from slipping from the precipice.  

“P-Papa... I’m gonna...” you panted, breath stuck in your lungs as if he’d wound his hand around your throat again and squeezed.  

“Do it,” he instructed, his voice dark and gravelly against your clit. And you snapped.  

You writhed in place, held down still by a strong hand on your hip. He didn’t let up, continuing with the same speed, pressure, and calculated curl of his lips, tongue and fingers. Your whole body set alight, arms dropping numb at your sides and barely grasping onto the neck of the wine bottle, which clanged against the legs of your chair. You cried out a slew of profanities and whimpered ‘Papas’ as you rose and fell.  

If Terzo hadn’t already been driven quite insane by your little trick with the wine, he might just have taken the leap when you came... Your body gave him flavour in excess, covering his chin with more of your sweet juices. He drained you completely, and slowly allowed you a soft comedown from your unimaginable high.  

He sat back on his heals, wiping his mouth and chin on a napkin from the table. His paints had long since melted away, a grey hue now wiped onto the black napkin as he caught his breath. He looked up at you sat slumped back in your chair and realised looking at you at all had been a mistake. His poor weeping cock, aching in his briefs, couldn’t take the sight of you, and he found himself on the brink of begging you to let him have you right there in the mess you’d made of the floor. 

“We’re not done, Principessa,” he growled, standing up and dragging you by the hand to your feet with him. Stood before him now, naked save for your heels and the glove-like sleeves of your dress, you felt like a feather, still floating from your climax. Terzo’s hands settled on your waist to steady you, letting you wrap your arms around his neck, grasping the wine bottle tightly. You could feel how much he needed you, pressed against your lower stomach... 

“Take me to bed, Papa...” you slurred, pulling him towards you for a slow, deep kiss that knocked the air out of the room around you both. His hands slid from your waist, cascading to your hips until eventually he hooked his hands behind your thighs and lifted you, crossing your legs around his waist and holding you tightly. He was far stronger than you had anticipated, his biceps tightening in the dark green of his shirt. 

“As you wish, amore mio,” he grinned, carrying you through the living room and past the coffee table, where you reached down and picked up the fruit bowl you’d seen earlier. In the spirit of gluttony, you would put it to good use, already picking off singular grapes to pop between his teeth before you leaned in to kiss him, sharing the grape juice as he bit into each one. 

Soon enough he was throwing you down onto a beautiful purple bedspread, satin upon satin with layers of black to compliment. Terzo took the fruit bowl and wine from your grasp, placing them on his nightstand before turning his gaze back to you.  

Wordlessly, he leaned in to kiss you again, chasing you when you crawled back to lie against his pillows without breaking away from your lips. He crawled over you, strategically placing himself between your legs and pressing his clothed thigh to your centre again. You hummed in vague pleasure, grateful for any and all friction as arousal began to build once again.  

His Grucifix pendant dangled over you as he leered, a peak under his shirt visible where the shirt billowed from his chest. You wanted him out of it already, you wanted to see him just as bare to you as you were to him.  

You rolled the sleeve-like gloves you were still wearing down your arms one by one, kicking your heels off to the floor at the foot of the bed, and reached for the buttons of his shirt. He let you, taking his time to pepper kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your breasts – all still vaguely tasting like wine. Before long, he was shrugged out of an open shirt, and letting you graze your palms over the definition beneath, tickled by the dark chest hair of a born-Italian man. 

He let you explore, undoing his belt with one hand as he propped himself up on the other, pulling it from his belt loops. You wanted to help then, reaching down to palm his length for a moment and enjoying the groan at some kind of relief that he let slide. But waiting wasn’t on the cards tonight – not anymore. And so, you unbuttoned his slacks, undoing his zipper, and pushed the hem of his trousers down along with the waistband of his briefs, until you could no longer reach, and he kicked them off for you.  

Lips attacked yours again and hands roamed the expanse of your body as yours did his. You lost yourself in each other, finding it all too easy to submit to him. His kisses lingered on your lips as he trailed back to your neck, kissing along the satin of the choker you were still wearing.  

“A woman like you deserves real jewels, Principessa,” he moaned against your skin, “whatever you desire should be yours.” Your entire body purred under him, your organs fluttering in delight. You were never one for a gifts or expensive things but surrounded by the finery that was Terzo’s apartment you found yourself absorbed in his world, excited at the empty promise of such luxury.  

He reached for the bottle of wine beside the bed, taking a quick gulp and holding it in his mouth. His fingers came and tapped on your lips, and on cue you opened wide for him where you lay beneath him. He smirked and spat the wine directly onto your waiting tongue, allowing you time to swallow before kissing you, tongues colliding messily and falling into another deeply passionate moment. 

But frankly, you were done waiting. You were done with being the centre of attention. Just because this was your ritual didn’t mean that whoever you chose to perform it with had to come second to you. Terzo was putting in all of the work, worshipping you and as much as you adored it, craved it even when he wasn’t there... you wanted to worship him back. After all, he was your Papa... Your leader, head of the Satanic Chruch. He had cooked for you, opened his home to you, had you climaxing harder and faster than any partner. Time to give him a break. 

Terzo’s length was pressing against you and being so close, yet so damn far was frustrating you to no end. Grinding against him was earning you harsher kisses, deeper moans but you needed him; now.  

When you pushed him off you and put the wine bottle down, he looked at you with confusion, worry flashing through his face. Had he gone too far? Were you having second thoughts about this? Did you even want to continue this ritual?  

Before he could panic, you pushed his shoulders, rolling him over to his back and swinging your leg over him to straddle his thighs. He didn’t fight you, in fact he looked ridiculously smug below you when he realised what you had done – his mind slower to catch up with the alcohol flowing through his veins taking effect.  

“I haven’t thanked you for dinner yet, Papa...” you smirked, sitting up straight as he watched in awe. “Besides... I can’t wait any longer. I need you,” you whined. 

“Take what you need, Principessa,” he curled his finger under your chin, guiding your lips back to his. Oh, how easy it was to be sucked back in, to forget just for a moment about the ache between your legs, how desperate you were to sink down on him when his lips felt like this. 

But when his cock jumped against your stomach, you were reminded instantly.  

Without parting your lips you shuffled forwards, hovering above him and grinding your hips along his length. Your arousal coated him, the warmth and the slide too good to not moan into your mouth, his bare hands gripping at the flesh of your ass to guide you. You reached between you and took his length in your hand, guiding him to your centre before slowly, with foreheads and noses pressed against each other, you finally sank down on him.  

With your hips sat flush against him, chest to chest, you had never felt so close to him. Your arms wrapped instinctively around his shoulders, both of you wrapped in each other’s arms as you adjusted. It didn’t take long after the way his fingers had stretched you earlier, and so you began to rock your hips where you sat.  

You swear, the feeling of Terzo filling you was unmatched. Able to control how you rode him, where you felt him was beautiful. And to top it all off, Terzo was so far gone himself, all he could do was grip onto your hips and desperately mouth at your neck, over the litany of purple and yellow bruises he had left. 

It was all a little much for him, his mind swirling with thoughts of you and how intimate everything felt to be wrapped up in you like this. He’d had countless partners, of course, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so close to any of them. It scared him, terrified that he was allowing himself to get too close, that you were tearing through the walls he had put up years ago to block his emotions from the outside world. To your dismay, he leaned back, slapping his back against the pillows below him and covering his half-painted face with his hands as he groaned into them. But no, you weren’t going to settle for that, and so you slowed your pace and demanded his attention back on you when you reached for a deep red apple in the fruit bowl by the bed.  

He peeked out from behind his fingertips to see you still sat upright as you ground your hips into his and staring down at him, taking a large bite from the crisp apple as you rolled your hips. The innocence of simply eating fruit whilst performing such a lewd act twisted into the ultimate sin. Had he not known any better, he could have sworn you were in fact Eve and he Adam, plucked from the Garden of Eden and being tempted into sin.  

“Più bella di Eva... (More beautiful than Eve...)” he whispered to himself, but you caught it – and your heart leapt. Your reaction was visceral, out of your control. All you could do was roll your hips faster, whining at the taste of the sweet apple. With your free hand you prop yourself up on his chest, leaning forward to press the apple to his lips and let him taste. He obliged willingly, no tempting necessary. He gave in to sin so readily. 

As he chewed, his eyes dropped to where his cock was disappearing in and out of you with each roll of your hips. He’d never seen anything so beautiful, never been more hypnotised in all his life.  

“Cazzo...” he moaned, “You feel so good, Principessa... Made for your Papa, eh?” His hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of you.  

“Eat, Papa... Enjoy it,” you groaned, pushing the apple to his lips again for another bite. He did so without further encouragement, this time running his tongue over the thumb that held the apple, licking the juice where it gathered. He groaned at the taste, swallowing the bite and taking another from you. He’d let you feed him all day, every fucking day. He’d let you take care of him any time.  

“Will you cum for me, Papa?” you whined, desperately barrelling towards an end yourself. 

“Why, Principessa? Do you need it?” he teased breathlessly, knowing that was exactly what you needed. 

“Please. Please, cum for me Papa...” you begged, thighs burning with exhaustion.  

“Together, hm? We dive off the edge in each other’s arms, amore mio,” he promised, reaching a hand between the two of you and circling his fingers on your clit. Immediately you clenched around him, hips stuttering but you were so grateful for the added stimulation.  

The apple fell from your grasp, hitting the floor somewhere. You planted both hands on his chest, using every bit of energy you had left in you to roll your hips as he held you by your waist, slamming up to meet your grinding in rhythm. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room, the opera music a distant atmospheric hum in the background now.  

“Oh, dolce lucifero all'inferno... (sweet Lucifer in Hell...)” he growled, gripping your wrist on his chest and holding on for dear life, fingers circling your clit over and over and over like a man possessed. If you came, he could let go. He couldn’t let go until he felt you come apart around him.  

Like a crashing tsunami, your orgasm washed over you. How desperate you were to keep up a rhythm, but Terzo had to take over for you, slamming up into you with vigour to keep you stimulated as you came around him. Your walls clenched on his length, body stiffening and muscles tensing as you cried out for him. Your nails dug into his pecs, tugged at his chest hair. You made the prettiest noises for him... 

Terzo couldn’t hold back anymore, finally being squeezed so tightly that he’d have cum whether he wanted to or not.  

“Fucking SHIT,” he shouted, grip on your wrist becoming almost painful as he bucked up into you, doubling you over until you collapsed onto his chest breathless. He allowed himself a final few thrusts, slower and each less powerful than the last, until he let his length slip from you, feeling the mess he’d made seeping onto his pubic bone.  

You lay on his chest, fluttering and clenching around nothing. You weren’t sure how he did it, but every orgasm with Terzo knocked the wind out of you. All of your limbs felt numb, tingling with pins and needles while you regulated your breathing.  

Terzo wrapped his arms around you, holding you close and pressing kisses to your forehead mixed with muttered praises and hushes when you’d whimper involuntarily. He kept reminding you he was there, comforting you, letting you float back to earth. ‘But who was there for him?’ you thought to yourself. 

Without giving the idea too much thought, you raised a hand to his still painted cheek – albeit, incredibly smudged – and marvelled at the man before you. From the nose down, his paint had vanished, succumbing to the napkin. But his eyes, still painted were dishevelled just as his hair, wild and messy and falling over his forehead, sticking to it with sweat. His eyes watched yours, curious as to what it was you were seeing that had you so transfixed. He could only assume you were so exhausted and still drunk enough that your brain wasn’t registering what you were looking at. 

But no, you saw him. And how beautiful he was...  

You reached for him, pressing your lips to his gently in a silent thank you. A thank you for being there for you, for helping you with this ritual. For making you feel like you weren’t crazy, or a spoiled brat for never hearing His voice. For making such an effort to ensure the completion of such an important ritual. For taking care of you, every step of the way so far.  

Neither of you said a word for the rest of the evening, opting to lay in each other’s arms for a while, just comfortable... Until you realised just how sticky you felt, remnants of wine, gelato, sweat and bodily fluids now drying and making you feel frankly disgusting.  

But Papa wouldn’t let you get up, seeing how exhausted you had become when your eyes could hardly stay open. Instead, he brought a washcloth and bowl of warm soapy water to you, wiping you down where you lay and drying you with a fresh, soft towel. He tucked you into his sheets with a kiss to your forehead, and disposed of the bowl and washcloth.  

He’d been gone for ten minutes, cleaning himself up a little before blowing out candles and switching off the music, when he came back to find you completely sparked out. He chuckled quietly – he knew you couldn’t last, not after filling up on wine and decadent food, then climaxing twice like this. But a pang of guilt shot through him. He should have been here, with you. He didn’t want you to fall asleep alone tonight.  

He took one final mouthful of wine and climbed into bed next to you. To Hell with the inward battle of ‘should he? shouldn’t he?’. He wanted to be curled up next to you, and he had the strangest feeling you would too.  

He slung an arm over your waist, shuffling until his chest pressed against your back. When he felt your arm cover his and heard a soft sigh from your lips, he could finally relax for the evening, stripped bare of his paints, clothes, and the wall he had built around himself.  

He was beginning to let you in... 

Secondo tapped his foot on the stone floor, watching the clock tick on above his door. Hours, he had sat here. Paperwork littered his desk, his spectacles forgone and sitting atop the papers. 

He had no right to be irritated – he knew this would happen. He planned for this to happen. But a small part of him had thought maybe you would show, that you would surprise him. He thought maybe you were just that loyal to him. 

When the clock read 11:24pm, he finally gave up. You hadn’t showed up to help with the work you had promised you would. Anger simmered in his gut, too easily wound up. This was a set up, and yet... he still found himself slamming his office door shut, and stomping back to his chambers in a foul mood.  

And you should never go to bed angry... 

Prev: Day 2 - Sloth | Next: Day 4 - Wrath A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

Tag list:

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[painted-flag]

From Eden, V - Benjicot Blackwood

✧.* masterlist. ✧.* pairing: benjicot blackwood x oc!daenys velaryon ✧.* warnings: 18+ MDNI (general smut, PiV, creampie, mild dirty talk, slight praise kink) ✧.* word count: 5.7k. ✧.* summary: the time for Daenys and Benjicot's wedding has come. celebrations are abundant and the newly married couple enjoy their time together. yet, the harbinger of ill news creeps ever closer. enemies prepare to make their first strike, unbeknownst to those on dragonstone.

Daenys paced back and forth in the vaulted stone corridor just outside the large reception hall of Dragonstone. Her shoes tapped against the floor with an uneven rhythm as her body lit with nerves. Her wedding gown, a beautiful ivory with black and red embellishments captured the imagery of both House Targaryen and House Blackwood. From the dragon scale-like bodice that plunged gracefully at the neck, to the raven feather stitching that wrapped around her arms, Daenys’ dress represented the fusion of houses through marriage and military might. 

Her arms had wrapped themselves around her torso in an attempt to comfort herself. It would be mere minutes until the doors would open and she would be walked down the aisle; tying herself to Benjicot in body and soul. The ceremony would be done in the faith of the seven. While she and Benjicot did not partake in said religion - Daenys worshipping the old gods of Valyria and Ben the old gods - it had to be done for the satisfaction of most of the realm. As a princess, she must be seen praying and abiding faithfully to the seven, thus her wedding must adhere to those customs. 

Ben had forwarded the idea of a private Valyrian wedding ceremony the morning after and one in front of the old gods at the Weirwood tree at Raventree Hall. Daenys gladly accepted the plan and was warmed at seeing Ben so open to learning about the Valyrian gods. She too had returned the sentiment by spending many hours in the library absorbing any information that she could about the old gods. 

Yet, through that dedication and more largely her courtship with Benjicot, a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind and quickly sprouted into a weed. No matter how often she would rip it out, it grew back soon after. Daenys had doubts regarding their dedication to one another. Had she made a foolish mistake? Turned a quick fancy into a sentence that would haunt her for life? While Benjicot did not waver in his dedication, insecurity had always been her weakness. Being mostly raised in Kings Landing had her always questioning people's motives. 

Daenys was overcome with the urge to climb aboard Suneater and fly away. 

Was she just a prize for the Riverlands? Something Lord Tully could boast about; that one of his bannermen snagged a princess. Danys was used to being used. A trophy that was to be plucked and placed on a shelf to display when the owner wanted it. She had been reduced to that many times when lords would visit Kings Landing and leer at her. 

Benjicot was different. She knew - with all her heart and soul - that he was not using her for nefarious purposes. His passion was true, but Daenys was always her own worst enemy. Any ounce of positivity was surely wrapped in venom, that is what the South had taught her. The Riverlands - despite not being in the north - held much of the northern culture of honour and decency without so much of the intense chill of winter, to her benefit. 

Her worries continued to compound even while spaced footsteps echoed down the hall. In her periphery, Daemon emerged from a dark hallway. He, like everyone else, had dressed in the finest of clothing for the wedding. It was his duty to walk her down the aisle, as the only living male head of her family. 

In another world, Daenys would have liked Laenor to be the one to walk her. Perhaps, even her true father Harwin. However, Daemon had proven to be a good stepfather. Distant and a tad bit chaotic, that is true, but there for the family when needed. 

“And how is the bride?” His teasing voice poked at her. He wore a smirk on his face and crossed his arms. 

Daenys sent him a look of annoyance as she continued to pace, “Oh, I am doing wonderfully. No feeling of impending doom at all.” 

“It is time,” Daemon held his arm out to her, “Or are you backing out? It would be nice not to be the main disappointment of the family for once.” 

“Absolutely not.” Daenys wrapped her arm around his and the two faced the large wooden doors to enter the hall. They stood there silently for a moment, waiting for the doors to open. Daenys glanced up at Daemon and opened and closed her mouth a few times. 

The doors opened with a loud boom. Daenys could see the hall filled with lords and ladies all standing around waiting to catch a glimpse of the bride. Daenys sucked in a breath, suddenly more nervous than before now that countless eyes were on her. She leaned ever so slightly towards Daemon while keeping her gaze forward. 

“Please don’t let me fall,” Daenys whispered. 

Daemon kept his gaze trained on the aisle ahead but responded with sincerity, “Never.” 

The two moved forward and down the three steps into the grand room. Daenys struggled to keep her gaze forward and away from those in the crowd. She had no interest in such a large ceremony, though it is still significantly smaller than what would have been if the wedding was in Kings Landing. All Daenys truly wanted was a small ceremony with close friends and family and a nice dinner celebration. The bells and whistles of her status demanded otherwise. 

Her gaze lifted from the ground, trying desperately not to trip, to meet that of Benjicot who stood up on a raised dias with a septon. Suddenly, that urge to jump on her dragon and flee had left. Ben’s eyes pierced her, a look of adoration sweeping across his features. His hands were clasped in front of him and his body swayed slightly - Daenys suspected with either anticipation or nerves. He carried his signature smirk to project a manner of aloofness to the people. Benjicot was not one to publicly display affection and chose to reserve those moments for privacy. 

Daenys still held trepidation as Daemon brought her up to the dias. Ben moved down to hold his arm out to her. Daenys took it with appreciation as he helped guide her up the steps. Daemon moved to the right side of the gathered crowd, standing with Rhaenyra and the family. 

Her heart was beating in quick succession and her lungs struggled to take in air. Ben saw her rising chest and glassy eyes and squeezed her hands with assurance. The Septon glanced at the couple before clearing his throat. 

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” 

Benjicot reached up and unclipped the cloak that rested on his shoulders. He swung it around and held it out. Daenys turned to present her back to him. He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, his fingertips tracing the skin of her neck. She felt on fire under his touch and flashes of their wedding night came into her vision. Daenys cursed herself for thinking such impure thoughts in from of a Septon and a crowd of lords and ladies. Ben clipped the pin of the cloak, securing it to her figure and stepped back. 

The cloak was made in black and red colours with an intricately embroidered sigil of House Blackwood. It was a stark contrast to the pure ivory gown she wore. 

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” The septon proclaimed. Daenys joined her right hand with Benicot’s left and held them up. The septon held a piece of ribbon in his hands and proceeded to tie it around their hands, joining them as one. 

“Let it be known that the Princess Daenys of House Velaryon and Lord Benjicot of House Blackwood are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” Daenys took in his words as the Septon continued, “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

Daenys exchanged glances with Ben, both of them smiling as the ceremony went on. He winked at her, making a red flush appear on her cheeks. Her reaction made Ben seal his mouth to refrain from laughing. The Septon untied the piece of ribbon, but their hands still held together.

“Look upon one another and say the words.” The Septon commanded. 

Benjicot and Daenys spoke in synch, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…” She stared into his eyes when saying the words with him. The sudden understanding that this was it washed over her. This day sealed the rest of her life, until the day she died. 

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” 

“I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” 

Their words echoed simultaneously throughout the hall as people stood watching. It was silent save for their voices. Everyone focused their attention on the newly wedded couple. 

Benjicot said the words of the groom, “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” He took her other hand in his and pulled Daenys in to kiss her. He held restraint for the sake of being in front of the crowd and did so gently. His soft, but slightly chapped lips brushed against hers as his hold tightened. The crowd began to clap loudly, some hollering at the unification of two houses. 

Daenys felt nothing but Ben’s presence and euphoria. Her feelings of trepidation just moments ago now felt ridiculous. To have ever been scared of this, of tying herself to this man, was perhaps the most irrational she had ever been. Ben pulled away first to rest his forehead against hers. He had to partially bend over because of his height. 

Her eyes opened to meet his - full of nothing but devotion. His lips, normally twisted in his characteristic smirk was nothing but a smile. Amidst the calls of celebration, Ben spoke nothing but a single word. 

“Wife.” The word was uttered with a sort of reverence she had only ever heard when septons and septas would speak of the Seven. 

“Husband.” Deanys reciprocated. It was neither the tone nor cadence she spoke that caused his pupils to expand and breath catch in his throat. It was simply the word itself that elicited a warmth that grew in his stomach. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys and Benjicot found themselves sitting in the middle of a long table on a raised platform in the grand hall. While the ceremony was held in the welcoming hall, their feast would be carried out in the largest of halls in Dragonstone. Enough room for the amount of tables needed to seat everyone and to dance. She sat next to her husband as others got into their seats and began to eat. 

Ben sat on her left and his family, Alysanne and Willem, were also accompanied by Oscar and Kermit Tully as guests of honour with a place at the high table. On Daenys side sat her mother then Daemon, followed by Lucerys, Rhaena, Jacaerys, and Baela. Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys were too young to attend such a feast and had retired to their chambers after the ceremony. 

