﹙ 𓆦 castle.

‎۫*͟ the battle was unforgiving in the land of abandoned keyblades—decades of fighters lost, but never forgotten for their light and sacrifices. you retired to the land of departure, your loving home for years, alongside aqua, ventus, and terra, long after the battle where sora gave his all. you hadn’t met him, unfortunately, but you’d heard endless stories and tales from others; he was truly a great wielder. as you made your way to your chambers to rest and heal, you were suddenly snagged by the arm—an armored hand dragging you into another room and shutting the door with hurried force. “terra?” you whispered. before you could say more, the same armored hands cupped your face with care, pressing soft lips to yours in a hungry kiss. you leaned in, hitting the buttons on both of your armors to release you—disappearing in a flicker. you grabbed at terra’s spiky hair and shoulder, grounding yourself as he kissed you with greedy affection. “i worried about you,” he whispered between kisses, holding you close as he finally pulled his lips away to look at you, brows furrowed and eyes soft. you adored him, as he did you. “are you okay? still hurt or anything?” he asked, clearly worried. your hands snaked to the nape of his neck, holding him close as you gave a firm nod. “no bruises or cuts. i’m okay. and you?” one of his hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. “i’m good—better with you in front of me.”

his voice was husky, laced with the sweetness of chocolate and honey. he was so dear, so loving to you, even in the smallest things. you kissed him again, invading your tongue past his teeth, which he accepted with a needy groan, holding you closer. “i love you,” you whispered, to which he pulled away, forehead brushing against yours to steady himself—he needed to calm down, not be too needy. “i love you more,” he answered, scooping you into his arms with ease, carrying you to his made bed. he was a man of neat habits, always has been. he nestled himself between your legs, grinding his clothed desire against yours. looking up at him with pools of need, you returned your hands to his hair and shoulder, pulling him closer, seeking more touch, more friction, more him. his hands caressed down your sides, resting at your hips to hold you where needed to—rubbing himself more into you to give you both the delicious friction, letting out a soft groan. “how bad do you need me? talk to me, sweetness.” his voice made you weak, it always did; his softness and care, folding you so easily, because nothing was more attractive than a tentative man. “terribly,” you whispered, whining at the friction of his cock rubbing against yours, “take care of me, terra, please, fuck me like you mean it.” immediately, he tugged at your clothes with urgency, pulling the straps from your shirt and discarding the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare, as he so loved to see. trusting and vulnerable.

running his eager hands down your body, he pulled your thighs apart, pushing them back to get a good look of his target—your puckered hole, begging him to fill it so wonderfully as he always did. “you clean?” he asked, perking his gaze up, to which you gave an eager nod. “washed this morning, should be clear.” that was all he needed, he pushed your thighs further back, giving him access as he lowered himself, licking a stripe on your pink rim. pulled into a pleasured daze, one of your hands reached to wrap around your aching length, giving slow, teasing pumps as terra took his time, teasing your hole. playing with the meat of your thighs, he pushed his greedy tongue in, groaning at the taste and swirling his tongue in and out, while you whined at the slight sting—pushing past it, moaning softly. your free hand reached to tangle in his hair, keeping him in place while he tongued your ass with an unmet greed; for you.

your hand pumped faster, rotating your wrist as you fisted your needy dick, slick with precum. terra spat in your puckered rim before invading his thumb in your hole, slowly prepping you. his gaze went up, chocolate pools hazy, as his digit teased your insides. “you deserve this,” he whispered, taking his thumb away to pump in his index and middle fingers—you winced at the stretch without proper slick, but neither of you had much care. he’d take care of you. “you’re so pretty, sweetface, tell me you’re pretty.” his sweet praises got to you so easily, flustering you as you continued to work your dick. “i’m pretty, so pretty. your pretty thing,” you moaned. he pumped his fingers faster, scissoring your insides to spread you properly. “you want more, honey? you need more? i can give it to you.” you gave him a shy nod, and by the light, he loved how shy you were. “use your words, baby. tell me what you want,” his voice soothed you, somehow making you harder as you continued pumping, brows softening while your eyes met his. “i want you, please. need your dick s’bad, i’ll be so good for you.” you plead, and with his hand gripping your thigh, he released it, tugging down his bottoms and underwear to his meaty thighs—dick eagerly springing out. he fisted his length, pumping it while his fingers continued to work you, preparing you, to take care of you.

being impatient, yet still considerate of you, he looked to you for confirmation; you nodded with a whine, reaching for his shoulders to grip him—he lined up his aching length with your entrance, removing his fingers, slowly pushing himself in past the ring of muscle—his eyes never left yours, making sure you were okay as he continued to push until he completely bottomed out. he started slow after letting you adjust, pulling back and pushing back in with gentle care, until you, impatient and needy, pulled him down to hover over you as he fucked you slow and sweet. wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper at an angle, you both moaned softly, eyes half lidded in a daze. “i was so worried for you in the battlefield,” he confessed, picking up the pace just a bit, “my sweet thing, so pretty and needy. i’m so sorry i couldn’t help you in the field. forgive me, baby.” terra plead, with his sweet eyes and needy tone, you only moaned, holding him by the face. “it’s okay, i promise, i’m here now. i’m still yours,” he rolled his eyes at that; his. all his. he snapped his hips, thrusting faster, sack slapping against your crack, tightening, so quick to lose himself in you.