Lords and ladies all made their way up to the table to bow and wish luck on their union. It was all trivial, but the monotony of it was not enough to come close to boring her day. Ben would give thanks to their good wishes while Daenys would use the tricks growing up as a princess afforded her - a dazzling smile sent the lord's way to placate their emotions and leave them happy. Occasionally she would send out generous compliments regarding their station, wealth, or the greatness of their house. Though, often, Daenys held little knowledge of who they were. Regardless, it seemed to enchant each one. 

Baela and Jace, both having risen from their seats, walked arm in arm to the front of the table to speak to the newlyweds. Jace nodded to Ben with a smile while Baela leaned over the table to grasp Daenys hands in hers. Daenys rose to meet Baela and hugged her. While they did not spend their whole lives together, the women had forged a strong bond over common interests. 

“Congratulations, sister. And congratulations to you as well, lord.” Baela spoke. Ben nodded and thanked her. Baela continued, “I regret that I must be leaving so soon, but grandmother has requested my presence. I have been away for far too long.” 

Daenys understood why she must leave. The troubling news of Lord Corly's injuries in a recent scourge with pirates had left him clinging to life. It is not unusual that Rhaenys would wand Baela back as her ward, having suffered the knowledge of her husband's grave injury.

“I completely understand, Baela. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to write.” Daenys squeezed her hands before releasing them. Baela said her goodbyes to the couple before bowing and making her leave. Jacaerys watched after her form as she trailed off. Daenys cleared her throat to get her twin’s attention, but it did not work. Ben shared a look with her and they both knew what the other was thinking. Ben cleared his throat and it seemed to get his attention. 

Jace then spoke, “Well wishes for your marriage.” 

“Jace,” Daenys said and held a hand out for him. Jace took it and waited for her to continue, “I wanted to ask, if it is not too much, that you accompany Benjicot and me back to Raventree. We wish to hold a ceremony for the old gods and I want you to give me away.” His eyes widened at the request and his gaze swapped between the couple a few times. 

“Me? What about Daemon?” He asked. 

“The old gods grant me more choice over which male of my family could give me away. I want it to be with the one who came into this world with me.” Daenys answered. Her brother seemed to be taken aback by the request. Daenys could swear it almost looked like tears pooled in his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candlelight. 

“Y-yes. Of course.” Jace stuttered out. 

Ben rose from his seat and took Daeny’s hand, “Thank you, my prince, for your congratulations. However, I must steal my wife for a dance.” Jace excused himself while Ben pulled Daenys around the table, down the steps, and into the area where people were dancing. 

He spun her to the tune of the band as they moved across the floor. One of his hands rested on her waist while the other lay in her hand. Occasionally the moves would call for moments of separation, but they always quickly moved back to the secure hold of one another. 

“This feel familiar?” Benjicot teased. Daenys thought back to the first time they danced. Lord Mooton had leered at her for a dance, but Ben swooped in to distract the lord and then seized the opportunity to dance with her. It amazed her how quickly things had changed. Only a few short moons ago they were strangers and now they are married. She thought back to her feelings in that moment with him. Trepidation and a feeling that was unknown at the time, but which Daenys now understood, as fondness. 

“Well, I am thankful that Lord Mooton felt too ill to make the travel here.” Daenys jested. 

“As if he would dare try anything,” Ben grumbled, “I suppose you are suffering the same as I?” 

Daenys nodded, “Only a few more hours and we could leave the festivities. I know you do not like being around all these people, but believe me, I feel the same. However, it is our duty.” 

“It is not the people that annoy me,” The dance called for Ben to pull her in closely. He leaned to her ear and whispered into it, “The wait to be alone with my wife is what is killing me.” He kissed her temple and pulled away. Daenys felt a rush of heat move across her face and body. 

Daenys skirted around his comment to distract herself from the heat pooling between her legs, “I suppose we will be hosting a large party soon. Your twentieth name day is approaching.” 

Ben groaned at her reminder and buried his head into the hair on the side of her head, “Do not remind me, love. What of your name day? A few short moons after mine. I would say ten and nine is a great accomplishment.” He spun her around. 

“Don’t try and steer the conversation away from you, my dear,” Daenys responded, though she noticed Ben looking at her with a sort of reverence. She furrowed her brows, “What is it? Do I have food on my face?” 

She broke from his hold in their dance to brush around her lips. Ben laughed and seized her hands from moving. He turned her around in his arms and proceeded to guide her in the steps. 

“I’m just thinking of all the name days we will have together,” Ben spoke. His words were short, but Daenys felt the breadth of the world in them. Her heart stuttered and their dance ended. Ben wrapped an arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on her hip. He pulled her close to him as they walked back to their table, greeting people as they passed. 

Once they were settled in their seats, Ben placed one of his hands on her thigh while picking up a mug of ale to drink. Daenys preferred wine, and so her goblet was full of the finest Arbour Gold. Ben and Daenys spent the night conversing with one another and friends. Hushed whispers were exchanged occasionally, with quick kisses when others were distracted. 

The evening blended into the night. The couple had danced a few more times, but the slight buzz they both were feeling hindered them from dancing more in fear of making fools of themselves. Daenys was watching Jacaerys in a drinking competition with Oscar and Kermit when Ben squeezed her thigh. He had kept his hand there the whole night, gently massaging her with his thumb. 

Daenys stopped watching her brother and looked at her husband. He held a grin on his face and leaned in to speak. 

His voice was hushed, but still heard over the jeers, laughter, and music of the hall, “I believe it is time for us to retire, my love.” Daenys understood the implications of his words and once again found herself flustered. He had been teasing her all night about it. She was thankful that there would be no bedding ceremony, as Ben had threatened the last lord that suggested it. 

Daenys leaned in closely, “Then take me, husband.” 

The sound of Ben’s chair scraping against the stone flooring rang in her eyes as he got up from his seat abruptly. The people in the hall happened to be turning towards the couple, all understanding where they were going. Chants of the lords and ladies got louder and louder as they all called out the phrase ‘to bed’ in jovial shouts. 

“Ignore them, my love.” Ben moved to scoop Daenys up, one arm wrapping under her knees and the other around her back. Daenys buried her head in his neck to try and cast out the people around them. She breathed in his scent of firewood and pine as he carried her out of the hall. They were alone in the vaulted stone hallways, and when Daenys made a move to leave his arms so he would not need to carry her anymore, Ben’s hold tightened. 

Upon making it to Daenys’ chambers, Benjicot dismissed the guards with a few curt words. He turned his back to the door and kicked out behind him. The wooden door flung open and he carried her inside. Ben placed her down gently and shut the door. Daenys felt a range of emotions. There was uncertainty about being in a room alone with him, but relief in knowing that they did not need to sneak around anymore. Her previous instincts to remain as quiet as possible and only spend short moments together could be flung from the tower itself. 

Suddenly, all of her clothes felt too tight on her. Daenys left Ben behind and sat at her vanity. Her hair was pinned up into countless different braids and twists with even more pins holding it together. She wanted to curse her handmaidens for getting her ready that morning. If only they had kept it simple, she could rid the style in a short time and fling herself into the arms of her husband. 

Daenys began to hurriedly remove the pins from her hair and untangle the braids. In the mirror she could see Ben behind her, unbuttoning his tunic. Daenys slowed her movements for a moment to watch him shrug off the expensive cover. The white linen shirt he had on was thin and hung loosely from his body. Ben lifted one foot onto a bench and proceeded to unlace his boots and move to the next one. He glanced up and caught Daenys’ eyes in the mirror and smirked. 

“Watching the show, Lady Blackwood?” Benjicot jested. He picked up the shoes and placed them down by a chest by the door. 

Daenys went back to undoing her hair with a tint of red coating her cheeks, “I may be a Blackwood now, but I am still your princess.” 

Ben walked towards her and placed himself behind the highchair she was in. His arms moved forward to wrap around her chest and he leaned down to be at level with her head. He looked at her reflection in the mirror and left a long searing kiss on her temple. 

“Always,” He muttered with his lips brushing her skin. Daenys pulled down a pin that released a few braids. Ben unwrapped his arms around her and began to cart his fingers through her hair, aiding in the process. They silently and meticulously worked on her hair until it was free. The tresses fell down and over her shoulders and back. 

Ben brushed her shoulder and kissed the back of her hair. His movements had been slow and calculated, but they gradually became more needy as Daenys got out of her chair. She kept her back to him and gathered all her hair to rest on her left shoulder. Ben saw the tied lacing of her dress and proceeded to untie it. His fingers brushed delicately over the skin of her back as the dress was opened. He went down lower and lower and heat pooled between Daenys’ legs. The dress fell down in a heap on the floor and all she was left in was an expensive silk shift from Essos. 

Her maids had giggled when presenting it to her that morning and she had not understood why they acted so bashful. It had a plunging neckline in both the front and back, ending midway down the torso. In all honestly, Daenys wondered why one would ever wear such a piece of clothing, as it failed to cover really anything and acted as more of a drapery on her form. However, when she turned to her husband and her could finally look at her, the reaction he had to the clothing made her understand why those maids giggled. 

His pupils were blown wide and his chest rose in heavy breaths. Ben had gazed up and down her body, tracing all of the features he could see. His hands reached out to pull her in by the waist, a gasp of surprise left Daenys’ lips but was quickly silenced by his lips. He kissed her softly but with a raging fire behind it. One hand kneaded the back of her head and pushed her against him. Her front was right against his chest, and she could feel her arousal intensify at the contact. The thin pieces of clothing between them felt like a mile of distance and she parted from him with intent to fix it. 

Ben looked at her with a longing unmatched, “Īlē vēttan ondoso se gods.” You were made by the gods. Daenys heard his breathless voice and had become shocked. His pronunciation had been forced and a little awkward, but the intent behind it made Daenys light up with fire. He had only ever said a word or two in High Valyrian - with immense difficulty - to her on occasion. This time, it appeared as though he had been secretly practicing.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” My beautiful wife. His words echoed. Daenys had no other recourse but to fling her body towards him and kiss him with a fevered passion. His lips tasted of the ale he had been drinking, and while not her choice of drink, the taste on him was irresistible. Her hands moved under and up his shirt to trace the muscles of his stomach. Ben let out a low growl at the contact. His hands gripped the bottom of her shift and pulled it over her head, exposing Daenys’ body. Ben halted for a moment and looked into her eyes. When Daenys gave him a nod, Ben moved to shrug off the last of his clothes. 

She settled on the edge of her bed and watched Ben discard his clothing on a nearby chair. Daenys eyes trailed up from his legs to his strong thighs and settled on his hardened cock. She swallowed the saliva that pooled in her mouth. Ben walked with a purpose towards her and encased her body with each arm resting on the plush blanket below her. His hands caressed the side of her bare thighs. 

His lips moved down to her neck, biting and sucking at the skin as he lowered himself to his knees on the stone floor. Ben’s teeth grazed her collarbone, eliciting a sigh from Daenys. One of his hands trailed up to cup her breast. He massaged the plush skin while his mouth trailed to the other. Daenys bit her lip while moans left her mouth. Her back arched to get closer to him. Ben began to trail down, but Daenys reached out and grabbed his shoulders. 

“No,” She sucked in a breath, “I need you now, please Ben.” Daenys had already had many excursions with Ben, and while she would never complain about the skill of his tongue, she had been waiting countless weeks to lay with him and had no intentions of waiting. 

“I need to get you ready.” Ben reasoned. 

Daenys shook her head and cradled his jaw with her hands, “I’m ready now,” she murmured. She could see the bump in his throat move as he swallowed down air. Ben’s hands moved up to grip her behind, lifting her body up and gently tossing her in the air and further up the bed. 

She squealed in delight at the seemingly renewed vigour and happiness painted across Ben’s face. He got on the bed and crawled to her. Daenys sat up and met him halfway and connected their lips. His body was encased between her legs. The two hummed in delight. In the heat of the moment, it was nothing but teeth and skin as they battled against one another. The floating feeling in her stomach intensified. 

Daenys pushed against him further and gripped his shoulders. She pushed him to the side so his back hit the covers. The smile on his face did not go away as he watched Daenys crawl on top of him. Her legs straddled his waist and Ben’s hands immediately gripped her waist, pushing in gently on the dips in her skin. He groaned as her core brushed against his cock. 

Daenys took notice and rocked her hips. Ben hissed loudly and his grip on her skin squeezed down in response. She proceeded to move more, each rock making them both more eager. When Ben bucked up to meet her more, Daenys lifted herself up and away, forcing a whine of complaint to erupt from Ben’s throat. One of her hands rested on his chest to steady her movements and the other reached down to grasp his erection. She lined it up with her entrance, took a breath, and sank down slowly. She bit down on her lip and struggled to maintain steady breathing. The feeling of him, the stretching, made her dizzy. 

Ben seemed to have a similar reaction. His eyes closed at the feeling of her tightening around him. He reached up to pull Daenys down so he could kiss her again. He was muttering praises across her skin, but his voice was so strained and quiet that Daenys struggled to decipher them. 

Daenys struggled to adjust, but when the pain eased slightly and was taken over by pleasure, she wished to chase that feeling. She rose almost all the way and then sank again. 

“Oh, fuck,” Ben’s head moved back and hit the pillow. With his neck exposed, Daenys began to bite the flesh while rocking back and forth. She maintained a rhythmic pace. Ben’s hands moved to any area of her body that he could reach, caressing and gripping the flesh as he continued to whine, “Gods you feel so perfect. Just like that.” 

The slow pace that Daenys was going at had placated Ben but gradually began to wear off. He began to get more needy, begging for her to go faster. Daenys smirked at how undone he had become. She believed he had fully submitted, but was surprised when he sat up and flipped them around. 

Now that he was above her, Ben began to rut at a brutal pace; chasing a high. He seemed lost in the throes of pleasure and Daenys got lost in it as well. With the new position, he reached a spot that made Daenys moan loudly and close her eyes. Her hands moved across his toned back and clawed at the skin, leaving red marks in their wake. Her actions only seemed to spur Ben on and he continued with his pace. 

“Ben… gods, faster, please,” Daenys felt a cold tear run down the hot skin of her face. Her breathing was ragged. Daenys wrapped her legs around his waist and became even more undone. She let out incoherent and lewd words, both in the common tongue and High Valyrian. Her brain had no concept of anything but the pleasure she was experiencing. Ben was marking her chest and neck, lost in the feeling of her nails against his skin and the clenching of her walls. 

Daenys felt the familiar build of pressure in her stomach and the tightening of her muscles. She began to meet his thrusts with her own, matching the pace he set. Her body began to tremble. 

“You’re taking me so well, love,” Ben grunted, “Fuck, just like that,” He lapped at her skin and his hands carted through her hair and tugged her head back so he could kiss her. His lips moved against hers in a fight. Her mouth opened to let his tongue explore her own. 

“I’m… I’m so close.” The coiling tension intensified. Daenys arms wrapped around his neck. She could focus on nothing but him. He lured her in like she was prey, and Daenys would gladly give her life to feel this. 

“I know, baby, I know, you’ve done so well. Come for me.” Ben’s words of encouragement seemed to snap Daenys’ resolve. Her walls clenched around his cock as she found her release. Her vision blacked slightly as her body convulsed under the feeling of fire coursing through her veins. It was white heat, mixed with the sharp piercing of cold. 

Her climax pushed Ben over the edge and he groaned loudly with his face between her breasts. The vibrations from his voice rumbled through her chest. He gave one last powerful thrust before reaching his end. His chest rose and fell with strangled breaths as he stilled. Daenys could feel his cum coat her walls and pushed forward to chase that feeling. Ben collapsed on top of her, their hot skin connecting. 

The two did not move for a few moments. Each working to catch themselves. Ben moved to kiss Daenys, but his movements were languid like he was drunk. When they connected, the two both moaned at the contact. Ben moved out of her and tumbled down to her side. The loss of being filled with him was not something she wished to experience often. Daenys was on her back staring at the ceiling and watched the candlelight flicker against the stone. Benjicot’s arms wrapped around her torso and pulled her against him. 

Daenys turned her head to look in his eyes. He already had his gaze trained on her. He was on his side to face her and one of his hands reached up to brush her cheek. 

“I love you,” He murmured. Daenys gave him a soft smile and leaned forward to kiss him. 

“Avy jorrāelan,” I love you. She replied. Ben nodded at her words. They lay there, bodies sweaty and minds addled on pleasure. 

Daenys felt satisfaction, but not just regarding their actions. They were finally married. She had waited weeks, counted the days, and spent every free moment with him in preparation for the ceremony. Now that it was over with, she felt her days open to be spent with her husband. Husband. The word repeated over and over in her mind like a drum. 

She twisted her body so her head could rest buried in Ben’s strong chest. She inhaled lightly and sighed. His hands moved up and down her arm and back, rubbing calming motions on the skin. He traced random patterns as the two spent time in peace. Each slowly recovered from their activities. 

Ben used a hand to move her chin up to look at him. He leaned down and captured her lips in a searing kiss. Her lips parted to let him run his tongue along her teeth. Benjicot adjusted his body to slowly move over hers again and their kissing got rougher. 

Daenys’ heart skipped at his eagerness and knew that their night was not over yet.

___________

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[s1llysmut]

Heeeeyyy! i'm not sure if your requests are open, but I'll ask anyway :D can I request nsfw alphabet for zestial? this old man is just so 😫

💐 anon

A/N: FINALLY SOMEONE ELSE WHO LOVES HIM!!! Ugh he’s so underrated I love him.

NSFW alphabet for Zestial

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s a gentleman. He’s getting you water, running you both a bath, and then playing with your hair while humming a lullaby until you fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favourite body part on himself is, well it’s not a body part but he likes his height. He loves seeing you look up at him. On you he loves your cleavage. Not specifically your breasts but he loves seeing your cleavage when you’re wearing something like a V-neck.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He will only ever cum inside. No condoms. It’s the traditional way in his opinion.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t particularly have one. I really can’t think of anything here.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s the oldest overlord, of course he’s experienced! He never talks about it though, he considers it unnecessary to bring up his private affairs.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary. The classic. He’s a traditional man okay? Plus he loves watching your face.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Serious. He is hardly ever goofy. Have you met this grandpa?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I can’t imagine there being any hair there naturally.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is romantic but not overly so. He’ll tell you he loves you as he fills you up with cum but he won’t be putting rose petals around your bedroom.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It’s not often that he gets himself off, especially since you came into his afterlife. But when he does it’s never with porn or anything like it. Only with a photograph of you and maybe your underwear.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He likes to make you bleed. Not excessively though. He likes dragging a knife down your body and making small cuts to hear you gasp. In other words he’s a sadist.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom. Only ever your bedroom. Traditions people traditions.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your cleavage or curves being a bit on display. It leaves room for the imagination, just how he likes it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

You will never be dominating him in any way whatsoever. You have a better chance trying with Alastor than you do with Zestial. He also will not tolerate you teasingly calling him old or grandpa in bed. It makes him feel like a creep.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn’t really enjoy oral all that much. Giving or receiving. He’d rather get right to the point and fuck.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can do both. He usually starts slow and works his way up to faster and harder though.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He won’t participate in them. Don’t even ask it’s a no every time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No. He likes things the way they are.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last 2. He’s getting old okay?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No. The only thing close to toys he will use is ropes and knives. He doesn’t see sex toys as necessary.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only a bit. Not much of a tease unless it also results in your pain.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

A few grunts and groans. Some old fashioned dirty talk.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

His eyes glow even more green when he cums. His cum is also a weird glowing green?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Long but slender. We’re talking maybe 8 or 9 inches? Good luck.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not very high. A few times a month unless you initiate it more.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After he’s sure you’re well taken care of he’ll spoon you and sleep.

[caesariawritesstuff]

for the follower event ! prompt: discreet sexual tension 4 and/or 9 with detective reader and scarecrow (or eddie if you’d like). i was so excited to see you update cat & mouse, it’s definitely one of my favorite fics ever. keep it up and congrats!! <3

Learning to Share

Summary: Edward and Jonathan have come to an arrangement...one that involves sharing you.

Content Warning: P in V sex, MFM threesome, sexual punishment, begging, jealousy, masturbation, fingering, spanking, discussions about fear. Slight continuation of Damaged Goods.

Word Count: 15.7k

A/N: @a1atheias also requested the “i want you” “then take me” prompt with reader and scarecrow ☺️. This fic got so out of hand and I'm so sorry it's so long!!!! I had an idea and RAN with it. I really hope you enjoy and hope this doesn't suck lmao. Also special thanks to @jkcreation for helping me a bit to figure out how I wanted this to go. Fic is not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse.

Being involved in law enforcement in Gotham ends in several days: death, burn out, turning to drugs and alcohol, being involved in some twisted experiment, or quitting the force entirely seemed to be the usual ways out – so when a member of the GCPD officially made it to retirement after a long, lustrous career – it was something of a celebration.

With a heavy sigh, you looked up at the Cyrus Pinkney Institute for National History and frowned, disdain clear your eyes. Bright lights surrounded the stone building, bathing it in a yellow glow. All around you, Gothamites came and went, laughing and chatting, dates on their arms. Right about now, you’d much rather be in the bubble bath, face mask on and a good book in hand, but alas, being invited to the retirement party of Sergeant Groszek felt a bit like a summons. There would be quite a large number of officers and detectives there, and you did not want to give off the wrong impression and come off as rude – so that was how you found yourself now, wearing an emerald green dress that reached just shy of your fingertips, hugging your curves in all the right places; the balloon sleeves were tight around the wrist and airy around your arms, hanging off your shoulders, revealing your smooth skin. Across the neckline, it dipped low to reveal a tasteful amount of cleavage – one appropriate for an outing like this. Your gaze slid to the left, where Edward tightly had one arm wrapped around your waist, wearing an identical, green-colored suit that complimented your own dress well. He looked quite handsome in his green suit, the material sleek, and his grip tightened around your waist, fingers digging in. You had assured Edward he didn’t have to come with you to this little event, but he insisted. Quite a bit more than usual, but you shrugged away the thought.

Sighing, you looked at him and said, “We don’t have to stay long. Just enough for me to mingle, drop off this card, and then we can get out of here.”

Edward quirked a brow at you, a slow smirk creeping along the edge of his lips. “Don’t worry, detective, I’m sure I can keep myself occupied while you mingle with these simpletons.”

You smirked back, shaking your head, but walked in tandem with him up the stony steps and into the museum, a spring air gusting across your exposed skin. There were signs posted about with arrows leading you towards the private room where the retirement party was being held, and you and Edward followed them with ease, passing by a myriad of exhibits within glass cases. But as you came to the doorway, you sucked in a breath, silently prepping yourself for the onslaught of small talk you were sure you’d be dragged into. This really was the last place you wanted to be. Narrowing your eyes, you looked around at all of the party goers, already chatting up a storm and congratulating Sergeant Groszek on his achievements over his long career. Along the back wall was a display of food catered in: meat and cheese and fruit platters, chips, small finger foods and sandwiches, and a large custom cake. But your eyes instead caught on the bubbly wine being laid out by a caterer – and a sigh of relief escaped your lips. Well, at least there was something you could look forward to here.

You wandered over, slipping out of Edward’s grasp, and snatched up a glass of wine, bringing it to your lips and sipping slowly. When you pulled the glass away, a smudge of bright lipstick stained the rim. Everyone around you was already engaged in hearty conversation, dressed in suits and ties, women in gorgeous dresses. You glanced down at your own, a small smile curving at the edge of your mouth; Edward had handpicked it just for you, just for this occasion. He’d chosen it with quite great care, you’d noticed, and that simple fact made your heart flutter thunderously in your chest, a warmth pool deep in your stomach. Your thoughts were already straying to what it would be like for him to peel it off you when you got home.

“Give me a moment, will you?” Edward asked, his breath at your ear, tickling your skin. You nodded, watching him slip away, somewhere down the hall where the bathrooms were located.

You turned away, gripping the stem of your glass tightly, and wandered over to one of the shadowy corners away from prying eyes. Ever since you started dating Edward, fitting in with your coworkers had become more difficult. Not like you’d ever fully fit in with them in the first place. Frowning, you took an even deeper sip, draining almost half the glass in the process.

“Careful, detective,” a deep, gravelly voice said from beside you, getting your attention. “This is a party, not a brewhouse, correct?”

You lowered your glass just in time to see Jonathan Crane walk up beside you. Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise; you had not expected to find him here, out and about and surrounded by actual people and not vials of chemicals, especially after the…little incident down in the forensics lab at the GCPD a few weeks ago. An incident that had not only left you slightly shaken, irritated, and annoyed – but also turned on. More than you cared to admit. But ever since that moment, you hadn’t been blind to the way Crane watched you with a slow intention, a careful gaze whenever he did manage to come up from the lab. He only ever exchanged a few words for you, but you could feel the tension between you two, crackling like lightning just under the surface. You were not entirely sure what it was about him that drew you to him, but something did, something you were so desperately trying to fight down and not make known.

You studied him closely, taking in his brown suit and tan colored tie, but your eyes lingered for a little too long on his reconstructed face, and the delicate lines etched into his skin, remnants of multiple surgeries he’d been through. But your gaze met his for a slight moment, and you turned away, taking another sip, as if to prove a point.

“Aren’t parties to be enjoyed, Dr. Crane?” you asked, keeping your voice level.

“Parties such as this bore me,” he said.

You smirked, looking down for just a moment. “Yeah, I don’t exactly enjoy parties like this either,” you mumbled. But when you looked up, you scanned the sea of faces for Edward, but found no sign of him. Where is he when I need him? you wondered.

“Why is that?” he asked after a beat.

You scoffed under your breath, once more taking another sip of your drink. “I guess you could say they bore me, too,” you finally answered. At least coming here with Edward was one thing – if only he would turn back up again. Your gaze searched for him once more, but when you saw no sign of him, your heart sunk, a strange aching in your stomach.

“Something bothering you, detective?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you said, quickly, not wanting to show him an ounce of your discomfort. You certainly didn’t want a man like him getting under your skin. Again.

“Your body language betrays you,” he said. “Are you afraid of something?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Afraid my boyfriend is getting himself into trouble. You know how Edward is.”

“I walked past him moments ago,” Crane said. “He’s involved in quite the conversation with the Commissioner and the Mayor. Perhaps it will be a while. Why don’t you sit and enjoy yourself for the time being?”

You hesitated, your grip on your wine stem tightening, but you studied him carefully, before your gaze strayed back to the other side of the room. Well…you supposed he was right. Standing here rocking back and forth on your heels wasn’t going to do you any good. It would only serve to make you grow more agitated. Taking another sip of your wine, you sighed, but walked past Crane, searching for an empty seat – and you spotted a small table off to the right, hidden away in a shadowy corner. You quickly sat down and crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in your seat. But to your surprise, Crane followed you and sat at the seat opposite of you. You frowned, your heart leaping into your throat. You immediately looked away, even though you felt his eyes burning holes in your skin.

“Can I help you, Dr. Crane?” you asked after a long moment of silence.

“I’d like to continue our discussion from a few weeks ago,” he said. “I believe it was left…quite unfinished.”

“Ah,” you said, twirling your glass between your fingertips. “Another therapy session.” You leaned back, meeting his gaze, not wanting to back down from his questions. Not this time – you would not give him the satisfaction.

“All right,” you said. “Ask me whatever you want. I’m an open book.”

A low rumble emanated from deep within his throat. “Be careful what you wish for, detective. You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to.”

You smirked. “Try me,” you said. You had been through enough as is over the last few months – some big scary words from Jonathan Crane couldn’t possibly be any harm, now could they? Especially when you already knew his own game, his own obsession with fear – you simply had to keep from falling into his trap, and everything would be fine. If you could handle Edward, then surely you could handle Crane.

“Very well,” he said. “Does it frighten you? Belonging to a man like Edward?”

“No,” you answered, even though that was a bold-faced lie. Being with Edward did frighten you, but you could not allow Crane to know that.

He raised one brow, an impassive look on his face. “Really? Even after all he’s put you through? Even after every single way he’s made you suffer?”

You paused, letting his words sink in – because you couldn’t deny that you had been through a lot with Edward. A lot. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, there was still that tiny bundle of fear knotted deep in your belly, threatening to rise to the surface. Frowning, you sipped your drink slowly, not breaking eye contact with Crane. His gaze remained just as fixated on you, not giving an ounce of his attention anywhere else.

You lowered your drink back to your lap and said, “Surely it must not bother you to watch people suffer. I’m sure you get off on that sort of thing.”

His head cocked slightly to the side. “Rather crude choice of words, detective.”

“Well, am I wrong? I mean…you put people in horrible, fear-toxin induced experiments for what? For fun? You must find some kind of pleasure in that,” you said.

“I find fear fascinating. It controls every aspect of your life. Every thought, every move you make, every decision,” he said. “You came to this party because you feared what your coworkers would think if you did not show up. You came dressed like…that because you feared making the wrong impression. You drink because you’re afraid if you don’t loosen up, you will not be able to enjoy yourself. Do I need to go on?”

You shifted slightly in your seat, holding back the frustrated scream threatening to tear from your throat, biting down on your tongue. You weren’t sure what, exactly, it was that allowed him to so easily pick you apart and claw your fears from in the inside out – but you knew that every single damn word out of his mouth was true.

But you would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Instead, you set your drink on the table and leaned forward slightly, resting your chin between two fingers. “And what if I said you were wrong? That I’m not afraid?”

“Then I would call you a liar,” he replied.

“And what are you afraid of, Dr. Crane?” you asked, a bite in your voice now.

“I fear nothing,” he said. “I have mastered my fears long ago. You, however, wear them on your sleeve for the whole world to see.”

You were quiet for a moment, considering his words. You had not realized just how much, perhaps, you did show off your emotions. Leaning back a little further in your seat, you studied him, carefully choosing your next words, refusing to let him get under your skin. You leaned forward a little more, not breaking eye contact.

“Let me ask you this, then,” you said. “Why are you so interested in my fears? There are plenty of other people at this party you could be bothering. So why me?”

“Curiosity,” he answered. “Fear is my specialty. My life’s work. I have spent years studying what makes people afraid, what their darkest fears contain. And you…you exude fear. It’s practically radiating off of you, like a flame in the darkness.”

You held your tongue, trying so very hard to give him an ounce of what you were feeling right now – that his words were cutting deep into you, making a bubbling hot anger burrow under your skin. Instead, you took another sip of your drink, draining the glass.

You met his eyes again. “And what do you think my fears are, Dr. Crane?”

“You’re afraid of being vulnerable,” he answered. “Of being exposed. Of losing control of the carefully crafted image you have built for yourself.” He paused, his head cocking slightly to the side. “And most of all, detective, I think you’re afraid of me.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, at that one notion – and the awful, horrible truth was that he was right. Edward had done many terrible things, but he’d never bathed Gotham completely in a cloud of fear toxin or driven people to madness, or been the man to unmask Batman and cause so much death and destruction like Crane had. Crane was…different.

And he terrified you.

“Did I strike a nerve?” he asked when you said nothing, his eyes slowly scanning every inch of your face. “Your silence speaks volumes. You present yourself to the world as though you are unbothered, but deep down, you fear how people perceive you. And most of all, you’re afraid of what I’m capable of. You’re afraid of what I might do to you?”

“And what might you to do to me, Dr. Crane?” you asked, your voice low. And in that moment – there was nothing and nobody else in the room. It was just you and him, alone, the air sucked from your lungs, a strange bundle of warmth melding together with the fear in your stomach, shooting all the way down to your clit. The sounds of the party drifted into nothing but faded whispers, long forgotten.

“There are many things I could do to you, detective,” he said, his eyes never once breaking from yours, his voice low. “Things that would have you trembling in fear, quaking underneath the effects of my toxin, begging for mercy. Would you like me to tell you some of the things I could do to you?”

“Very well,” you said – because you refused to budge. You refused to show weakness, especially to someone like him. He could try all he wanted, but he would not frighten you, make you run screaming like a child in the night.

“Seeing is much more effective than hearing, now isn’t it?” he asked.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes finally pulling away to glance down at his hand – as if steadying yourself for the moment he had a vial of his toxin at the ready – but his hands were completely empty. Your gaze shifted back to him again, and underneath the table, your legs began to tremble out of your control. Fear was a cold knot in your stomach, turning your blood to ice, causing a clamminess to crawl across your skin.

“You’re trembling,” he noted, his gaze lowering slightly. “Is it fear, or something else?”

“I’m just cold,” you said quickly, attempting to brush him off.

“Is that so?” he asked, one of his brows raised in clear disregard for what you said. “Your body is showing signs of clear distress. Dilated pupils. Flushed skin. Or is it not distress you’re feeling, detective, but something…else?”

Shit. How was he so capable of reading you so easily? You narrowed your eyes, anger rushing hot through every limb, spreading like wildfire through your veins – but beyond that, there was a spark of something rippling just under the surface, something dark and wicked stirring to life in your heart, reawakening your darkest fantasies.

“Something akin to arousal?” he continued.

You sucked in a sharp breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. “That’s a ridiculous insinuation,” you murmured, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Fear and arousal often go hand in hand,” he said, his voice low, smooth.

“Or, perhaps, you’re completely misreading my physiological responses,” you said.

“Ah, yes,” he said, almost with a bored sigh. “And what, pray tell, do you think is causing this…physiological response of yours?”

“Adrenaline,” you answered, quickly. “It makes your heart beat faster. Makes you shake, makes your pupils dilate. That sort of thing.”

“But that’s not what this is, is it, detective?” he asked, raising his brows. “You’re not in any danger. You’re not preparing to flee. No, this is something much more…intimate.”

There was something in the way the word intimate rolled off his tongue, so full of dark possession, that your insides squirmed, that excitement rushed through your veins, molding together with a hot anger burning brightly inside of you.

“I doubt you’re one to talk about the specifics of intimacy, Crane,” you said, finally.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, burning that flame even brighter inside of you, causing it to stir to life. The way he was looking at you – studying you – as if you were a lab rat, made your skin crawl. But it wasn’t just the way his cold, calculating gaze studied you, it was the way his words dug into your skin, picking you apart piece by never-ending piece. And here you were, finding yourself sucked into his words, into his every display of intelligent superiority, in a way that was not boastful or full of ego – the complete opposite of Edward.

Edward. Shit. Where even was he? You suddenly backed away, looking around the room once more, searching for him – but still, you saw no sign of him. No green suit stood out amongst the sea of black and blues and browns. And instead of going off to find him, you were sitting here in your own little bubble with Jonathan Crane, feeling a pulsing in your clit, a dampening between your thighs – because he was right. So fucking right.

You were completely fucking aroused.

And you were done with this conversation.

Scowling, you quickly stood up. “Thank you for this enlightening conversation, Dr. Crane. But I’m going to find my boyfriend now,” you said. Turning on your heels, you stormed across the room and searched for any sign of Edward, but there was still none.

Groaning under your breath, you made your way back over to the drink table and snatched up another glass of wine, sipping slowly, trying to clear your mind and body of all thoughts of Jonathan Crane. Bastard, you thought. How dare he put you in such a compromising position, make you feel so vulnerable, as if you were on display for the world to see? You took another sip of your drink, relishing in the taste, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you – a different one, an unfamiliar one, and you glanced over your shoulder to find Crane standing behind you, just inches away. Nerves trickled up your spine and you shuddered, that delicious heat once more pooling in your belly at his proximity, at the smell of his cologne, at his cruel gaze, which was once more fixated on you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands on your hips: a soft, featherlight touch, but enough to make the breath catch in your throat, a small gasp escape your lips – especially when you felt him brush against your backside.

His lips were suddenly at your ear, “Come with me.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, and for the first time, you saw the very delicate hint of a smile curved at the edge of his lips. Barely there, but noticeable enough – and there was something in his gaze that made warmth pool in your belly, made your heart thump so quickly you could hardly stand it.

Follow me, his cruel gaze said. But it was not a suggestion. It was a command.

Hesitantly, you set your drink back down, searching the crowd once more for Edward, but you could not find him. You were growing angrier by the second, a hot prickling underneath your skin like you were being stabbed by a hundred knives. Following Crane was a stupid idea, but you needed to put an end to this…whatever this strange attraction was, and you did not want to make a scene here, in front of all of these people. They already thought badly enough of you as is.

Jonathan slipped through the crowd, disappearing out of your view, but you weaved through the sea of people to follow him, coming to one of the quiet halls of the museum. He was already ahead of you, leading the way, and you scowled, stomping after him, fire burning in your veins, turning your blood to molten liquid. He wandered down one corridor, disappearing around one corner, and you quickened your steps – but just as you came around, his hand was suddenly on your wrist, the other at your throat, pushing you gently against the wall. You gasped, a wave of fear washing over you as he pressed you against the glass of an exhibit.

“Ssh,” he said quietly, deep in his voice. “You don’t want the others to hear us, now do you?” His cold, blue eyes studied your face with a strange intensity.

“What game are you playing at, Crane?” you hissed. “If Edward finds out about this—”

“Edward already knows about this,” he said, cutting you off.

You blinked, surprised, taken aback by his words. You sucked in a slow, steadied breath, trying desperately to control your breathing, your heartrate, your fear. “What?”

“I have asked for his permission,” he said lowly, his breath tickling at your skin.

“To do what?” you whispered, terror clawing up your throat.

“To share you,” he answered without hesitation.

If this was any other man, you might have laughed. Might have believed this was some sort of sick joke – but this was no ordinary man. It was Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, and he was not a joking man. Every inch of his expression was passive. Emotionless. Serious.

He was utterly, utterly serious.

“Edward would never share me,” you whispered, feeling hot defiance rise in your belly.

“Perhaps not with any of the other denizens of Gotham,” he said. “But with me…I’m a different matter entirely.”

You couldn’t help it – your jaw dropped open as confusion and terror and all clawed at you at once, digging into your insides, causing that horrible warmth to pool in your stomach, to travel its way down to your aching clit. Being pinned against the wall like this – trapped – it sent you spiraling, in that way that flared to life your darkest desires, fanning the flames of pleasure and excitement and wanton need.

“You don’t believe me?” Jonathan said after a moment. “Perhaps you should ask Edward yourself.” His fingers finally loosened from around your neck, the digits sliding off delicately, taking his time as he let you go. He took one step back and gestured to a private, out of the way office, far from the festivities taking place.

You hesitated, curling your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palms. You had every reason to smack him right then and there – but you would not allow him to see your fear, to see how frightened you truly were. If this was true…you wanted to hear it straight from Edward’s own mouth. Turning on your heels, you stormed into the office – and sure enough, you found Edward sitting in the chair, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other in a lazy-like position – the very epitome of a man with too big of an ego. And the boyfriend you kind of wanted to knock over the head right about now.

You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. “Edward,” you said, a bite in your voice. “Is what he says true?”

A hazy look filled his eyes, and he smirked. “Yes, detective. Crane is telling the truth. We have…come to an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” you asked carefully. As the words slipped from your mouth, you glanced back to find that Jonathan had shut and locked the door behind him. Another bolt of fear and excitement rushed through you as a thousand questions rang through your mind. This couldn’t possibly be going where you thought it was going, could it?

“One that involves you, my dear,” Edward replied. “You see, Crane here has taken quite an interest in you. He finds you…how should I put it, fascinating? You know Crane, always needing to study everything around him.” He waved his hand, scoffing under his breath.

“I’m not something to be studied,” you said, angrily.

“Come now, detective,” Jonathan said, stepping forward until he was standing side-by-side with you, his arms crossed behind his back. His gaze roved carefully over you, inch by inch, making your skin crawl with a delicious heat.

“Edward is right. I find you quite fascinating,” he continued, taking a step closer to you. One of his hands snaked out, grasping your chin between two fingers. “There’s something about you that has Edward so trapped under your spell. You have a power over him, a power I can’t explain. And I need to know why. I need to understand it…to taste it. To taste you.”

You shuddered against his touch, the urge to step back all consuming, but when your gaze slid to Edward – it was as if he pinned you there completely, not daring you to budge an inch. As if he wanted you there, in Crane’s grasp, in this very moment, at their mercy. Jonathan’s grip tightened on your chin, forcing you to look back at him.

“You’re not something to be studied, detective,” Crane said. “You’re something to be enjoyed. And Edward here has finally learned to share.”

His words were like lightning through you, sparking to life a powerful heat in your belly, an aching, a desperate need to be consumed. But no words would come out of your mouth, and you stood there in silent horror and awe, completely unable to process what was happening in this moment. You could not believe their boldness – to think how easily they lured you away to have this discussion, to be used as if you were some kind of plaything.

Your gaze flicked to Edward again. You should be enraged. Insulted. But instead, you’re standing here, your mind completely blank of what to do or even say – the only coherent thought you can even come up with is the very real realization that your clit is throbbing, aching, at the very thought of being taken by these two men – these two very dangerous men – and used in whatever way they desire. The very idea that they both were fascinated with you left a fire burning in your belly, stirring awake those dark desires in your heart.

“Is this true, Edward?” you finally managed to ask.

He nodded, slowly. “Admittedly, I would prefer not to share you, but…” He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully. “Crane can be quite persuasive, and I find myself curious to see what the Master of Fear is capable of doing to you. Can he touch you the way I do? Make you cum the way I do? Make you scream his name the way I make you scream mine?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you shivered at his words – because you can’t help but he just as curious, too. Your gaze strayed back to Crane once more, finding him continuing to study you with a close eye, a curious gaze, as if wondering the same thing Edward was.

You shook your head, scoffing under your breath. “And how long have you been having this discussion behind my back?”

“Long enough,” Crane answered. His grip never lessened on your throat.

Long enough. His words echoed on a loop in your mind. You did not appreciate being spoken about behind your back – and as outraged as you should have been, you could not help but feel just a bit drawn to this situation entirely, to the possibilities that could arise from such an…arrangement. But you were supposed to be with Edward. He was your boyfriend. Something about doing this did not feel right; it felt like a betrayal, in a way. Your gaze flickered back to him, studying his face, but you had come to know Edward well enough that he was completely and utterly serious.

“What if I say no?” you asked.

“If you were going to say no, you would have walked out of this room already, detective,” Crane said. “You would not have followed me into a dark, secluded hallway. You would not have followed me into this room. You would not be here now, allowing me to touch you.” As if to prove his point, his fingers slid down your throat in a smooth motion, once more grasping the question mark pendant draped around your neck. He stroked it with his thumb, but once he let it go, he reached out with two fingers, placing them onto your pulse point.

“Racing heart,” he murmured. “You’re not afraid of us, are you, detective?”

“No,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly. Your fears about being around Edward had faded away into whispers long ago. But…

“Or,” Jonathan continued. “Are you afraid of me?”

The breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening. Because, the truth was right there, staring you right in the face: you were afraid of Jonathan Crane. He terrified you, caused horror to race through you like lightning, to bundle up in a cold knot in your stomach. Finally, you took a step back, needing a moment to distance yourself. You crossed your arms over yourself, shaking your head as another low scoff escaped your mouth. This was an absurd proposition. Asinine. What they were asking…what Edward was asking…

You spun around on your heels, walking away from Jonathan and over to the desk, wearing Edward remained, still watching you carefully. You opened your mouth to say something – anything – any kind of insult or rage-filled words. But nothing came out. Because as angry as you were, you still felt it: the strange, magnetic pull to both of these dangerous men. And as afraid as you were, your own curiosity could not be ignored.

“What are you afraid of, detective?” Jonathan asked, his cool voice filling the quiet room. “Being shunned? Made to feel like our plaything? Losing your precious paramour in the process as another man claims you for himself?”

“Another man,” you said silently, glancing over your shoulder. “Meaning you.”

Jonathan only answered with a sly smile curving at the edge of his lips.

“I know this is quite a lot to ask of you so suddenly,” Edward said, his voice gentle. “But I assure you, detective, nothing will change between us.”

So suddenly, you wanted to say, but held your tongue – as a slow realization washed over you. Over the last few weeks, your sexual tension around Jonathan had been growing more than you realized – perhaps because they’d been planning this moment for some time. The looks Jonathan had given you over the last few weeks, the words he’d spoken – it had all been a part of their plan, and you’d been blind to see it. You glared down at Edward, anger rushing hot through your veins like a wildfire.

Footsteps behind you got your attention, and before you could react, Jonathan was suddenly behind you. You felt his breath on your neck, before one of his hand snaked around your shoulder, once more grabbing at your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. Another bolt of worry shot through every limb – but what was worse was the heat that traveled all the way down to your groin, aching, dampening arousal between your thighs.

“I can see it in your eyes, detective,” Jonathan said. “You want this as much as we do. You need this. To be wanted. Needed. Craved.” His breath tickled at your skin, each word out of his mouth making chills run up and down your spine.

Because the goddamn truth was that he was right.

All your life, you’d dreamed of being desired, wanted, needed. Feared being unloved, used, cast aside as nothing. And now, to have two dangerous men wanting you, so much that they were willing to share you…it caused a ripple of delicious heat to pool in your core. It stirred to life all of this wicked desires in your heart, driving you to the brink of madness. And the worst part was that Jonathan Crane had you completely and utterly figured out. It was like he could see straight down into your soul, finding your fears with just one look, and whisper them in your ear, revealing them to you in all their frightening glory.

Angrily, you scowled, yanking your chin from his grasp once more, crossing your arms over yourself. As much as they wanted you to play this game with them, you would not give in so easily – not without understanding the terms of this…arrangement. Slowly, you turned back around, glancing at both of them; they stood there with hungry looks in their eyes, as if waiting for your next move, the next words out of your mouth. You wandered back over to the desk and hoisted yourself onto it, crossing one leg over the other, placing your hands behind you to keep yourself propped up. Jonathan regarded you with a raised brow, as if interested in your next move. Good, you thought. If they could play this game, you could play it, too.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Edward sit up a little straighter from his spot at the desk. You glanced at him, then back at Jonathan; both their eyes were narrowed, full of curiosity, mirroring the same expression of patience and hungry interest.

“Well,” you finally said after a long moment. “What exactly are the terms of this arrangement you two made behind my back?”

Edward pushed back from the desk, quickly standing as he said, “The terms are simple, my dear. I am so generously sharing you with Crane – with your approval, of course. He must ask for my permission if he would like to have you for an evening.”

He took a step closer, reaching forward, capturing your chin between his fingers, running his thumb along your bottom lip in a way that made heat pool in your core. “And you, my dear, are not allowed to play favorites. We both shall have equal access to you – at all times. Whenever we want. How we want. Wherever we want.”

You sucked in a slow, controlled breath, letting his words wash over you as that delicious heat throbbed between your legs. The very idea of being taken by these two men – one who had a hold on your heart, the other you still weren’t sure yet – but the very idea excited you.

And angered you.

You narrowed your eyes, meeting Edward’s gaze. “I’m not a toy to be passed around,” you said, a bite in your voice now.

“Of course not,” Edward said, his thumb now slowly stroking right below your bottom lip with care. “This is an arrangement that will benefit all of us. “Our curiosities will be satisfied, and you shall be quite satisfied, detective.” He smirked, that tricky glint in his eyes gleaming.

You looked away again, your gaze straying somewhere far across the other side of the room. A thousand words hung on your lips, but you could not seem to get them out. You had so many questions, but your mind was drawing a blank, too wrapped up in your own terror and excitement and desire. To be so…needed. Wanted. Desired. By these two men…it alighted a fire within you, awakening so many dark desires in your heart, bringing to life a darkness that resided in the very depths of your soul. You shivered against Edward’s touch, trembling, fear and desire pooling in your stomach, melding together as one.

“Is it fear or desire that makes you tremble so?” Jonathan asked, stepping forward.

“Both,” you answered, because that was the honest truth.

They exchanged a look, and Edward’s hand slipped from your chin. He finally took a step back, disappearing into the dark shadows of the office to lean against the wall and cross his arms, making room for Jonathan to step in front of you now. He studied you with a careful eye, his gaze roaming every inch of your skin.

“Dilated pupils. Flushed skin,” he said quietly, as if more to himself, but his gaze dropped to your chest, pausing there for a moment; you glanced down, realizing that your nipples had hardened, slightly poking through the fabric of your dress.

Jonathan glanced back at you. “Signs of your arousal are clearly evident.”

Your gaze slid from Jonathan back to Edward, who was watching the entire interaction silently, his head cocked slightly to the side. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the blood rushing through your ears, the warmth between your legs – Jonathan was clearly right. You were aroused. You were terrified.

And you were also completely at their mercy.

Your gaze shifted back to Jonathan. “And what exactly do you want out of this, Crane?”

He took another slow, calculated step forward until he was but millimeters from you. Slowly, his hand reached out once more to capture your chin between two fingers, slightly lifting your face to look directly into your eyes.

“I want you,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “But I will not unless you give me permission. Such brutalities are far beneath me. I will only touch you if you say so.”

He was but millimeters away from you, and you hesitated, a sharp breath leaving your lips. You glanced over Jonathan’s shoulder once more, searching for Edward, and he gave you a slow nod. Giving his permission. But if you went down this route, you knew the utter truth: there would be no going back. There would be no way to forget this happened. Edward already had his claws in you, and if you allowed Crane to do the same…there would be no changing that. You would be theirs – both of theirs – completely.

And, perhaps, the truth was that you wanted to be.

You glanced back at Jonathan. “Then take me,” you whispered.

That was all he needed. In an instant, his lips were on yours, crushing, bruising. One of his hands grabbed your hip, fingers digging into your flesh. His other hand snaked up, threading itself in your hair, tugging lightly. His kisses were not gentle – they were rough, possessive, his tongue invading your mouth with almost a brutal possessiveness. You gasped lightly, your tongue meeting his, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as his mouth moved from your lips, across your jaw, down your neck. His lips were rough from scarring, and he smelled of a strange mixture of musk and woods, the scent invading your nose. His teeth nipped at your neck, his tongue snaking out to massage each small bite, as if soothing your flesh. Slowly, testing, you spread your legs slightly, allowing him to nestle himself in between them – and you could already feel the hardness of his own arousal suddenly pressing against your core. You leaned into him, arching your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as his mouth and teeth found that sensitive spot on your neck – the one that made you crumble beneath him. You shuddered against him, his body hard and lean – leaner than Edward’s, and you found yourself comparing the way Jonathan kissed you to the way Edward did.

A low rumble escaped Jonathan’s mouth, and his onslaught of kisses continued, working their way across the delicate flesh of your collarbone. He brushed your necklace aside and let his tongue drag across your skin, causing a shudder to pass through you. His tongue was warm, wet, sending a delicious heat rippling across every inch of your body, shooting pleasure all the way down to your clit. You gasped as he brought his lips up the other side of your jaw, as if to savor the other side of your face, his teeth nipping once more at your skin.

Opening your eyes slightly, you found Edward continuing to watch with a strange curiosity in his gaze, his eyes narrowed and focused on the scene at hand. At watching another man touch you, have his way with you – sending another tremble through you, bundling fear deep in your core, tightening in your stomach.

Just then, Jonathan’s hand gripped your chin once more, forcing you to look back at him, his eyes cold and calculating. “Don’t look at him, pet,” he said quietly. “Focus on me. Or are you afraid of what he might be thinking?”

The sharp intake of breath made you tremble again, and you licked your lips before saying, “Yes…I’m afraid.”

“No need to be afraid,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Fear is good. It reminds you of the dangers that surround you. After all, you’re here with us, aren’t you? You have every right to be afraid.”

You were quiet for a beat – because you were afraid of where this would lead, what would come of it, what Edward would think to watch as you were ravished by another man. But your own curiosity, your own pull towards Jonathan, was too much to bear, too confusing, further drawing you into that darkest part of yourself that you did not want to admit to.

His grip on your chin tightened. “Fear governs everything you do,” he continued. “And it also gives way to more…primal desires, detective. Desires you try to deny yourself. Desires you do not want to admit to, that frighten you. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” you whispered, knowing every word out of his mouth was right.

His cold eyes narrowed, and he backed away slightly, studying you carefully. His cold, cruel gaze was enough to cause your trembling body to tremble even more, to cause panic swelling in your stomach. A part of you desperately wanted to bolt out of this room, to flee, but you were glued to the spot – your desire too great to ignore. You fought the urge to look over at Edward again, despite how great your curiosity was, and kept your eyes fixated on Jonathan instead, watching as his hand snaked up to stroke at your face, in a motion that could be disguised for gentle, but you saw it for what it was: complete control. His hand brushed across your cheek – before suddenly gripping into your hair once more, tangling in your strands, his nails digging slightly into your scalp in that painful, pleasurable sort of way. A soft gasp escaped your lips as his roughness, and you trembled against him.

His eyes roved over you carefully, as if taking every inch of you in, as if trying to figure out what to do with you next. You couldn’t help but wonder how experienced he was, how many men or women he’d been with, what kind of things he was into. You smirked, a heat of desire pulsing in your belly at the way he looked at you with such primal intention.

“Undress,” he finally said, a low command, leaving no room for arguing.

You blinked, a bit taken aback, but your gaze slid to the door. “What if someone—”

“It’s been taken care of,” Edward spoke up. “No need to worry, my dear. No one will be coming into this room to disturb us.”

Your gaze flickered back to Jonathan. His expression was emotionless, unyielding, not giving away anything to what he might be thinking. He was completely and utterly controlled. Fear knotted in your stomach, but with trembling hands, you slipped out of your dress. The cool air brushed across your naked skin, your nipples growing hard; you shimmied out of the dress and let it pool at the bottom of the desk, leaving you in nothing but a lacy green thong that you’d specifically picked out for Edward. The heavy swell of your breasts were revealed for both men to see, and Jonathan’s eyes immediately dropped to your pert, pink nipples. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the dampness of your own arousal between your legs. Every part of you was on high alert, on edge, teetering over the precipice of fear and terror. You had never done this before – never had sex while another man watched, especially if that other man was your own boyfriend, and you were in a room with two of Gotham’s most dangerous men, but that was beside the point.

Slowly, Jonathan reached out, testing the weight of your left breast in his hand, his thumb stroking over the nipple gently. You sucked in a soft breath at the small jolt of pleasure that radiated through your breast. His hands were rough, calloused, and he pinched your nipple between two fingers, earning another gasp from you. You trembled at his touch, at the fire his fingers left in their wake across your skin. His eyes were narrowed, studying your reaction, and you titled your head back slightly, arching your back so he had better access to your breasts. He cupped the other breast in his hand, needing and palming at it, his touch growing rougher and more needy by the second. A low whine left your lips, and you closed your eyes, relaxing into his touch – but just as you did, you felt his hand at your throat again.

“Eyes on me, pet,” he said, and your eyes snapped open, another jolt of fear radiating throughout your body. You met his gaze again, studying the emotionless expression on his face, as his fingers trailed downward, carefully grazing down your stomach to the hem of your thong.

He glanced at you again, then back down, before slowly lowering to his knees. Your breath caught in your throat, and you shuddered as his gaze never left yours. Your breaths were shallow, uncertain, nerves and fear writhing in your belly like a parasite. Slowly, he leaned in, snaking his tongue out to delicately brush across your inner thigh – only inches away from where you most wanted him to be. His tongue ran lines down your inner thigh, tracing in circular patterns, before reaching back up to the bend of your leg – and then, suddenly, he bit down.

You gasped at the sudden pain, jolting slightly, trembling in both pain and pleasure at the sharpness of his teeth. But as quickly as the bite came, so did his tongue once more, swirling around the bite as if to soothe it. You glanced at Edward once more, finding him still standing there, watching with a curious, lustful gaze in his eye. You glanced down at his groin, noticing the hardness of his own erection in the confines of his trousers, and your insides warmed at the idea of him being turned on by this entire interaction – even if there was a lingering jealousy in his gaze. You smirked slyly, spreading your legs a little further for Jonathan to have access to. He glanced up at you from in between your legs, before rising back up. The look in his eyes was full of a cold, cruelness to them, not a hint of warmth in his cloudy gaze – and just that look made you tremble more, made the hairs on the back of your neck rise on end. You were sure if he could devour you whole, he would.

Suddenly, his hand shot out once more, and his hands tangled in your hair once again, fingers digging tightly in. “Show me how you pleasure yourself, detective.”

His words took you aback, but your mouth fell open slightly in surprise. You hesitated, but slowly reached in between your legs. Pushing your thong aside slightly, you dove two fingers into your own wetness. With your other hand, you used one finger to swirl around your clit in slow, meticulous motions, causing a bolt of pleasure to shudder through you. It surged through your thighs, down to the tips of your toes, across every inch of your skin, and your mouth dropped open silently as you continued to fuck yourself with your own fingers. He watched silently, before he leaned forward, his lips at your ear.

“Does it frighten you, detective? To have two men watch you while you pleasure yourself?” he whispered lowly. “To see you completely unraveled, vulnerable, at our mercy?”

You shuddered at his words, trying to fight the fear coursing through your veins. Trying to keep some shred of dignity you still had left. As if in answer, your gaze flickered past Jonathan and over to Edward, who still remained bathed in the shadows, watching with strange look in his eyes.

“Don’t look at him,” Jonathan barked out, his voice low and cruel. “Focus on me, pet.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, and a low gasp escaped your lips as ripples of pleasure bundled underneath your skin. Every inch of you was on fire, your brain going fuzzy from the pleasure of your own fingers working their magic against you in just the way you liked. You could feel yourself builder higher and higher towards a release – and having two men watch you made it all the more sweeter.

Jonathan reached forward, snaking his hand through your hair once more, tightening his fingers at your scalp. You gasped as he pulled onto the strands, tilting your head back slightly, his cold gaze never leaving yours for an instant.

“Is it the thrill of being watched that makes you tremble like this?” he asked lowly, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. “Or the danger?”

The only answer you gave was a soft gasp. Heat flushed across your skin. Here you were: propped up on this desk, your legs spread wide, revealing the most vulnerable part of yourself for both men to see. Wetness coated your fingers, and you pumped two fingers in and out of yourself, gasping in tandem at the way your other finger swirled around your clit. Pleasure bundled in your stomach, tightening in your abdomen, knots of pure ecstasy rising higher and higher with each stroke, each thrust, each motion.

Jonathan studied you carefully, his eyes roving over every inch of your body, pausing to watch you fuck yourself. He showed no signs of emotion across his face, and you couldn’t even tell if he was enjoying watching this. Your fingers began to slow slightly, wondering if he was growing bored with this, but his cold voice filled the room once more.

“Does it scare you, detective?” he asked, leaning forward, his lips just brushing the shell of your ear. “To be so completely at the mercy of two men who are watching you right now?”

His words sent another rippled of fear down your spine. It tightened in your stomach, molding together with your pleasure, causing your heart to beat like a wild animal against your ribcage. Sweat beaded on your brow as your entire body flushed from head to toe, sending a shiver across your skin. Your breath quickened at his question, your fingers slowing their movements as you considered his question—

“I did not say you could stop,” Jonathan said, his voice a low command.

The words out of his mouth made you pause for a millisecond, before you resumed the work of your fingers: pumping in and out of yourself, swirling your finger around your clit. You leaned back a little more against the table, but his fingers in your hair did not let up, only tightened harder, sending a small ripple of pain across your skull. You were completely at his mercy, just his words enough to edge you closer to the brink. Your fear melding together with the pleasure in a strange kind of concoction – somehow enhancing your pleasure in a way you’d never experienced before. You snuck another glance at Edward, and he stood back, his eyes narrowed, and lips pressed into a thin line. But that look – of knowing your own boyfriend was watching another man do this to you, it sparked another bolt of fear down your spine, and yet at the very same time, it turned on you to heights you’d never experienced before. Jonathan’s hands released from around your hair, and he stepped back slightly, just enough to take in the full sight of you in your needy, wanton mess.

“Find your release, detective,” he said. “But keep your eyes on me as you do.”

You nodded, barely, breathless as your eyes found his cold, cruel gaze once more. He was staring at you as if you were a bug under his feet, something to be squashed entirely. Fear knotted in your belly, creeping up your spine – but you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers, quickening your pace as your climax teetered right on the edge – and suddenly, the little bundle of pleasure grew higher and higher – before exploding throughout your body. You gasped, crying out as wave after wave of indescribable pleasure coursed through your body. Your legs and hips bucked as you continued to work your fingers against yourself, chasing the rest of your high. But as the sensations trickled away, you finally removed your hands and relaxed against the desk, sucking in slow, deep breaths. Every inch of your skin was on fire, and a flush crept across your skin. You raised your eyes to him, looking back and forth between the two men, feeling completely exposed and raw and vulnerable. You’d never…touched yourself in front of two men before, not like this. Not when there were two pairs of eyes to look at you.

“Very good, detective,” Jonathan said quietly, but his voice held no ounce of praise. Just that patented cold, calculating nature to it. “Now. On your knees.”

You sat up a bit, sucking in a breath, a funny feeling at what he wanted next arising within you. You fought against looking at Edward once more, despite your every instinct screaming to, and slowly, you pushed yourself off the desk and lowered to your knees in front of Jonathan. Your knees knocked together, your entire body trembling. It wasn’t like you’d ever given a man a blowjob before – but something about this…about giving it to a man like Jonathan while Edward watched…it was frightening. Terrifying.

And exhilarating, all at the same time.

Jonathan was quiet as he reached down, undoing the buckle of his belt. With only a few smooth moves of his deft fingers, he slipped his cock from his pants: engorged, glistening with precum at the tip. Your eyes widened at the sight. He wasn’t quite as long as Edward, but he was a bit girthier, and thin, throbbing veins ran along his shaft. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, your body prickling with heat as you gazed up at him.

“Open your mouth,” he said, another command. “And let me in.”

Your mouth opened slightly, a moment of hesitation, before you opened your jaw a little wider. His tip approached you carefully, before his cockhead slid into your mouth. Inch by inch, he slid himself inside of you. You wrapped your mouth around him, breathing through your nose as you massaged the underside of his member with your tongue. One of his hands came to tighten itself in your hair again, his nails digging into your scalp. He tasted of salt and sweat and skin, a brown patch of curls poking through the confines of his pants. He filled your mouth completely, and he slid in and out of you with careful strokes.

“Detective,” he said, almost a groan. “I believe you know what to do, yes?”

You nodded, gazing up at him while he remained in your mouth. Using your other hand, you wrapped it around his shaft, pumping slowly in combination with your mouth and tongue. A low groan escaped his lips as you worked against his length, taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat. You gagged slightly at the intrusion, but breathed through your nose. Soft groans escaped his lips, and when you looked up again, you found his head tilted back slightly, still gazing down at you, watching your every move. You moaned softly around his member, taking him all the way in, over and over again. His fingers tightened in your hair as a low, guttural groan escaped his lips, and you smirked, watching him come undone. It was quite a sight to behold: the Master of Fear with his head titled back, losing himself to the pleasure you offered. You moaned against his length again, taking him deeper, faster, and he slowly bucked his hips into your mouth in tandem slowly and meticulously, every movement of his precise and controlled. Your core warmed, arousal dampening in between your legs, and your gaze flickered to Edward, still standing in the shadows with a narrowed, lustful gaze. Warm pleasure pooled in your core, and you fought the urge to reach down and touch yourself again, too busy giving Jonathan the pleasure he so craved at this very moment.

Just as you began to quicken your pace, he suddenly pulled back, slipping himself from your mouth. You glanced up at him, a bit surprised at how he’d pulled away, and a bout of disappointment rippled through you. His member was coated in your saliva, glistening in the light. You sat back on your knees, his taste lingering on your tongue.

Jonathan reached down, placing a hand across the top of your head, trailing his fingers down your cheek and to your chin, where he lifted your head up slightly. “That pretty mouth of yours has certainly had a bit of practice, now hasn’t it?” He glanced at Edward for a moment.

Edward’s smirk grew, his lustful gaze twinkling. “Jealous, Crane?”

A bolt of pleasure knotted in your stomach again, and a sense of pride swelled inside of you, as if happy to be pleasing Edward by doing this – even if this was sucking off another dangerous man, one who made you tremble with fear. You weren’t sure what Crane was going to do next, but that fear further increased inside of you, balling into a cold, hard knot at the center of your ribcage. But more than that, you feared how Edward was thinking, feeling, if he was going to lash out in a jealous rage and take you for his own.

“Look at me,” Jonathan said again, forcing your eyes back to him. His head cocked slightly to the side, as if studying you with cruel intention. “Do you fear what he might be thinking? That you’re here, servicing me instead? Or…do you wish it was him in my place?”

You can’t help how much your trembling, a cold chill brushing across your naked flesh. Your teeth are practically chattering with the fear – and you can’t even bring yourself to answer him, to make your terror known. But you can see it in his eyes: how much he’s enjoying your fear, your terror, and you can’t pull your eyes away.

His grip tightened on your chin. “Answer me,” he said.

“I…” you struggled to find the words. “I…I’m afraid of what he’s thinking. I’m afraid he’s going to look at me like…” You paused, the words stilling in your mouth, heavy on your tongue. Like I’m nothing but his plaything. Like a whore. Like a toy to be passed around.

Jonathan quirked a brow, seeming to understand what you were going to say. But his hand finally dropped from your chin, and he took a step back, tucking himself into his pants. “Like what?” he asked, a cruel smirk twitching at the edge of his lips.

Great. He was going to make you say it. Of course he was.

“Like I’m a whore,” you whispered. “Like I’ll be…tainted after this. Like he won’t want me anymore.” The words tumbled out of you, and it took you a moment to realize you were shaking, your fears bundling deep in your stomach, spreading a coldness through your limbs.

“Tainted?” Jonathan asked, his head tilting slightly to the side. “My dear, you were tainted by Nigma the very moment you let his cock enter you. The moment you spread your legs for him, every inch of you was poisoned by his narcissist, egotistical nature.”

Edward scoffed under his breath, a sound of disgust. “I’m sure that speech will really get her going, Crane,” he said.

Jonathan glanced back at Edward. “Why don’t we see, hmm?” His gaze shifted back to you once more. “Back on the desk, pet. And remove that silly little thing.” He nodded to your thong, now soaked through.

Nodding, you stood and slowly slipped out of the thong, stepping out of it one leg at a time. You let it fall onto the floor atop your dress, heat burning your cheeks, spreading through every inch of your flesh. Your skin was on fire with desire and terror and everything in between. You hoisted yourself back onto the desk, using your arms to prop yourself up behind you.

Jonathan met your gaze once more. “Spread your legs.”

His command was not gentle. There was no warmth to his voice, no seduction, just a pure, calculated coldness. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you listened, spreading your thighs apart, revealing your most intimate spot. His gaze rove over your naked body, before landing on your womanhood. He took a step closer, resting one hand on your thigh, his fingers digging in. With the other hand, he tentatively reached forward, stroking at your wet folds with a curious carefulness. You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself for what he might do next; he brushed aside your folds, toying with them, before he slid two fingers into you. A soft breath escaped your lips as his long digits filled you, and slowly, he pulled them back – and then inserted them again, repeating the motion over and over again in a slow manner.

“So wet,” he mumbled, as if he was making an observation and you were an experiment. He continued the slow motions of his fingers, in and out, in and out, and you tilted your head back slightly, soft gasps escaping your lips.

“Touch yourself, detective,” he said, his voice once more a command. “I want to see you find your release on my fingers.”

You didn’t hesitate – you were too caught up in this, in the heat and desire, to argue. Your finger immediately found your clit, and you began stroking yourself in the motion you enjoyed. As you did, his fingers began to pump out of you harder, faster, at a furious pace, fucking you. You gasped at the sensation of his fingers and you stroking your clit – together in tandem, slowly bundling pleasure in your core. Sweat beaded down your brow and soft gasps and moans escaped your lips out of your control. You titled your head back, not daring to shut your eyes, fearing Jonathan would simply command you to keep them open. But as he fucked you with his fingers, your legs began to tremble and shake, your whole body tightening with the pleasure he gave you. Your gasps grew louder as you felt that pleasure building inside of you, rocking your core, igniting a fire in your belly. God, you were close – so fucking close – and just as you swirled your finger around your clit again – that band inside you snapped, releasing a wave of ecstasy across your skin. A loud cry escaped your lips, and Jonathan’s fingers only continued to work their magic inside of you. Your fingernails dug into the table as you bucked your hips into his hand, chasing the finality of your orgasm.

As the last of your climax washed over you, you slowly removed your hand, resting it atop the desk, panting as his fingers came to a slow, before he removed them entirely. Jonathan brought his two fingers up, studying the wet sheen coating his fingers, before he opened his mouth – and he licked his fingers clean. The motion made your insides clench and tighten with another bolt of heat, watching with desire as he licked himself of your juices. Your mouth fell open slightly, and your skin prickled with a delicious desire, a desperation to continue this. His eyes never broke from yours as he licked each digit clean, his eyes roaming over you. You couldn’t help but steal a glance over at Edward, who continued to watch with that lustful, jealous gaze burning in his blue eyes. The room was so quiet, all you could hear was the thundering of your heart beating like a rabid animal against your breastbone.

Edward took a step forward, a scoff escaping his lips. “Making her work for it, Crane? The least you could is use your own mouth. Here, why don’t I show you, since you can’t even make her cum properly.”

The breath caught in your throat as you glanced between both men, a bundle of heat stirring within your core. Jonathan glanced at Edward, his eyes cold and narrowed, but he stepped aside and said, “Be my guest, Edward.”

Smirking, Edward approached you, wandering over as he studied you, his eyes roving over every inch of your body. His gaze was full of desire, and you noted the obvious erection pressing against the confines of his pants.

“Edward,” you whispered, but he cupped your face in between your hands as he shushed you, pressing his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, greedy, as if a clear display of his ownership over you. Like even though he had agreed to share you tonight, you still belonged completely to him.

As he pulled away, his hands dropped down to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he pulled them apart eagerly and lowered to his knees. In an instant, his mouth was on your clit, sucking gently, and you gasped, shuddering at the sensation of his tongue and mouth working against your overly sensitive clit. With two fingers, he inserted them into you, curving them, until he found your G-spot, stroking against the sensitive spot. A low whine escaped your lips as you tilted your head back, practically melting against his mouth, losing yourself to the pleasure he offered. Stars danced in your vision, and your entire body trembled with need and heat – but you were so preoccupied, lost in the feel of Edward’s tongue lapping against your clit, that you didn’t realize Jonathan walked around the side of the desk, coming up behind you.

You felt his breath suddenly at your neck, and he brushed your hair aside, exposing the left side of your neck. Jonathan’s lips were at your ear, his voice a cruel, cold whisper, “Do you fear being at our mercy, detective?” he asked.

As he spoke, his fingers pinched at your nipples, tugging lightly on the swollen bud. You gasped, jerking slightly into Edward’s mouth, but his grip on your thighs tightened, digging his fingers in as he continued to work you with his mouth and tongue. Jonathan rolled the soft bud of your nipple between two fingers, playing with it, twisting lightly. Another soft gasp escaped your lips as your head fell back further, resting against his shoulder.

“Knowing that you’re completely powerless to stop us?” he continued, his breath tickling your skin. “Powerless to the way your body responds to us?”

A low whine escaped your lips. Your brain was a fog of complete pleasure, all thoughts vanished somewhere far away, where you may never find them again. Edward’s fingers moved at a furious pace inside of you as his tongue continued to lick at your clit in slow, meticulous strokes. Pleasure bundled in your core, spreading a wildfire across your skin. You couldn’t form any words, any thought, any care other than drowning in the way Edward fucked you with his tongue while Jonathan played with your breasts, toying at your nipples, his breath hot in your eat. His other hand grabbed at your chin, his fingers trailing upwards towards your mouth.

“Open,” he said, a sharp command.

You obeyed instantly, opening your mouth, and he stuck his first two fingers inside. You could taste your own wetness on his fingers, sweet.

“Suck,” he said.

You closed your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue along the long, dexterous digits, continuing to taste your own juices on his fingers. His other hand continued to palm at your breast, twisting your nipples in a painful, yet pleasurable way that made you gasp around his fingers. Suddenly, he pulled his fingers from your mouth, his hand resting once more around your throat, and he squeezed lightly. A bolt of fear ran down your spine, melding together with the pleasure growing and bundling like a tightening rubber band in your core, threatening to snap, to make you come undone for a third time.

Jonathan looked into your eyes; his own were dark and clouded, filled with that same cold cruelty, as if you were nothing but his own toy to play with. His grip on your throat tightened, and the pleasure in your clit only surged higher. With one hand, you reached forward, gripping your hand tightly into Edward’s hair, urging him to continue as you arched your back, beckoning your soaking cunt further into his mouth. He continued, eagerly sucking on your clit now, and you felt that little bundle of pleasure grow – before it burst completely.

A low cry escaped your lips as your whole body wracked against his mouth, hot-white ecstasy surging through your entire body. You cursed under your breath as your body shook and writhed, your orgasm washing over you, making your toes curl. You tugged at Edward’s hair, whispering his name, losing yourself as you relaxed against Jonathan’s chest, crying out. But just as quickly as it came, the pleasure began to wane. Edward pulled away after a moment, gazing up at you, his lips coated in your wetness. He smirked as he stood up, looking rather pleased with himself.

His eyes flickered to Jonathan. “See, Crane? I didn’t hear her crying out your name.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you swallowed, trying to gain your composure. Heat bundled in your womanhood, a pleasurable sensation tingling at your clit; your whole body felt spent and worn, and sweat beaded down your forehead, between the valley of your breasts.

Jonathan made a sound of amusement. “No need to compete, Edward. I’m sure your little toy has enjoyed both of us. Isn’t that right, pet?” He squeezed at your throat again.

Your eyes snapped open, and you looked between them, unable to find the words as you continued to try and catch your breath.

“Well?” Jonathan asked, raising a brow, an expectant look on his face.

“Yes,” you whispered, struggling to find your voice.

“But who did you enjoy more?” Edward asked, raising his own brows. You could see the look in his eyes – the desperation for your approval, for you to choose him.

Well, you had to admit, there was something more pleasurable about him using his tongue instead of making you do it yourself. His question caught you off guard, but you couldn’t help the sly smile that curved at the corners of your mouth. Meeting his eyes, you said, “You, Edward. I enjoyed you more.”

“Ha! Take that, Crane!” Edward cried, smiling triumphantly.

A laugh threatened to bubble up out of your chest, but you swallowed it down. Jonathan made a sound, almost of disapproval, and his fingers only dug further into your throat, making you squirm. It was a little painful, just enough to cause you to tremble in fear, but not enough to frighten you completely. You just felt the tips of his nails grazing against your soft skin, threatening to scrape against your flesh.

Jonathan’s mouth was suddenly at your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. “Such a naughty pet, playing us against each other…is that anyway to behave?”

You pursed your lips. A thousand words hung on your tongue, but you couldn’t help yourself – you were in too deep, too far gone with pleasure and lust and desire to think about anything else other than what was happening right now, in this very room, with these two men. They offered you something you’d never been given before: pleasure and attention like you’d never had, never seen, as they worshipped you like you were something to be cherished.

But you couldn’t help the bratty remark that left your lips, “It is when you two decided to go behind my back and make this little arrangement,” you said, quietly, voice barely a breath.

That made a low chuckle rumble from Edward’s throat. “Fair enough. But now I believe you’re just being a naughty little tease, aren’t you, detective?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your smirk growing. You couldn’t help it – the very idea of being here with both of these dangerous men, who both wanted you…it was terrifying and exciting all the same, and a part of you wanted to see just how much you could push their buttons.

It was Jonathan’s turn to let out a sound of amusement, as his lips reached the shell of your ear once more, his tongue snaking out to brush across your ear, making you tremble as he said, “On the couch now, pet.”

Your gaze flickered to the other side of the room, where there was a small couch resting in the corner. Edward took a step back, helping you to your trembling feet, as you wandered over to the couch. You felt the dampness between your thighs, and your breasts hung with a heavy swell, your whole body flushed, nipples pert and pink.

“Sit,” Jonathan said. Another sharp command.

You nodded, turning back to face them, and you sunk onto the couch. Just as you did, Jonathan walked forward; he got down onto his knees and grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, once more revealing your wet cunt to him. You gasped slightly as his nails dug into your flesh, and he glanced up at you.

“Now, pet,” he said. “I want you to stay focused. No getting distracted now.”

As he spoke, you watched Edward unzip his own trousers, pulling his own engorged, swollen cock from his pants. Your breath hitched in your throat as another wave of desire passed over you, making you shudder. Edward took a step closer, holding his shaft in hand, as he gave himself a few slow, measured strokes. But before you could say anything, Jonathan’s mouth was suddenly at your clit now, sucking the swollen, over sensitive bud.

“Fuck,” you cursed out, jolting back, but his hands dug further into your thighs to keep you still. He glanced up at you, his eyes cold and cruel, the warning within them clear.

Your gaze shifted back to Edward again; his cock was swollen, precum dripping from the red tip. You immediately opened your mouth, greedy, and grabbed onto his shaft, taking his head into your mouth. You licked at his head while swallowing him as deep as you could go – but at the same time, Jonathan continued to lap at your clit like a starved animal, greedy and sloppy, his tongue working overtime. Small bursts of pleasure bundled in your core, alighting a fire in your belly, and your already sensitive clit was at it’s peak. Edward tasted of salt and skin, and you groaned as Jonathan sucked on your clit. A soft curse escaped Edward’s lips as he titled his head back, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair, pulling tight on the strands.

You pulled back for air, a low curse escaping your own lips, “Fuck…”

Just as you stopped, so did Jonathan. He pulled back slightly, glancing up at you, one brow raised in curiosity. “I believe I didn’t tell you to stop, yes?”

“I—” But before you could get a word out, one of his hands came up and smacked at your clit. You yelped in pain and pleasure, too overstimulated to think straight.

“Continue,” Jonathan said. There was no warmth in his voice.

With just that one command, his mouth latched onto your clit again, and you took Edward back into your mouth. You worked him with your tongue and hand, groaning and moaning around his cock in tandem with the way Jonathan sucked and tongued at your clit. Heat ignited inside of you, burning like a wildfire in your belly, spreading through your every vein and muscle, clouding your every thought. Jonathan’s fingers entered you slowly, pumping in an out of you slowly, fucking you, and you pulled back for air again, gasping, a low moan escaping your lips – but once more, he smacked at your clit, and you cried out. An embarrassed flush crept along your skin and up your throat, burning your cheeks.

“She likes it when you smack her ass,” Edward said, rolling his eyes at Jonathan. Smirking, he grabbed onto you, guiding you onto your hands and knees. You held your breath as you braced yourself against the couch, and for a moment, all you felt was air – before Edward’s hand came down in a swift smack on your left ass check. You cried out, gasping, as the sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the room.

A ripple of delicious heat bundled in your core, and you held back your smile. There was something so naughty about being punished like this – being punished between them. Jonathan gripped your chin, turning your head slightly, and you realized he’d pulled his own cock from the confines of his pants, stroking himself now. You greedily took him into your mouth next, tasting the familiarity of skin and salt and sweat. Edward’s lips and fingers found themselves once more at your dripping hole, lapping at your clit, fucking you with his fingers. Another low groan escaped your lips as you felt Edward’s fingers curl inside of you, finding every delicious spot of pleasure that made you moan against Crane’s cock. Jonathan stared down at you, showing no sign of emotion on his face as you took him as deep as you could, almost gagging in the process. As you pulled back for air, you gasped, trying to fill your deprived lungs of oxygen – but the hesitation was enough, and you felt a second swift smack to your ass.

“Ah!” you cried out, shuddering at the pain radiating through your ass cheek. You let out a soft whine, before your mouth found Jonathan’s cock once more. This time, he began thrusting his hips slightly, using your mouth as if it was his own personal fuck toy.

You groaned around his cock again, tightening your hands into the couch, as Edward sucked on your swollen, sensitive bud, furiously pumping his fingers in and out of you. But just as you felt that bundle of pleasure building inside of you, Jonathan pulled back, his cock glistening with your saliva. At the same time, Edward paused his own movements, one of his hands gently gliding over the smooth slope of your ass in a comforting, soothing motion. You sucked in air, nerves tightening in your belly, wondering just what they had in store next. Edward slipped away from you, rising to his own feet, his swollen cock hanging in front of him. You watched as Jonathan reached into his suit coat and pulled out a condom from his pocket. He quickly ripped the foil, and rolled the condom onto his cock, until it was at the base of his shaft, where a soft patch of brown curls was. When he looked back at you, you averted your gaze, almost shyly, knowing what was coming next. Jonathan walked over to the couch, positioning himself behind you, one knee resting on the couch while his other leg steadied himself. He rested one hand on your hip, gently trailing along the curve of your ass, before he gripped tightly, nails digging in. You hissed between your teeth, a soft moan of pleasure escaping your lips as the pain made way for pleasure and heat. And that’s when you felt it – the head of his cock pushing into you, slowly, as he teased himself against your folds.

“Beg, detective,” he said, another order. Another cruel command. “Beg for it, pet.”

You were trembling now, bracing yourself, fingers digging into the couch cushions. You felt his body hovering over yours, warmth radiating off his skin, his breath heavy and ragged. You could just feel all the raw, primal energy coiled tightly inside of him, waiting to be unleashed upon you. There was no room for refusal in his authoritative, animalistic tone, as if he was barely containing himself any longer. Fear erupted in your core, causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh and a chill to creep up the back of your neck. There was something about the change of tone in his voice, how low it had dropped, that made your insides coil with terror. You glanced up to find Edward taking his place at your front, his cock just at your mouth, awaiting you to take him back in and suck him off.

Jonathan teased the tip of his cock at your entrance again. “Come now, pet,” he said, almost a cruel purr. “You want this, don’t you? To be needed and craved and wanted by both of us at the same time?”

“….yes,” you whispered, almost choking out the word. “Please, please fuck me…”

“Say my name,” Jonathan said, his lips at your ear, body hovering over yours.

“Jonathan,” you whispered. “Jonathan please…” You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling his fingers digging tightly into your hips.

“Not that name,” he hissed, tightening his grip.

You paused, feeling the breath knock from your lungs as you realized exactly what he wanted. Slowly, you peeled your eyes open, and you whispered that name he was so desperate to hear, “Please…Scarecrow, please…”

With just that one word, a deep sound of satisfaction rumbled out of his mouth – and he thrust into you. You gasped, crying out at how easily he filled you, how full he made you feel.

You felt his mouth at your ear as he whispered, “Good girl.” A sigh of pleasure escaped your lips, trembling, as his hands roamed over you, before he grabbed onto your hips again. He pulled out slowly – almost completely – before slamming back into you again. You cried out at the thickness of him, at how he took you with an unrestrained desire. He slammed into you again and again, and you glanced up to find Edward watching, holding his cock in his hand; his gaze dropped to you, and you opened your mouth, allowing him to push his cock into your mouth. You relaxed your jaw, allowing him to buck his hips into your mouth as Jonathan fucked you from behind. Your mind went completely blank as you were fucked relentlessly – you could think of nothing but their mouths and tongues and hands and cocks – completely filling you with pleasure, making you see stars. Edward bucked his hips into your mouth, and you breathed through your nose, trying to control your breathing. Low grunts escaped Jonathan’s lips as he slammed his hips into you, rutting into you with the desperation of a man chasing his own release. With each thrust, he filled you completely, slamming right into that spot inside of you. The sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the room, melding together with each gasp and grunt and groan. The sounds of pleasure out of their mouths was like music to your ears, filling you with your own satisfied pleasure at knowing you were the cause of their undoing’s, that you had turned these men into such messes. You were the very reason they were here, wanting you, needing you, craving you, desiring you – and in that moment, you never wanted it to end. The couch creaked with each movement, each thrust, and you felt Jonathan’s balls slapping against your ass while Edward’s slapped against your face. They both grabbed at you, pawing at you with almost a primal need, as if they couldn’t get enough of you – as if their own obsessions with you were growing more dangerous, more unbridled, more desperate.

And somehow, someway, you began to feel it in return. A desperation for both of them, to be at their mercy, to be used like their own plaything and toy. You gasped around Edward’s cock again as Jonathan continued to fuck you, his hips bucking into you, and you felt yourself spiraling out of your own control, out of whatever shred of sanity you had left. Jonathan hissed between his teeth, slowing his thrusts, now taking you deeper, pushing himself all the way inside of you. Edward pulled out of your mouth enough for you to get air, sucking in a deep breath, and you hung your head; it was taking every ounce of your control to keep yourself propped up on your hands and knees, to keep yourself from falling into a heap of pleasure and exhaustion. The room was thick with hot tension and desire, a heavy heat radiating across every inch of your sweat, flushed skin. It was as if their silent agreement extended into each other, as if they were one mind, using you in tandem, taking what they wanted from you.

Edward shoved his cock into your mouth again, and you swallowed with greedily, sucking him off, licking your tongue up and down his shaft. He bucked his hips into your mouth and grabbed onto your breasts, fondling them, pinching and pulling at your nipples. You felt his thrusts suddenly become more sloppy, more desperate, and you felt his cock twitch in your mouth as he came – spilling his seed down your throat. A loud groan escaped his lips as he tilted his head back, his eyes fluttering closed. You swallowed his cum, feeling some of it dribble down your mouth as the rutting of his hips stilled as deep into your mouth as he could go. The bitter taste of his seed filled your mouth, and you swallowed as much of him as you could before he pulled out. His cock was covered in a mix of his own release and your saliva, and he sat back, gasping, trying to gain his composure, a sheen coating across his forehead.

It took you a moment to realize Jonathan had paused his thrusting, as if to allow Edward to finish, before he resumed. One of his hands tangled itself in your hair, pulling your head back, his teeth nipping at your ear as he hissed, “Does it frighten you, detective? To be taken by the Scarecrow?”

His words made you tremble, and a low gasp escaped your lips. His words were possessive and dark, like he was staking a claim over you, letting you know that you were his just as much as you were Edward’s. You couldn’t form a coherent thought or sentence, too caught up in the way his cock continued to buck in and out of your dripping, wet cunt.

“Or does it excite you?” he continued. “Knowing you belong to both of us?”

In response, all you could give was a low whine, a gasp, and you squeezed your eyes shut. His words made you tremble, made your skin prickle with delicious heat. His words seemed to wrap around you, blanketing you in the fear and realization of what you were doing – and who you were doing it with – but at this moment, you didn’t even care.

“Answer me, pet,” he purred.

“Yes!” you gasped out, cursing under your breath once more as he pounded into you with a relentless frenzy. “Yes – fuck…please…”

“Good girl,” he whispered again. His hand loosened from your hair, traveling down to the base of your neck, where he gripped tightly. With a careful grip, he forced your head down, burying your face into the couch cushion. You gasped, gazing up at Edward as he watched, his cock now softening and hanging limp. You gritted your teeth, and with one final thrust, Jonathan groaned low and deep in his throat as he shoved himself as far into you as he could go. You felt his cock twitch, and warmth fill the end of the condom inside of you. You collapsed onto the couch, utterly spent, unable to move. Slowly, you felt Jonathan slip himself out of you, leaving you feeling empty.

“Such a good girl, detective,” Edward murmured. “Taking us both so well.” There was thick, dark satisfaction laced in his voice.

His words made your heart flutter with pride, as if you’d done something so good and well for them, satisfied them both, alighting a desperation inside of you that you didn’t even know you wanted. You laid there for a moment, trying to adjust to the afterglow and the mix of pleasure and pain swirling inside of you, trying to regain some sanity over the moment. You felt Jonathan shift behind you, and when you glanced back, he stood up. The condom was filled at the tip with white cum, and he wandered away, off towards a garbage can on the other side of the room. A quiet stillness filled the room, but the air was still heavy with tension.

“Are you all right?” Edward asked as Crane cleaned himself up.

“I’m…okay,” you whispered, trying to regain your composure. With Edward’s help, you lifted yourself up. Every part of your body was spent and sweaty, and you maneuvered yourself into a sitting position. You still tasted Edward’s cum on your tongue.

The moment almost didn’t feel real now that it was over. There was a strange absence inside of you now as you tried to register what you’d done, and the new dynamics between the three of you now. Slowly, you ran a hand through your hair, smoothing out the tangles. An embarrassed flush crept along your skin, and you looked down at your shaky, trembling legs. There was a part of you that was absolutely excited over what just happened – and just as equally terrified by the encounter, too.

A moment later, you finally lifted your eyes to see that both Edward and Jonathan had tucked their cocks back into their pants. You found Jonathan reaching down to gather up your thong and dress, and he approached you, holding them out for you. You mumbled a quick thank you, before Edward helped you to your feet, giving you the space to shimmy back into your clothes. As you did, you felt both their eyes on you, and you couldn’t help but notice the little bruises and teeth marks in your skin at their touches. A rumble of satisfaction erupted deep in your core, and you couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your lips.

“Well,” you said, once you were dressed. “So…that happened.”

Edward chuckled deep in his throat. “Yes, detective, it did. Now, perhaps we should get you home, yes?”

You shot him a look, but nodded. You were desperate for a shower to wash off the sweat, but your gaze flickered back to Jonathan for a quick moment. He straightened out his suit coat and adjusted his tie, appearing as if this entire interaction had never happened at all.

“Until next time, detective,” Jonathan said, his voice dark and possessive. He turned on his heels and opened the door of the office, stepping back out into the hall.

You followed after him, but before you could step forward, Edward’s hand gripped your arm tight, his fingers digging into your skin. He lowered his mouth to your ear and whispered, “Just because I’ve agreed to share you with Crane doesn’t make you any less mine, do you understand?”

“Yes,” you murmured, a tingle creeping up your spine.

“Good,” he replied. Then he let you go and gave your ass a gentle smack. You shot him a look, smirking, but stepped into the hall. Edward followed you and shut the office door behind him. Quietly, the three of you walked back down the hall, an odd tenseness filling the air between the three of you, too many unspoken words dangling in the air.

But as you came back towards the party, you noticed Commissioner Cash peek his head out, searching both ways down the hall before his eyes landed on you. “Detective,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I was wondering where you’d run off to. These two aren’t giving you any trouble, are they?” He glanced between Edward and Jonathan with suspicion in his eyes.

You smiled. “Not at all, Commissioner. Not at all.”

[armoricaroyalty]

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 / ❛ boy crazy ❜ part two (@nexility-sims)

When Zofia walked into a room, everyone noticed. It might have been the enormity of her hair or the constant noise of her rings and bracelets or else the overwhelmingly sweet scent of her favorite body mist, but she was captivating in every sense of the word. Hannah had been jealous of her, once upon a time. It would have been impossible to grow up with her without any jealousy: next to Zofia, everyone became shabby and dull. Ranks didn't matter at all, no title or royal honor could ever compete with that kind of natural charisma. Hannah loved her, but there had been days when she'd hated her, too. Now, though, she was only grateful. When Zofia walked in, nobody noticed the rest of them slipping out.

read part one here

author's note: @nexility-sims and I have been working on the zofia/rui romance since....early 2022? some time in 2021? since #rufia has completely dominated 2/3 of our joint brain power for years, it seemed fitting to finally let them out of our DM's to celebrate Love Day Valentine's Day. Happy V-Day, everyone!

Transcript under the cut.

CHEF | Aren't long nails against dress code, anyway? SERVER | [laughs] Girl, I don't give a fuuu— SERVER | You wanna know who else is wearing acrylics tonight? CHEF | [bored] I dunno, who? SERVER | Oh, nobody, just the Princess Zofia. CHEF | [gasps] CHEF | Shut. Up. You actually talked to her? What was she like? SERVER | She's fucking gorgeous. Like, obviously, but up close, she's even more beautiful. CHEF | Yeah, yeah, but what was she like? SERVER | Okay, so I didn't actually talk to her because she was all over her new boyfriend. They were like, so into each other. It was so sweet. CHEF | Really? I heard it's just a PR relationship so people will think she's over Sigis. SERVER | No way! They're obviously crazy abut each other. You can't fake— UNIDENTIFIED MAN | [offscreen] EVERYBODY OUT! HUGO | What, do I gotta say it again? All of you, clear out! HANNAH | [sighs] Please excuse us. HANNAH | My cousin and I need somewhere to speak privately. Will you please excuse us for a moment? CHEF | ??? SERVER | [shrugs] HUGO | ...anyway, did you see it? HANNAH | See what? HUGO | That stupid little hair flip. He did it a million times. HANNAH | He's growing it out for her. HUGO | Really? Hard to believe, he's so fucking vain. HANNAH | She told me she asked him to grow it long. [deep, beleaguered sigh] She thinks it's sexy. HUGO | What, are you for real? HANNAH | Oh yeah. She's always had a thing for guys with long hair. HUGO | ...huh. HANNAH | Anyway...what's your take? Personally, I don't see what she sees in him. HUGO | [snorts] He's better than Marshall. HANNAH | That's the world's lowest bar. Subterranean, in fact. HUGO | So what are we going to do? HANNAH | He's not a dog, we can't just run him off. HUGO | Well, you can't, but maybe if I— PIDGE | [offscreen] HEY! What are you two talking about? PIDGE | ...and why are you hanging out in the kitchen? ARTHUR | ....hi. HUGO | [icily] Farrier. HANNAH | It's late, Pidge. What are you still doing up? PIDGE | Uh, excuse you. Mama said I can stay until midnight. ARTHUR | ...you two aren't talking about Rui and Zofie, are you? HUGO | ... HANNAH | ...no. PIDGE | You two are such LIARS! PIDGE | Both of you are judgy control freaks! I thought he was really nice. HUGO | He could barely string a sentence together. ARTHUR | I mean...Armorican is his third or fourth language, isn't it? HUGO | Whatever! He gives me the creeps. HANNAH | Well, she says she's in love. HUGO | [scoffs] In love? They've known each other for six months. PIDGE | So? What if it was love at first sight? HANNAH | [exasperated] Pidge— HUGO | Just ignore her, she's fourteen. PIDGE | For your information, I'm fifteen. And I'll be sixteen in May, sooo— HUGO | Yeah, a baby— ARTHUR | Can I remind everyone that Zofia is twenty-two? She's an adult, she can make her own choices, and this is none of our business. HUGO | You're right, Farrier. It's none of your business. HANNAH | [offscreen] Hugo, enough. PIDGE | [mouthing] Rude. HANNAH | Arthur, what was your read? ARTHUR | I don't know, and I don't want to form a judgment until I've actually gotten to know him. He seems...fine? On par with the other guys she's dated. HANNAH | [sighs] "On par with all her other boyfriends" is the entire problem. HANNAH | I just don't want her to get hurt again. This happens every time, you know? She falls hard and fast and then the guy turns out to be a scum-sucking lowlife. PIDGE | [laughs] Hellooooo, what about Van? He was— HANNAH | Probably thw worst of all of them. Trust me, Pigeon. He's...he's no good. HUGO | [jokingly] You see, baby bird? That's why you're not allowed to date until you're thirty and why Hannah's gonna join a convent— PIDGE | No way, that's not fair. HANNAH | [tiredly] Hugo, shut up. No one asked. PIDGE | Yeah, Hugo. No one asked. ARTHUR | Look, I think we should at least give the guy a chance. HANNAH | [sighs] I guess we owe her that much. PIDGE | Guys, I actually talked to him, and trust me: he is like, sooo nice. HUGO | ... HUGO | I bet I could take him. PIDGE | Hey! Hannah, did you hear what he just said—

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin. (part three)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 5.8k summary: eddie finds a way to distract you.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: smut with a plot, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v sex (pls wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, slight degradation, heavy use of various pet names, oblivious idiots in love, mentions of minor character death, mentions of drug consumption, a little family drama, situational anxiety — if i missed anything, pls let me know!

psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

From the moment you became a household name, your life was a never ending circus.

Frankly, oftentimes it didn’t even feel like your life anymore. An act of sorts, and you were closer resembling a puppet on a string than a human being. Dancing when they told you to dance, singing when they told you to sing. Smile. Wave. Act a certain way. Be polite. Wear this. Go here. 

You could probably count on one hand the number of experiences since your rise to fame that actually made you feel human and more than half of those are thanks to a certain rockstar by the name of Eddie Munson.

Although your time with Eddie had so far been extremely brief, the curly-haired rockstar made you feel things you have only ever dreamt possible.

His cute crooked smile. His perfectly brown doe-eyes. The way he said your name. How he made you laugh. His delicate touch and the way he seemed to know every pressure point your body had to offer. It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. 

And for a measly twelve hours, he was just yours, making you feel human.

Given the way everything played out between the two of you over these last few months, foolishly, you thought you’d get to keep him a secret from the rest of the world for just a little while longer — making up for lost time, and whatnot. Unfortunately, whoever took that picture and sold it to the tabloids clearly didn’t care, and why would they? In that moment, as they snapped the photo of a private conversation, whether your relationship with Eddie was real or fake, didn’t matter. Money mattered. Money always matters more.

“It’s gonna be okay, you know?” Eddie says, steering you away from your thoughts. He glances in your direction before focusing back on the road ahead. “Nothin’ the smart people we have hired can’t figure out.”

You look at him, a sad expression on your face. “In your own words, good for your career, bad for mine.”

Eddie scrunches his nose, faking a moment of contemplation. In reality, in the last few hours alone, he’s replayed that very first conversation with you about a hundred times. He was only joking around back then, but considering the language used on the front page of that lousy paper, and every other tabloid that followed, was clearly favouring him and disapproving towards you, his point was proven. And that only made his blood boil more.

“Doesn’t sound like me, sweetheart.” He’s trying to keep things lighthearted and the slight tease almost gets you to smile. Almost.

Instead, you let out a defeated sigh and lift your feet, placing them on the edge of the passenger seat before wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your chin on your knee.

“Guess we were never supposed to do this right.”

Eddie’s heart aches at your words. He doesn't like seeing you like this. He hated it yesterday at the studio after you saw each other again, before he got a chance to apologise, but he’s hating it even more now since there’s really nothing he can do aside from finding that fucker who took the picture and beating some sense into them — which would most likely only make the situation worse.

Then there’s the fear. Eddie can feel it, creeping and waiting to take him over whole at any given moment. He’s trying to push it down, remain positive and shit, because he knows nothing good can come from giving into feeling scared. But when he catches your gaze, he’s fucking terrified. There’s a sadness behind your eyes he’s really hoping isn’t accompanied by regret.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eddie repeats his earlier sentiment while reaching over to take your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. This time, he’s also reminding himself.

A rather uncertain silence settles in the air. You stare blankly at the road ahead, thankful for the LA traffic as it lets you spend a little more alone time with the boy you so desperately like, but hating it at the same time since this could quite possibly be the last moment you share before the chaos unfolds further. That feels wrong to you.

Eddie deserves better than every other fling you had, caught crudely by the paparazzi and making headlines worldwide. Difference between this particular rockstar and the trail of dates you left behind prior to meeting him was that you actually cared. You cared about him, wishing that was enough to get you both through this mess, but unfortunately you also cared about what the general public thought of your romance. Their opinion mattered as it would most likely dictate how this would play out with your respectable labels and management teams.

The rockstar also wants to get over this hurdle. He meant what he said about doing this right and he’s nothing if not a man of his word — especially when it comes to pretty girls that effortlessly occupy his mind, his heart, and make his dick hard. You tick all those boxes and about a thousand more.

“Hey,” you tilt your head to look at him. He meets your gaze and raises a brow, urging you to continue. “Is there somewhere we could go before meeting Marianne at the studio?”

“Anywhere, baby.”

“Someplace private. I think I need to feel normal for a little while longer before we’re met with our fate.”

Eddie chuckles at your dramatic choice of words, heart growing fonder ‘cause it seems he’s met his match. “Like Michael Corleone.”

You furrow your brows. “Who?”

He gasps, sporting a shocked expression. “The Godfather?”

“Never seen it.”

“Oh, baby, you wound me.”

You finally smile and Eddie swears his heart is going to burst. Yeah, he’s certain now he’s too far gone to let anyone ruin whatever this was shaping up to be. His whole life consisted of sticking it to the man and he wasn’t about to stop any time soon, especially since his first chance at real happiness was at stake.

-

“Eddie, I don’t think a record store is exactly private.”

He huffs out a laugh and without saying anything, jumps out of the car. Feeling a little unnerved, you remain in your seat, following him instead with your gaze until he’s at the passengers side and opening the door for you, like the gentleman you were beginning to learn he was.

“Don’t worry, sweets. It’s safe,” Eddie reassures as he reaches out a hand for you to take, “I promise.”

You exhale and nod. “Okay.”

So he helps you out of the car, kicking the door shut before throwing one arm around your shoulder and guiding you towards the entrance of the shop. From the outside, it looks like every average record store. You’ve been to enough of them in New York, back when no one recognised you, sifting through the albums for hours on end, in search of inspiration.

“How do you know it’s safe?” You ponder out loud, scanning the poster-covered window. At first glance, it seems he’s correct. There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside and you’re proven correct when Eddie retrieves a set of keys.

“‘Cause I own it.”

Seems as simple as that and it’s because of the nonchalant tone to his voice, you’re slightly taken aback. Though you don’t get to ask any specifics. He’s opening the door and his arm moves from your shoulders to your back, pushing you gently forward, as he continues.

“Welcome to the unofficial Corroded Coffin record store.”

A smile threatens to breach your lips as your eyes dart across the space. The first word that comes to mind is messy. There are boxes of records in every possible corner of the room. Completely unorganised as the apparent ‘Rock’ section features vinyls by Louis Armstrong, and where the ‘Blues’ sign is dangling loosely, threatening to fall at any given moment, Madonna makes an appearance. There’s multiple stacks of discs that were most likely no longer going to play like they used to and every centimetre of the wall is covered in posters that have faded with time.

Eddie locks the door behind the two of you then proceeds to pull down any blinds that allow any passersby to take a peep inside. He flicks on the light which flickers for a moment before turning on and it’s then you turn to face him, taking in the proud grin spread across his features.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“How come you own a seemingly abandoned record store?” You counter, unsure of what you actually think ‘cause even though the place has a certain charm, there’s something about it that seems almost haunting.

Eddie smiles faintly. He looks down at the stacks of vinyls and drags his fingers across the dusty shelf, then wiping them on the denim of his ripped jeans. He sighs, eventually looking back up at you.

“The very first song we taped, we did so in Jeff’s garage back in Hawkins and used a ridiculously old recorder so the sound was beyond shit. We really just needed somethin’ to play quickly for the club owners we wanted to hit up once we came to LA, convince ‘em to let us perform even on the worst slot available.”

Eddie walks past you and sits up on the counter that once served as the till. He fidgets with the scattered items around him as you watch him, already enticed by the story. Thinking also how different of a start you two had in the music industry.

“Obviously because we sounded so shit on that pesky little tape, no one wanted to work with us so we all decided to get different part-time jobs, save up some cash for a session at an actual studio. I ended up working in this wonderful little shop.” Eddie smiles at the memory and you can’t help but mimic his fond expression. “The owner was this older gentleman, Mr. Foley. He used to be a music teacher and when he retired, he used all the savings he had to buy this place. I was the only other person that worked here and ‘cause of the slow decline in vinyl sales, we used to just spend the days talking.”

Slowly, you cross the room and stop to the side of Eddie’s frame, brushing up against his leg. He glances at you then, brown eyes catching yours, and your heart flips inside of your chest.

“I don’t wanna bore you with all the details, sweetheart.”

“You’re not.”

Eddie smiles at you then continues, “So I told Mr. Foley, how I was in a band and what we were trying to do. He asked for the tape which at that point remained untouched in the glove compartment of my old van. The next day, when I came in for my shift, he had the tape playing and every time the song ended, Mr. Foley would rewind it and play it again.”

He pauses briefly, gaze shifting to your hand as he reaches for it, fingers grazing against your skin with such tenderness, you swear you’re going to melt. 

“You know, I never really did believe in luck,” he half-smirks, still looking at your hand and how every crease in your skin perfectly aligns with his own. “I started that day ‘cause about thirteen plays later, the shop door opened and in walked Marianne in all her badass glory. The rest, I guess, is history.”

His smile falters. “Mr. Foley passed a day before our debut album came out. He had no living family, but that didn’t stop my surprise when his lawyer called to say this place was now mine. Mr. Foley apparently amended his will two months before he died, making it very clear the store and everything inside was for ‘that good kid, Edward Munson’ with a note that said I don't have to keep it open, just clean it every so often and make sure any property taxes are paid on time.”

Silence falls upon you. Eddie’s squeezing your hand, only now his doe-eyes are back to staring deeply into yours. It’s a moment that feels surreal. A moment that makes you feel human, just like you wanted. And judging by the look in his eyes, the rockstar feels exactly the same way.

“That’s… Shit, I don’t know what to say.”

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind though. He tugs at your arm, pulling you closer in his direction and spreading his legs wider apart so that you could slide in between them. His hands move to each side of your neck, pinkies brushing along your jawline, as you wrap your own arms behind his back, palms spreading across the leather of his jacket.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever brought here,” he states in a tone dangerously close to a murmur.

“Well, I’m honoured.”

He’s smiling again, only this time it’s different. The curl of his lips, the dips in his cheeks, the glimmer in his eyes, all reminiscent of the cockiness he displayed the first night you met. And the longer he smiles at you like that, the more you think back to the moment in his bathroom, causing your stomach to flutter and heat rush to your face as well as the space between your legs.

You quiver against him and he bites down on his bottom lip as his smile grows. He seriously feels like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet and all he’s doing is looking at you. It’s insane to him, how a little privacy and that picture-perfect beam you’re currently sporting, makes all the problems of the real world seem fucking unimportant. Left behind on the other side door of the record store you two were currently hiding in. 

Obviously that couldn’t have been further from the truth, but right at this moment, Eddie didn’t care about the stupid tabloids or the gossip. He didn’t care about the reaction of the general public or your management team. He didn’t care that there was a chance the two of you would be told to end things before they develop further. He didn’t care about anything but the girl that stood in front of him.

So Eddie’s dipping his head lower and capturing your lips between his. The kiss is tentative and sweet, different from any kisses you’ve shared before and you’re softening under his touch with every passing second. His moves are calculated, deliberate, until he can’t contain himself any longer and the kiss is no longer tender. 

Your hands are in his hair as he’s jumping off the counter without breaking contact. He’s pulling you flush towards him by your neck since close was apparently not close enough and you can feel your nipples hardening against his chest as he grazes his blunt nails against your skin, heads tilting side to side with nothing but hunger.

“There’s a couch in the back,” Eddie whispers in between kisses.

A quiet chuckle escapes your lips. “Do you really wanna have sex on your dead boss's sofa?”

But he just shrugs. “I’ve done it in places much, much worse than that, sweets.” A sentence that earns him an eye roll from you. “Plus, not really keen on goin’ to the studio with a fucking hard-on.”

And before you get a chance to respond, he’s spinning you around. One arm trapping you against him, ass to crotch so that you can feel his growing erection. He smirks when you moan faintly at the sudden contact, mouth now at your ear where he whispers harshly how he can’t wait to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget about him. 

“My pretty girl,” he coos, leading you down the corridor, other hand on your waist, desperately tugging at your clothes. “Been thinkin’ nonstop about sticking my dick inside that delicate pussy.”

“I’m already sure I could never forget about you,” you whisper, relating back to his earlier point ‘cause you needed him to know that no matter what happens, you’re completely and undoubtedly his.

Eddie groans at your words, cock twitching in the prison that are his pants and boxers. He trails sloppy kisses along your jawline, tilting your head backwards so that he can catch your mouth in a desperate kiss. It’s heated and given your current position, rather sloppy — which only makes you squirm more. So with your eyes closed, lost in the pleasure that is his tongue dancing with yours, you stumble over your feet, trusting he can lead you to the couch in one piece.

“Fuck,” Eddie’s breathless already. He lets go of you for a split-second, only to remove his leather jacket and give you enough time to also take off your own, tossing it to the side, where he just discarded his.

Rotating in your spot, so that you were facing him once again, you offer the rockstar a mischievous smirk and drop to your knees without warning. Eddie doesn’t have time to react as you work to undo his belt buckle and then the zipper of his jeans. You only look up at him with your not-so-innocent eyes when you pull his pants down, along with his boxers, freeing his fully erect cock.

He groans, all throaty and deep, when you wrap your fingers around his base. In the same moment, you’re leaning forward and Eddie’s hands fly to the back of your head as you run your tongue around the rim of his throbbing manhood before wrapping your lips completely around it.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears when you start to suck, cheeks hollowed. You begin to bop your head, taking him deeper and deeper until his entire length is in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. And when his grip on you tightens, cock twitching in your mouth, you quicken your pace and suck harder, wanting to devour him completely.

“Shit. Baby, I—”

Eddie feels like he’s floating. Huffing, puffing, and moaning your name like a prayer as his hips start to thrust, meeting your mouth a little too eagerly, making you gag and your eyes water. He hits the back of your throat several times, revelling in the control he so easily acquired, and you’re completely breathless, soaked between the thighs ‘cause you love the dominance he emits.

His groans are getting louder, the sound music to your ears. He pumps into you forcefully till it’s a struggle to keep up, and just when you swear you can’t take anymore, he pulls out without warning. A ring-clad hand is on your throat and he’s urging you to get back on your feet, which you do without question. 

His lips are on yours in a flash, free hand making its way between your short skirt, tugging at your panties until they fall to the ground beneath. Then Eddie tumbles backwards, eagerly pulling you along as his tongue further explores your mouth. He only breaks the kiss when his calves hit the edge of the sofa. 

“Shit, I-I don’t have any condoms on me.” Eddie mutters.

“I’m on the pill now,” you say then add, “Clean and tested too.”

“Same, otherwise I wouldn't have let you—”

“Shut up,” you whisper against his lips, pecking them softly as your hands rest flat against his chest. You push him ever so slightly and Eddie drops to the couch with a thud. But he doesn’t bother making himself comfortable. Instead, he’s reaching for you again, fingers wrapped around your wrist as you straddle him, your aching cunt now hovering over his throbbing cock.

You contemplate teasing him a little, rubbing your slit along his tip until he’s the one begging to be fucked. But Eddie doesn’t give you the chance. He’s shoving himself inside your impressively wet pussy and all you can do is exhale in pleasure, matching in tone Eddie’s visceral groan.

His eyes roll to the back of his head when he feels your cunt closing in around his dick as he slides back out, then again when he pushes back in nice and slow.

“God, baby, you take my dick so well.” Eddie grumbles, continuing to insert and remove the full length of his shaft from your glistening cunt, “It’s like you were made for me.”

And the look in your eyes tells him you agree — you were made for him, you’re sure of it. No one’s ever made you feel the way he does and no one ever will. The squelching between your thighs, where his cock met your cunt, is proof enough so you rock backwards, arching your spine, and put your hands on his outstretched legs.

“Oh shit, sweets.” Eddie breathes as you start rocking your hips, feeling his head hit that spot deep inside of you. “God, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

You increase your speed, rotating on his member forward and backward, forward and backward, getting faster and faster and faster. He’s panting underneath you, hands on your chest, squeezing and kneading your breasts through the fabric of your designer tank top, and you’re whining, the wonderful sensation of being filled up completely doing everything to overwhelm you. 

“Mhm, you fill me up so good,” you moan pathetically, grinding against his pelvis until you reach a speed you can no longer sustain without getting completely winded.

Then in the space of a heartbeat, you start to move up and down, and Eddie watches you with nothing but lust in his eyes. America’s favourite starlet hopping on his dick, moaning breathlessly. It causes euphoric waves of pleasure to contract inside of him in the form of pre-orgasmic ecstasy. “Fucking— Christ.” 

He’s quick with his hands, pulling the garment over your head with ease and hosting himself up so that his lips are at your collarbone. He’s licking and biting along the sensitive skin, hands mounding the supple skin of your breasts, rings cold against your sensitive nipples. Your own hands were on his chest, using the leverage to put more pressure on your downward movements.

“Can my pretty girl go faster?” Eddie asks in a mocking tone, face now inches from yours. “Can my baby fuck me harder or do you want me to bend you over this fucking couch and show you how it’s fucking done?” He spits harshly, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, then letting it go just as quick.

Your moans turn into cries of pleasure as you obey his request, bouncing hard upon him. He throws his head backwards, breathing heavily, eyes closed. He focuses on the feeling of your cunt clenching around his hard rod. Pussy contracting around his cock again and again and again. 

"Eddie, fuck!” You’re almost screaming now, arching your back as your insides start to burn, orgasm building in your chest and moving downward to your connection point. “I’m so fucking close— Jesus Christ.”

You bounce, burying his length entirely in your tight hole and grind against his pelvis one last time, his name sputtering from your lips as your orgasm hits. And while you ride that high, body jerking against him, Eddie forces you to collapse on his chest. His arms hold you steady as he picks up where you left off, thrusting deep into your aching cunt, chasing his own release.

“Shit, baby. That was so fucking hot,” he’s groaning in your ear. His moves are relentless and you feel like a ragdoll in the confines of his strained embrace. His cock, completely covered in your juices, is dipping in and out of you with such force, you swear he’s going to break through that wall he’s hitting at each thrust.

“I’m gonna cum deep inside of you, shit.”

“Please. Yes. Please, Eddie, please.”

The quiet begging is apparently all he needs ‘cause seconds later he’s spurting hot cum inside your cunt and you shudder at the feeling. His chest heaving, heart beating in tandem with yours, as he empties himself completely. “Fuck, baby.”

Finding comfort in the crook of the rockstars neck, you lay in his embrace for a moment longer, mind completely numb from reality. The liquid pours from your pussy as Eddie eventually lets his arms fall, though not completely. His fingers gently trace along your bare spine as you both catch your breaths.

It’s serene, even considering the nastiness of what the two of you just did. You find yourself wishing you could stay like this forever, lost in the wonderland that Eddie makes you experience simply by his proximity. Then you find yourself thinking how what you feel towards the curly-haired man underneath you is a lot stronger than anything you’ve ever experienced and perhaps, even though you still knew very little about him, you were falling in love— no, no.

Impossible. Too soon.

Thankfully, Eddie breaks you away from your thoughts.

“If they tell us not to see each other and we have to sneak around just to be able to do this, I think it’s worth every second,” he says eventually.

You huff out a laugh, sitting up slowly. “Way to ruin the moment,” you tease and lift yourself off him before fixing your tank top back over your now very tender breasts.

“So you don’t wanna sneak around with me like a couple of high schoolers?” He asks as he watches you bend over to grab your panties, ass seeping out of your skirt in the process. He licks his lips at the sight before continuing, “There’s a thrill that comes with the chase, the secrecy, don’t you think?”

“What happened to doin’ this right?” You ponder with a smirk.

Eddie chuckles. “Well, I think you were right,” he says and you raise a brow, wanting him to elaborate, “We were never supposed to do this right.”

And although he says it in a lighthearted tone, clearly not meaning anything by it, not more than a silly joke anyway, the reality of his words crumbles on top of you like a ton of bricks. The weight is crushing, suffocating, and suddenly you’re hyper aware of your surroundings, remembering the events from this morning and the shitty article in the paper that outed you two.

You swallow, the smile on your face shifting from a real one to a fake. 

“Is there a bathroom here? I wanna go clean up.”

Eddie notices the change in your demeanour but chooses not to say anything about it, thinking if you wanted to talk, you would have countered his statement. So he tells you instead where the bathroom is located and watches you leave.

Exhaling, he stands. He reaches for his clothes and puts his boxers back on before pulling his pants up over them, buckling his belt. The thin walls separating the office and the bathroom allow him to eavesdrop. He’s not sure what he’s thinking he’ll hear. He’s afraid it’ll be crying ‘cause that might mean you regretted everything — and there goes that fear again, creeping up on him. But it’s just silence, only the flush of the toilet and the running water from the tap.

He can hear the door open and close, but when minutes pass and you don’t return, Eddie takes both of your jackets and goes searching for where you might’ve disappeared to. It’s not like you’re hard to find, standing in the middle of the corridor, staring at the photos on the wall.

Eddie’s tentative in his approach, slightly afraid of startling you. But you register his presence instantly, tilting your head in his direction and catching his brown eyes with your own.

“Who’s this?” You ask, full of curiosity, motioning towards one of the pictures. 

He stops next to you, gaze flickering in the direction of the photo in question and you watch as a smile breaches his lips.

“That’s Red,” he answers as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That means as much to me as Michael Corleone.”

Eddie snorts at your comment, although his eyes remain glued to the picture frame. The photo features him in a Hellfire t-shirt that now resides at the bottom of his over-sized wardrobe and he’s pulling up his pants with one hand while the other is behind Max, fingers in the shape of bunny ears she clearly knew he was doing as her face is an unimpressed frown, ams across her chest.

It was taken moments before him and the guys left Hawkins.

“Max. She’s my kid sister,” Eddie explains and your mouth parts in shock. He looks back at you, taking note of the surprise. “Not by blood or anything. But she lived in the trailer park I grew up in and we’ve been through a lot together so yeah, kinda adopted her as a sibling I never actually had.”

His eyes glistened as he looked at you, a little shy around the edges which is an emotion you haven’t seen on Eddie before. It made the brooding rockstar seem a little more approachable, lovable. That, plus the fact in the space of approximately two hours he’s opened up to you twice. Honestly speaking of his past as if he was desperate for you to know the kinder side of his soul.

And you’d never admit how you knew it already. How you spent most evenings reminding yourself of the stories he told you that night in August and how your heart grew three inches with every secret spilled. You’d never admit that it’s this side you prefer as it makes him more amiable, ‘cause that would mean you were indeed head over heels infatuated with him, which shouldn’t be possible after such a short period of time together. Right?

Considering also how you’ve never told him anything too personal. Keeping your cards a little too close to your chest. You couldn’t be falling for someone that knew nothing about you aside from the shit he dead in the paper. Right?

Eddie can see in your eyes, thoughts running wild. He wants to ask what’s on your mind, but bites the inside of his cheek, thinking yet again how if he really wanted to do this right, he had to let you open up on your own terms. So instead, he glances back at the picture and takes the frame off the wall.

“She actually lives in New York,” he says.

“Oh yeah? What’s she doing there?” You ask, eyes following to where his are fixed on the young girl.

“Smart cookie, studying at NYU to become a psychiatrist.” He beams proudly and your heart soares inside of your chest ‘cause you can feel the happiness radiating off of him, making you feel warm.

“Well, I hope she's actually studying 'cause otherwise I'm payin' her tuition and rent for nothin'.”

“I should ask Val if she knows her.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to be surprised. His head snaps in your direction and you can feel his doe-eyes scanning the side of your face, waiting for you to continue ‘cause who the fuck was Val, and shit, if she knew Red then that meant your lives were already intertwined more than either of you realised.

When you finally turn to him, after what felt like a minute of racking silence, a smile is present on your lips.

“Valentine, my younger sister. She would be around the same age as… Red, right? I’m guessing she prefers Red if that’s what you called her.”

“Yeah. Red,” he affirms, brows strung together, “You have a sister?”

“Several, actually. And one brother who’s often mistaken for my kid given our twenty year age gap. A headache for my PR team, but the light of my life. As is Val. Me and her are the closest.” 

Eddie’s grinning now and you wanna ask him what’s gotten into him, but his elbow knocks into your own as if he was imploring you to continue. So you do.

“Big Corroded Coffin fan, that one. Don’t tell her I told you. She likes to act nonchalant about me being this star and hanging around other stars, so if she ever met you, she’d pretend she didn’t know who you were.”

“Kinda like you did,” Eddie teases.

You smirk. “I swear I didn’t know who you were.”

The rockstar rolls his eyes. “Hard to believe considering you were at my party and apparently your sister is a big fan.” He stands straight, all cocky and cavalier. “You seriously mean to tell me you’ve never heard my music?”

You gently push him back and wanting to act as coy as possible, you brush past him, heading in the direction of the front door. “Having listened to your songs and knowing who you are, well, those are two different things, hot shot.” You call behind you.

Eddie laughs. He hurries after you, swinging one arm around your shoulders and pressing a delicate kiss to your crown.

“Agree to disagree,” he whispers, flicking the lights off with one finger and leading you outside, into the sweaty Los Angeles heat.

After making sure the record store is locked, he helps you into the car before jumping behind the wheel. He throws the picture frame he took from inside into the glove compartment and starts the car.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starvin’.” He exhales dramatically and you chuckle, “How about I take you on our second date? There’s a diner not far from here. I used to go there every damn day before all the fame and fortune. Now I like to stop by sporadically, mainly when I’m high ‘cause I swear they make the best burger in town and the owner lets me eat in the kitchen, away from the prying eyes of other customers.”

“How can I say no to a chef’s table?”

“How can you say no to me, sweets?”

You shrug. “I can’t.”

And Eddie’s smile grows wider. He tries to hide the satisfaction seeping through him right now, the pure unfiltered bliss. Tries and fails. Though at that point you’re both too far gone to care.

-

When the two of you finally make it to the studio, hours later than initially planned, the peace of mind fades into nothing, faster than either of you anticipated it would. Not because you’re forced to face reality and the situation at hand. No, because over burgers and milkshakes, you mutually decided you would stand up to your teams if they threatened to break this apart.

“They can’t end something that is bound to make ‘em money,” Eddie reasoned. “And baby, we’re making a song together. That’s millions, especially if we’re spotted together a few more times. Then there’s the music video. I can kiss you on camera, you’re talkin’ another couple grand right in the pocket of the people in charge.”

It was sound logic.

Unfortunately, you failed to account for the one person who wasn’t making money in this situation, but still had very much to say when it came to your image and “pristine” reputation.

A person forgotten by you until Eddie opened the door to the recording room.

Sitting, rather comfortably at that, on the single item of lounge furniture, was your Nana. She’s talking with Marianne who, judging by her posture and expression, is doing everything she can to impress your grandmother. 

You’re in half-a-mind to tell her it’s not worth the hassle, but you find yourself completely frozen. Unable to move or speak. Mainly because you were hating yourself for letting her slip your mind.

The thud of the door closing causes the two ladies to pause and turn to where you stood with Eddie. Marianne is immediately on her feet, shortly followed by your Nana who at first smiles, but when she notices the rockstar’s hold on your waist, her expression changes to one of disappointment, if not anger.

thank you for reading! | celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @gothvamp1973 , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @smileygoth , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @papillonoirsworld

[electraslight]

I care about ur Bevin headcannon I would love to hear

YES i finally get to yell abt these two, its my fav ship in the series idk why people arent more into it. Fanart is supplied as usual and i have some evidence-ey screenshots under the cut, mostly bc i want to share them w SOMEONE other than my friend blue. Enjoy my ramblings

-kevin is dating both ben and gwen, gwen and his relationship being a lot more outward and public and ben a more private relationship, they only ever kiss or hold hands when its just the two of them or (rarely) when gwen is around, partially bc of bens fame and his own hangups about liking men and partially bc when they are romantic they r extremely vulnerable with each other and thats the sort of thing they wouldnt want anyone else to see.

-(quoting from a discord dm w my friend) ben and kevin violence is something that if u saw it in a painting or a movie it would be rly profound and aweinspiring. in real life its also the same, but it feels so much like intruding when ur actually watchingbc kevin and ben have all their emotions about each other in v short bursts, theyll bottle them up 4 an extended period of time and then have som e massive cataclysmic event when it bubbles to the surface. there r literally no continual emotional moments between them like kevin and gwen who have contunious small emotions abt each other, kevin and ben will hang out 4 months at a time and then one day just start hitting each other, which is in a way a part of the romance

-in omniverse theres a scene where its shown that 12 year old kevin is in possession of a photo of ben that is suspiciously well worn, it has rips and stains and has been crumpled up and refolded a couple times. I like to think he kept that photo, whether to use as a beacon of hate or chew on and cry who knows. 

-ben and kevin dont give a shit about what form the other takes, the only time ben has ever blushed about a guy is when mutant kevin grabbed him in the rooters arc and kevin is around alien versions of ben every day and doesnt bat an eye. This is why i think that once kevin and ben get together kevin makes a game about kissing all of his aliens (indiscriminatley. Even if they dont have mouths) he makes a scoring system and writes reviews on how good the experience was in glitter gel pen and makes a ranking list of his favorites. Stinkfly sweeps the vote, shocking everybody. Ben would rank kissing kevins mutations but only 2 out of 5 would even consider it before turning him into pink mist so he just sticks with what he knows.

- ben and kevin get married when theyre older and gwen stays in girlfriend status (mostly bc she knows that ben has a much shorter lifespan than her and kevin and she wants to give him the happiest time she can while hes still there) and they all live in a mansion the size of the white house. Kai comes by once a month to keep kenny happy (he still thinks shes his bio mom even after theyve told him multiple times she was just a donor. Gwen says he gets his delusions from ben). Ben and kevin like to sit on the 500 foot long porch and throw rocks at passerby and snuggle. Kevin is so happy he giggles mindlessly to himself in public, scaring strangers. He tries to get them to look at pictures of his family but this only further creeps them out.

-kevin finds the most random shit ben does extremely charming. hed look at him picking his boogers and eating them and he thinks in his head i need this guy so much. ben finishes a rubix cube not even very fast and kevins like wow. cool. do you like emos.ben is charmed by kevin in the same way. he sees kevin use the toilet brush to scratch an itch on his back and hes like fuck oh fuck oh fuck

I have more i prommy i just cant think of them rn, i will make more if im able. 4 now please have my collection of bevin screenshots under the cut. Spread the word my disciples. fair warning there are a lot

[tinytinybumblebee]

👉👈 aaaaa ok thank you thank you!! sorry in advance for how long this is gonna be lol… for context it takes place right after the Cazador fight, I’m admittedly way too stuck on introspection so there can be some real blocks of text here, this is all I have written so far, thank you for being willing to let me send it in ;v;

———

“Here we are,” Tav placed the quietly sniffling Astarion on his bed. “It’s alright, shh…”

It was amazing that Astarion had managed to push down his regression long enough to finally kill Cazador and talk to his siblings about their fate, but he could only hold strong for so long. Tav had seen it in him the moment Cazador seized him for the ritual—looking him in the eyes and calling him tiny. Small. Little. A boy. All things Tav called Astarion, things Astarion himself, when in his usual state, said he wanted to reclaim. All of that was undone in an instant as Astarion was put on display and proclaimed not his caregiver’s sweet little boy, but a small, pathetic, weak little child who could never be more than what he depended on others for. 

He could give it more thought, spin his wheels more, but he was so… tired. He’d kept himself big for so long, practically clenched his own throat shut while he cried to keep things from spilling into a downward spiral that would have him crying harder and harder—embarrassing enough—but also surely regressing right then and there.

But now that he was here, somewhere private, the smell of death and the dark of the dungeon far behind them, he couldn’t bear to think like an adult for one more blessed minute. He was done keeping himself afloat. He could hate himself for it later.

“Dada,” he whimpers thickly, barely above a whisper as he reaches weakly for Tav. 

Tav has his back turned, grabbing something out of Astarion’s hidden regression supply stash. 

“Dada,” he repeats with more urgency, which gets Tav to spin around.

“Oh, little love,” Tav breathes. “Shh-shh-shh. It’s going to be okay.”

There’s a lot Astarion could say—and wants to say—in this moment. But he can barely get his mouth around words at all, and his skin crawling under the blood covering every inch of him was drowning out any other thought.

“Yucky,” he sniffs, gripping his arms, cringing at the cold touch of the blood splattering his skin.

Tav reaches out a hand, but Astarion flinches away. As if surprised by his reaction, Tav nearly does the same. 

“Astarion,” he says softly. “Do you want dada to clean the yucky off you?”

Astarion bristles at the thought. He would like the yucky off. But if it meant he’d have to be touched all over…

He meets Tav’s eyes, soft and reassuring. They don’t flick away for even a second, just fixed on him like he’s the most important thing in the world. 

Tav—Dada is safe.

He sniffs and holds out his arms. Tav responds in kind and gathers him up in one confident motion that could fool anyone into thinking who he was carrying wasn’t really a grown man. 

Astarion really can’t recall what happens next. He blocks most of it out, not wanting to think about seeing himself with his clothes off again.

No more reminders.

All that remained of the next hour or so, maybe less, was a faint feeling of warmth, kind hands on his skin, and a creeping fear being pushed back by whispered comforts and praises. It was such a nice feeling. So nice, at some point, he started crying. But with his head too fuzzy to understand the reason, he just faded back in all too suddenly with the sweet smell of soap in the air and tears rolling down his cheeks. They snuck into the corners of his mouth, pooling between his lips and making his nose wrinkle at the salty taste. 

And suddenly, that salty taste was all he could focus on. Surrounding him, poking at his tongue like needles, stinging his eyes somehow, overpowering his senses—it was the worst taste. The worst taste ever. It only made him cry more, wanting it out of his mouth, but that just made more tears follow. As his cries got louder, the hands he could faintly feel gently massaging his skin suddenly retracted and he was cold, so, so cold. And lost. Like he was adrift in the sea somewhere far away, neck deep in the—water? He was in water, he realized, taking a deep, shallow breath. Was he really in the sea? It tasted salty like the sea. He didn’t like it! 

Where was Tav??

“DADAAAA!” Astarion sobbed, grasping about uselessly. 

And just like that, suddenly the kind hands were back, holding him steady in the churning sea that was—that was only a bathtub. Astarion hiccuped, grabbing Tav by the wrists to try and pull himself out, away from all the overwhelming sensation.

“Hey, hey, sweet thing, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry I let go of you, I thought you didn’t want to be touched, shh, shh,” Tav spoke quickly, putting his hands around Astarion’s back. 

Oh my GOODNESS?????🥺🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖 You are a phenomenal writer aaaaa!!!!

Poor Astarion 😭💔 Poor baby boy needs his Dada, that soft safety he deserves from that who he truly trusts aaaAAAAAAAA and Tav instantly coming back to hold his frightened baby bat the moment he hears Astarion crying for them 🥺💖

[phoenix-is-the-hottest-thing]

One thing I like(d) about Elysia is that she is a meme. She does outrageous, ridiculous things because she’s a comic relief, and her reactions/attitude are exaggerated to make you laugh, and everyone (used to) reacts to the comic relief tropes seriously—

(Whether you actually found it funny is a different matter.)

—and that puts her in the role of jokester while the other person in a scene will play the straight man (as in, the serious person, I’m aware there’s a shortage of straight men in hi3). Sometimes it’s Mei, sometimes it’s Mobius, sometimes it’s even Su, as long as they’re clashing with her nonsense comedy is created!

BUT on the other side of that, Elysia’s early writing shows she has deeper sides to her, too, sadness she hides and thoughtful beliefs she’ll make you earn to speak.

Comic relief characters with sadness or seriousness to them can be really fun, because the gap creates depth! …but there’s a pitfall which I think Elysia kinda falls into.

You see, either you accept she’s doing a bit (which is most likely what’s intended), but you also create a discrepancy in how you perceive her, where she has a seriousness flip switch and you forgive the rude things she does because they’re not meant to be understood as happening within a reality that would treat her actions as bad. Like a cartoon.

(Exaggeration for the sake of comedy, especially if it’s slapstick or comedic sociopathy, is nothing new; nor is the concept that the viewer is meant to understand it’s not reprehensible or serious because it’s played for laughs)

EITHER, you treat her character as consistent, and consider her comedic bits as being in the same register as her serious ones, which translates into Elysia being fucking mean and/or harassing people outright. This gives much more depth to her character, as well as flaws. Mei’s annoyance towards her in ER fits this interpretation very well, and is a big part of why Elysia was subverting Mary Sue tropes back then.

(The unfortunate thing is how we know Mihoyo sees Elysia’s flaws...)

A good example of how this gets fucked up later is the maid uniform incident with Mobius at the beginning of EE. Elysia sneaks into her colleague’s closet and adds fetishy clothing in there.

If you read this scene literally/seriously, Elysia is a creep who breaks into other people’s private spaces and messes with their stuff, in the name of her own personal amusement (it’s harassment). You could even see it as sexual harassment considering the “joke” is that the maid outfit is a kink thing. Very illegal! Very don’t do that!

BUT. The story treats it as a comedic moment. You’re meant to turn off the seriousness switch and laugh about it, because the way it’s written is “silly joke about Elysia doing outrageous things and Mobius playing the straight man”, and “haha, callback to Mobius wearing girly pink clothes”, and “it’s not Mihayou if there’s no asset re-use”.

This creates a gap of perception between the writers and the viewers. At least in EE (I think it was more split in ER, with how some comedic things had serious or lore implications) writers expect the viewer to see these scenes as comedy, Elysia isn’t doing anything BAD, she’s doing something FUNNY, just like Himeko’s naked drunk shenanigans, or every time a tsundere starts beating up their crush in anime, turn your brain off for a minute.

But! Honkai is a serious story, with complex lore and deep characters! By the time we see this scene we KNOW Elysia is a deep character who CAN be a fucking creep (see: her catching Vill-V by literally showing up inside her room to breathe down her neck). We’ve seen several scenes in ER where her outrageous behavior is responded to seriously (Mei calls out her behavior numerous times, etc.)

So we watch and take the scene in as is. The scene tells us Elysia is an outrageous person, and we expect the world of the game to respond to her as such, as the straight man, as it… honestly did in most of ER?

But it doesn’t. The writing has switched register.

Look, it’s a joke.

Look, this scene isn’t here to inform you of Elysia’s flaws, it’s to make you snicker.

Look, nobody minds her shenanigans, they’re funny, they don’t really count.

What do you mean they used to count? Look, you saw it that way.

(The characters used to react as they should.)

Look, Elysia’s perfect.

[vamp-domme]

Choose Your Own Gothic Horror Adventure: Part V

You think your options over for a minute as you stare out the window, looking out over tree-lined hills and forbidding mountains under a piercing blue sky. They all have their perks, but you like the idea of having some time to yourself to look after the library, and you secretly hope Lady Midnight might be a frequent visitor.

"I think I'd like to be a librarian," you finally muse.

"Okay!" the girl replies, clapping her hands in excitement. "I'll let one of the daughters know, and when you're feeling better, I'll take you to the library." She gives you a warm smile. "I'm Olivia, by the way."

Her excitement is infectious, and you reply with your name, after which she leaves, promising to come check on you later. You have plenty more questions, but you feel a bit too woozy to ask them, and it feels more comfortable to just lie down and look out the window.

It takes the better part of the day for you to recover, between the blood loss and the exhaustion from the prior night's events, and your light-headedness only begins to pass as night again falls over the castle. Olivia checks on you throughout the day, bringing you food and showing you around the east wing, where your room is located.

The next day you visit the library, on the first floor of the north wing. It's a large room the size of most people's houses, its shelves stuffed with books from floor to ceiling, complete with step stools to reach the highest volumes, along with plush sofas and tables with plenty of candelabras to read by. A cheery hearth sits at the north end of the room beyond the mazes of bookshelves, surrounded by comfy armchairs and tables. Near that is the small room where you work, an old pine writing desk stuffed full of ledgers notating each book and its current whereabouts dominating the room, along with a small window.

You spend quite a few days just getting to grips with your new position - there are blessed few instructions written by previous caretakers, so you often find yourself making things up as you go. While you tried to avoid being a cleaner, cleaning the library itself still falls to you, as well as ensuring the books are undamaged. There are all kinds of volumes spanning countless genres, though none are more than 50 years old, and you imagine the lady of the castle likely keeps her own private collection somewhere.

Fledglings, a term you quickly learn applies to yourself and most of the other residents here, often visit the library, reading and checking out different books to entertain themselves when their chores are finished. Most of them are your age, though some are older, and they tend to view you with quite a bit of interest, many of them sharing Olivia's excitement in welcoming the new arrival.

You begin to settle in to your role, though you seldom catch a glimpse of the enigmatic Lady Midnight, who keeps to her own nocturnal schedule and sometimes seems not to be within the castle at all.

After a week has passed, you find yourself studying a manual on book binding by candle light, hoping to fix up an old sewing manual that needs your attention, when you hear the doors to the library open and shut, followed by the click of a bolt sliding into place.

You get up and pass between the shelves, but when you reach the door, you find it's not only shut, but locked.

"Hello?" you call out, feeling a bit nervous. "Is anyone there?" You pace through aisles of books, but no one lurks there, only the shadows that creep in through the windows and the occasional pop of the low fire in the hearth.

"I have fond memories of this book." You whirl around to see Lady Midnight in the chair you just vacated, the old sewing manual in her hands. She wears a tight black dress fringed with lace, its hem ending well above her knees, every voluptuous curve of her body on full display. Her legs are crossed one over the other, and she wears high leather boots over tight black stockings, and you realize you've never seen her in something this revealing before. She regards the book with an air of melancholy, her dark eyes poring over its pages almost lovingly.

"It was brought to me by a housewife who was on the run after poisoning her philandering husband," she continues wistfully. "She learned true love within these very walls."

You take a few steps out of the aisles, until you're standing near Lady Midnight in the lounge. "What happened to her?"

The lady sighs. "She died, as all mortals do." She sets the book down and stands up, crossing the room toward you. "It appears you've settled in to your new role quite well." She eyes you up and down, and you can see a hint of something dark in that gaze.

"Y-yes I have," you reply quickly. "You have a beautiful library here, and I'm happy to take care of it."

She takes a few more steps forward until she's positively inches from you. "Beautiful, mm? You have quite the way with words, darling." She takes a strand of your hair and curls it around her index finger. Her hands are pale and delicate, with sharp nails painted dark red.

"T-thank you, my lady." It feels miraculous you even managed to reply, as you feel yourself shrinking in her presence. Everything about her threatens to overwhelm you, and it feels like all of your senses are on fire.

She takes your chin in her other hand and tilts your face up toward her. You feel yourself falling into her gaze again, but after what happened before, you try desperately to keep your composure.

"Tell me, darling," Lady Midnight begins, her eyes deep pools of scarlet. "Do I frighten you?"

Previous entries:

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

[piece-of-the-pie-if]

What are the ROs + C dressing up as for Halloween?

ooo! i shall give you 'last year's outfit' (before MC) versus 'next year's outfit' (after MC) because there's a couple that would change types of costumes after going through their arcs!

Last year Dylan went as a mashup of Leonardo, the teenage mutant ninja turtle, and Leonardo Da Vinci, the artist... not many people got the artist part but they enjoyed it! This time they're thinking of going as something so silly like a shitty green M'n'M costume or a blow up emoji!

Back in England, Shay didn't really celebrate Halloween other than having a horror movie marathon and gorging out of cheep chocolate and sweets... He went to a party as a zombie one time but it was just cut up clothes and being covered in fake blood. In America where it's taken a little more... seriously(?) he wouldn't particularly care too much but he'd put in more effort! He goes as an undead Link from Ocarina of Time and with the help of Dylan or MC gets the makeup so perfect!

Previously Kinsley had always gone as part of a trio costume with Tiffany and V──last year they were the Heathers, Kin was Heather Duke because she's green (even though her favourite Heather is McNamara). (they were hex girls one time too!) Next time she'll show up in a costume that's her own!! It might be a simple, classic angel costume (more specifically, Juliet's angel costume from romeo + juliet (1996)) or the white queen from alice in wonderland (the anne hathaway version) or perhaps

J was a 'man in black' last year... they just wore a black suit jacket with black suit trousers. (No shirt underneath... though they did wear a very expensive pair of black sunglasses and they procured a fake gun from somewhere) They're not big on the dressing up portion of halloween, their next costume is a skin tight body suit with a skeleton imprinted on it (it's very good quality though, almost like an optical illusion.) If MC loves halloween or dressing up they could convince J to go all out on the skull makeup too! (they look very good with slicked back hair, just saying)

Theo was a ghostbuster (they nabbed Venkman) with MC and C last year. They aren't against going as a group/ensemble costume again──they'll bring up going as one of the Addams Family (they might bag Gomez though so... MC if you're into being Morticia 👀) but if that falls through their back up plan is a devil (they have some really cool tiefling horns, they just need body paint!)

As stated earlier, C was a ghostbuster last year. But they have plans to make their next costume around mummies! Either going all out on the creep factor and bandaging up their whole body (or going sexy with it and only bandaging up the private areas) or going for something fun like Cleo DeNile or Pharaoh from ever after high!

[radioconstructed]

📃 chinhands at you

It would be really fun to have people interact with Al in an Online capacity. Right now she just alludes to Whatever Is Happening To Her in the Internet sphere (like, "oh I'm getting cancelled on twitter for gentrifying cannibalism" or "check out my DMs"). I think it would be pretty cool for anyone to come up with wild shit that would theoretically happen to her. e.x. "hey, why am I hearing rumors that you're Valentino's secret baby mama?" or talk to her about her actual online content, whether it be in a legit capacity like "I really like your [video/song] cover because [reason]," or a humorous one like "your youtube apology video sucks because there's no ukulele," or even outright act like the weird creeps that Online Femoids get.

It would be fun for her to get close enough to friends to open up about the things she doesn't, like her premortem family life, the whole situation around her death, and the anger & grief around it. She's been open about the botched investigation into her own death, but she there's more she could talk about.

I think it would be pretty neat for her to chat about stuffs like gender & sexuality more. Obviously the gender stuffs is a point of canon divergence, and unlike my other Alastor, she's openly aroace, so like... that's fun stuff to explore. She's got plenty to chat about on the Theory front, she's got plenty to chat about on the Experience front too, she's surprisingly open, but not without prompting. She just doesn't have the internal driver to come on v*xblr and talk about gender/sexuality much unprompted. Also, she keeps her sex life private but she's open about being aroace, maybe a trusted friend could get a sexuality convo out of her. Not nasty details, but more like the convos Alexa has with trusted friends about things like preferring to sleep with friends than strangers, etc. Like, abstract stuff.

Exploring her other canon divergences would be fun. Like, why is she internet-literate? Why isn't she camera-shy? Why the hell is her old ass shitposting on V*xTube? What's her day-to-day life like, how's it different from her canon counterparts, and how is it different now than it was for her when she was living really similarly to the way Alexa does?

I think she should go thrifting with friends!

It would be really funny if someone was able to get her to admit that she and Vox had A Thing. That would be SO WILD as a conversation with an alt, I think. What a thing to have to admit.

I think more stupid things should happen in her life and I'd love to involve other muses. Like, they should at least witness someone show up to the hotel and be like "Tom Trench is MY MAN why are you STEALING HIM" girl idk

I think Al having an "alt station" like how people have alternate social media accounts to wild out is such a fun thing and hmm that should be explored more. She's professional on her main station, and she's the Alastor equivalent of a Twitch streamer on her alt account. Like if H*sanabi was born in the 1900's and a theatre kid instead of a leftist himbo. Maybe some muses should join her on it or something.

[jonathanvik]

Luyten V - Chapter 11

“Rose!” her mom said, holding her tight enough to squeeze the life from her.

“I’m fine, Mom, okay?” But Rose didn’t protest her mom’s affections. Her sister held her hand, her grip firm. Even Danny stood close, eyeing Rose with wide, amazed eyes. He’d seen her exit the Luyten V. His sister owning a giant robot was the coolest thing ever to his five-year-old mind.

The hospital was a hive of activity. The waiting room was filled with guests and people suffering from various ailments. Her father and Brown, her bodyguard, were brought to Fairview Hospital for examination. They still hadn’t learned the extent of their injuries yet.

“What a mess,” Hans’ mother said. “Who would have believed such monsters exist?”

“I’m sorry for getting Hans involved.” Guilt stabbed into her heart. Rose knew that she was the Altair’s enemy, but Okab’s sudden attack was beyond anything she’d expected.

But Ms. Lowell only smiled. “It wasn’t your fault. None of us are safe with monsters like those running about. Don’t you agree, Hans?”

“I’m glad you’re safe, Rose.” Hans glanced down, self-conscious. 

Huh? Was he worried about her? Was that guilt she detected? His mother only nodded, pleased. They sat in silence, Rose fidgeting as they waited for news.

An hour later, a nurse greeted them. “Mr. Brahe has suffered a concussion, but he should be fine. We want to keep him overnight for observation, but we predict he’ll recover fully.”

“Thank goodness,” her mom said, dabbing at an eye with a handkerchief.

“And Agent Brown?” Rose asked, her tone pensive. He’d been in rough shape when the ambulance had taken him away. It was a miracle he’d even survived the encounter with Okab.

“He’s had worse,” a familiar voice said. Rose turned to find Agent Sandage standing in the hallway.

“Mr. Sandage? What are you doing here?” Rose asked.

“After my best man got injured? And you almost got killed?” Sandage said, a slight smile on his lips. “And stay cooped up in an office? Never.”

“He’s right, dear. He’ll be out of action for a couple of weeks, but he’ll be okay,” the nurse said, her words compassionate. “Would you like to see your father, young lady?”

“Yes!” Rose said, barely holding back her excitement.

“Daddy!” Danny said, bubbling with energy. “I can’t wait to tell him about the robot and how Rose smashed that monster real good.” Though he hadn’t seen much, he could surmise what had happened.

“He’ll enjoy that. We’re proud of you, Rose. I still don’t like you piloting that monstrosity, but I see how it’s necessary.” Her mom’s expression darkened. “Next time you fight that creep, show it no mercy.”

“Sure,” Rose said, slightly unnerved by her mom’s intense gaze. She looked ready to jump into her own giant robot and kick some butt.

She was about to enter her dad’s room when Sandage gestured for her to stop. “Sorry to keep you from your father, Rose.” He said, “But may I speak to you for a brief moment?” 

“Sure. Go on ahead. I’ll clear up any gaps you make in your story,” Rose said. Her sister rolled her eyes but smiled.

“What’s up?” Rose asked the LUVOLT agent as they entered a private alcove. “Is this about the debrief?”

“No, that can wait,” Sandage replied. For whatever reason, he seemed more glad to see her than usual, almost desperate. Had he been that afraid for her? “I just wanted to check on you. Are you doing okay?”

“Besides almost getting killed by a sadistic monster? Fine. I’m managing.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’m here. No one your age should deal with this nonsense.” Anger flared in Sandage’s eyes. “If only I could pilot the Luyten V instead. But I’m not able—you are. Just know you’re not alone, okay? LUVOLT has your back.”

Touched, Rose hadn’t a clue how to respond. She decided on a simple “Thank you.”

“Now get going. Your dad’s waiting for you,” Sandage said.

Rose nodded before turning to follow her family, but she paused. “We need to get stronger. I doubt Luyten V can win with its current abilities.”

“I know.” Sandage watched her back as she retreated deeper down the hospital hallway.

---

“Damn. What a mess.” Sandage scowled. Rose was too brave. The world didn’t deserve her. But she wasn’t wrong. The Altair General proved how unprepared they all were. He feared even Project Bird Bath would prove for naught.

“To look on the bright side, Cecilia’s prophecy proved wrong! Rose survived her last fight.” But did her contest Okab really count as a fight? It was more like a skirmish. He feared Rose wasn’t out of the woods yet. He’d need to ask Cecilia about this later. 

Sandage suppressed a yawn. “I need a break from work.” 

When was the last time he had a solid night’s sleep? Or spent some real quality time with his son? Five years? But duty called. He’d need to bring Rose to the nearest FBI headquarters for her debriefing. With Okab lurking around, it couldn’t wait. Then he needed to submit his report to Washington. Sandage made a mental note to grab some fast-food coffee as they drove down. He suspected he’d suffer another long night. His phone buzzed catching his attention, and he almost dropped it as he read the sender’s name. The text had come from Macauley.

“The situation has changed. We need to meet. Meet me at this address tomorrow at seven A.M.” The mysterious sender was directing him to some office building in downtown Minneapolis. He considered the possibility the meeting with his mysterious benefactor might be a trap but decided against it. In this dire situation, his safety hardly mattered. Sandage swore he’d risk anything to save his son and humanity.

“Still, what is this Macauley character thinking?” Why the constant hiding and misdirection? It only heightened Sandage’s curiosity. Finally, this mystery would be cleared up.

---

Okab stretched, enjoying the creak of his false human bones. A chill wind whipped through his hair. The days were growing colder in this section of the planet. The winds were piercing in their intensity.

He gazed down at the city below from his perch on the skyscraper’s roof, surveying the humans as they scrambled around for their daily business. From this distance, they seemed like ants. But ants had purpose and intelligence behind their actions, not the frantic, desperate scurrying humans did. Did this species understand how lost and guideless they were? It was almost pitiable.

Still, Okab continued his people-watching. He wished to understand everything about this species before he destroyed them. His mind wandered to Rose, wondering what she was doing. After her kin had almost died, would she surrender or fight harder? Part of him regretted that he hadn’t engaged her in an intelligent conversation. She fascinated him. Why did the humans pick this girl to be their champion? It made no sense yet intrigued him. 

A buzz in his head alerted Okab to the contact of his Altair brethren. Not the Grand Intelligence, but another of his siblings. Curious, Okab engaged the link.

“The humans still live,” was the brusque reply to his inquiry.

“Hello, Tarazed,” was Okab’s amused reply. Tarazed, the Abomination was as blunt as ever.

“You had a chance to destroy their greatest weapon. You retreated.”

To this, Okab could only shrug. “She was stronger than I thought. I didn’t want to risk myself pointlessly.”

“She? That is a pointless label. These creatures are food, little more.”

“I know that,” Okab replied, somewhat annoyed.

“You haven’t spread our infection across the planet, either.”

“Are you going to nag me this entire time? The Grand Intelligence trusted me with this task. I have this well under hand.”

“We hunger, Okab,” Tarazed replied briskly before cutting the connection.

“Nice talking to you, too.” Okab fought back his annoyance. Tarazed hadn’t changed. A pain in the neck as always.

“Whatever.” Okab rose from his seat on the roof. 

He eyed the humans scurrying around and laughed to himself. He hadn’t forgotten these people were food, yet they also fascinated him. From what he understood, they had a rich history. Maybe he should try their museums next. Learning about their past might help him better understand how to destroy them. And some hotdogs would be nice too. He’d grown quite fond of the taste of relish.

---

“Hey, you don’t need to worry about me,” Brown said with a slight chuckle. Though not actually family, Rose had been allowed to visit her bodyguard. Beyond some bruises and a head wrap, the big man seemed otherwise fine. Rose thanked God he’d allowed such a miracle to happen. Others were not as fortunate. 

“Just get well soon, okay? You still need to train me to death. With the bad guys getting worse, I need to get stronger.”

Brown took her tiny hand and squeezed. “I’ll always be behind you, okay? I believe in you. I’m proud of you, Rose. You’re the world’s greatest hope.”

Rose blushed. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I mean it. You’re a brave girl. Next time you see this Okab character, smash his face in, okay?”

“Right,” Rose said, nodding as she fought back tears. It was so stupid. Why was she crying? 

After spending another half an hour with her bodyguard, her temporary bodyguard, Gauss, returned her to her family. Unlike Brown, Gauss didn’t engage her in conversion. Instead, his sharp eyes searched for trouble, his hands never far from his service weapon. While Rose appreciated his diligence, it seemed excessive. She frowned, noticing some oddly serious characters lounging about the hospital. More security, she suspected. With Okab sneaking about, they weren’t taking any more chances. Rose sighed. Would her life ever return to normal? With that depressing thought, she rejoined her family in the waiting room. 

Rose’s nose detected the takeout her group had ordered in her absence, her stomach grumbling when the scent struck her. It reminded her she hadn’t eaten supper yet, and gladly accepted the Shrimp Lo Mien with a grateful smile. While she ate, she watched the Stella stream on her phone. Her favorite vTuber was playing a classic Nintendo game Rose had only heard about. While not a retro gamer, she enjoyed these older games without 3d graphics. It amazed her what detail they had using only sprites. She laughed as Stella missed a jump and grunted in annoyance as her character fell to his death. These old games looked so hard!

“Rose.” Her mom said, getting her attention, 

“Yeah?” Rose replied. She didn’t protest as her mom pulled her into a hug. She put away her phone. 

“I just wanted to hold you.” Her mom held her tight, swaying with Rose’s movements. Gentle tears trickled down Rose’s neck. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Rose said, tapping her mother’s back. 

“I hope so.” Her mother released a mournful sigh. “Why you though? Why did you have to be Luyten V’s pilot?”

“I don’t know. Fate’s stupid.” Wasn’t that the truth? She’d never asked for this! She cursed her future self for getting her into the mess. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” Her mom whispered. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been the best mom.”

“That’s not true!”

“You shouldn’t be in this mess. I should protect you, not vice versa.”

“Everyone’s hurting,” Rose thought. It was frustrating. She had a giant robot, for goodness’ sake. She shouldn’t be this weak. As they drove back to the hotel, Rose brooded on this. A buzzing caught her attention. Rose frowned as she saw the message's sender. She wanted to dismiss the unknown sender as spam, but the message addressed her by name. 

“Huh? Meet me at this address tonight?” Her phone map told her it was an office building a couple blocks from her hotel. Was this a trap? Had Okab somehow got her phone number? When she sent the message to Sandage, he gave an odd reply. He said he’d accompany her. 

“What the heck was going on?” Unnerved, she tentatively agreed. Rose hoped she wouldn’t regret this. 

---

Rose’s eyes wandered the streets as they walked past some bland, nondescript buildings. Her nerves were taut, fearing an ambush from every which direction. Luyten V sat somewhere close, but it wouldn’t help much against a sudden attack. Sandage and Gauss were on full alert, hands placed against their service weapons, ready to use them at the first sign of trouble. 

Her nerves didn’t lessen as they entered the building. Rose wondered what she was doing here. She should be watching Stella’s stream instead. The building inside didn’t seem particularly special either. She saw signs for a massage parlor, an insurance agency, and a psychic palm reader. They passed a vending machine and climbed up a set of stairs. 

“This way,” Sandage said, guiding them to an unused office space. The door was unlocked as the agent pushed it open. After checking the coast was clear, he guided them inside. 

The hum of a screen caught their attention, coming from a far room. Rose furrowed her brow and continued forward. Beyond the computer sound, there was nothing here beyond dust. 

“Hello?” Rose called out. They waited but got no response. When they approached the far room. Rose blinked when she saw inside. Beyond the old laptop sitting on a folding chair, the room was bare. On its screen was a generic wallpaper and the default icons you’d see on a new computer. 

“We’re here. Show yourself, Macauley.” Sandage said, voice hard. 

“Apologies. I was in the middle of something.” A distorted voice said. A black box appeared on the laptop’s screen, the flat line inside it oscillating as it spoke. “It was hard to get away. Welcome.”

“You’re Macauley?” Rose asked. She frowned. The distortion made it difficult to tell the speaker’s gender. Yet, Rose found something about its cadance familiar. Had they met before somehow?

“That’s right. I’m glad you’ve all joined me today.” Macauley replied. 

“Why the secrecy? Why not meet up in person?” Sandage asked, not hiding his annoyance. He glared at the black box on the screen. 

“Who I am doesn’t matter. What’s important is stopping the Altair threat. You’ve seen their power. And they won’t stop here. They’ll spread out from this planet and consume the entire universe.” Macauley’s blunt assessment sent a chill down Rose’s spine. 

“I suppose,” Sandage said, reluctantly conceding the point. “Well, what do you have to offer? It appears that you know significantly more than we do. You have access to technology even the US government doesn’t possess.”

“However, my resources are more limited than yours. We must rely on each other for the planet’s survival.” The computer replied.

“Then give us everything,” Sandage said, stepping forward. 

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Sandage’s voice hardened. 

“Several reasons. All good ones. I don’t want to overwhelm you with knowledge you can’t begin to understand, anyway.” Macauley said. 

“That makes sense. We barely understand the Luyten V!” Rose said, thinking out loud. Sandage scowled but didn’t argue. 

“Exactly! Clever assessment, Rose.” Macauley said, distorted voice chipper. 

“Okay, what are you offering?” Sandage asked, somewhat downcast. 

“I’ve been studying Luyten V’s plans,” Macauley replied. “And I’ve made a breakthrough.”

“Really?” Rose said, brightening. 

“That’s why I wanted you here, Rose. So we might discuss it.” Macauley said. “It comes with some risk.”

“How?” Rose asked, worry creeping into her spine. 

“You’ve been using Overclock Mode wrong. It’s actually a start-up sequence to a more powerful mode, Full Synchronization Mode. It allows Rose to fuse with Luyten V’s system, becoming one being. The risks are great, however. Enough damage to the Luyten V’s system will likely be fatal.”