he sped up further, one of your hands going back to its spot around your own cock, fisting it with vigor, unwavering eye contact while he continued to love you, worship you with his own body. so dear and precious to him—every time you two made love, you felt it, with each caring orgasm and kiss. it was another way of showing you that he adored you in the fullest. he didn’t fuck you, no, that was too filthy; he always wanted to be sweet, making love to you. you knew it, especially with the way he looked at you—only you, with that needy gaze to have you in every form possible.

and as you two finished together, a mess of warm seed and sweat, he held you close to him, whispering praises in your ear, kissing you sweetly. his sweet boy. he adored you. after resting in your equal mess, you two showered, cleansing yourselves, remaking his bed, and returning to holding each other in the comfort of his quiet room, aside from a clock ticking. he asked about your day besides the battle, and he hung onto every word, never faltering from you.

‎۫*͟ you’d be lying to yourself if some sick part of you didn’t enjoy your current predicament. eyes glossy, brows knitted in delight as whines and moans fell from your open mouth like rain—it was good, too good. it pained part of you to admit such a thing, amongst others, with a man who was so full of himself he could power gotham just on his ego. he, on the other hand, was thriving. you were whining and writhing, falling apart in his hands as he took you with such care, conquering you. edward himself was experiencing what most feeble brained morons considered a metaphorical ‘heaven’, in a way, as his calloused hands, used for his genius craft and grim, gripped at your hips—clean and pure, at the same time, he only took his filthy human need out on you, defiling you, in a sense. to him, you weren’t a murderer, a criminal, a common thug or imbecile who did bad deeds as he did, part of him felt guilty for tainting you, even touching you. as much as he prided himself, he didn’t deserve good things; always lost them, never to keep. he had to shut those down because you were enjoying him, holding him close while he continued to thrust in and out of you. god, he so terribly wanted to be rough, fast, and mean, but he couldn’t taint you further. he’d probably find a way to get you out of the city, far away from him. he couldn’t bear to lose a good thing like you. after each continued failure with the bat, he just wanted to keep you.

he needed to consume you in the fullest, because despite the animalistic and base humping you were both participating in, despite believing it was beneath him, he wanted all of you. he needed all of you—in a flurry to fulfil his sick needs, he took one of his hands, washed before he dared to even touch you, grabbing the back your neck to pull you closer to him; he inhaled your scent, leveraging him as he continued to assault your warm heat with his aching dick, rubber seperating him from dirtying you. he never really thought he’d use them, considering how important his work was compared to such a low act of desire. your arms snaked around his neck, holding him closer and moaning sweetly in his ear, all from him. it was such an odd thing to you, because one moment you were telling him, “eddie, i can stay a bit longer to help. i don’t mind overtime.” he swatted your desire to help, the desire to please, because he didn’t need a wonderful thing like you clouding him, becoming as important as his work just because you cared. but you persisted. “i’m not trying to belittle or undermine you, eddie. you just have a lot to do.” he always had a lot to do, but that was the beauty of his work—and how could he deny your help when you’ve actually proven you’re not as stupid as the other mindless idiots he’s hired?

that’s what led you here, asking to help him. you persisted even when you were done, noticing the twitch in his common scowl—you worried, despite him being a hard-ass half the time, he was still your boss, still a person, more than the world of genius built evil he’s constructed in his lair or gotham. and even now, as you held him close, his thrusts stuttering as he neared his climax, he mumbled to himself, occasionally grunting when he kissed your cervix with his eager tip. you could make out a few words; he was mumbling praises to himself, as he did for everything—he wasn’t too big of a talker during sex, apparently. maybe he was when he trusted a person? you couldn’t tell. you could only focus on how good he split you open, your greedy walls clenching around him when he made a sound of delight, your juices slicking his thighs with each thrust he gave, leaving a squelch sound. he soon sped up his thrusts, nearing his climax, he pulled his head back to look at you, giving you his fullest attention. you deserve it, he thought. “is it good?” he asked, his length twitching in your inviting gummy walls, looking down at you with softened brows. “it’s–eddie, it’s so good.” you mustered a sentence, your arms letting him go to firmly hold his shoulders, keeping your hazy gaze on his. oh, how delicious you looked to him. because of him.

“you’re–hnng. you’re really good, taking me like this. my perfect boy. fuck.” he groaned, eyes briefly rolling back as you clenched around him again. he was seeing stars. speeding up his thrusts again, his grip on your hip and neck tightened, looking down at him entering and leaving your wet hole with a sick hunger—he looked back up at you, taking both of his hands to hold your face as he neared his peak, your moans spilling out in time with his careful thrusts. his hips stuttered as hot seed spilled into the condom, warming his cock further; edward’s brows scrunched together, letting out a long groan, slowing his thrusts. “oh, i love you.” the words spilled from him, and just as quickly as he said them, his face contorted. brow twitching and a frown wrinkling his face—no. no, he didn’t do that. he was better than subjecting himself to such a sickening connection between people like that. you noticed this quickly, pleasure immediately discarded, your brows softened in concern. “eddie?” you sounded so worried. to him, for him, it made him sicker. stop fucking looking at him like that. he hated it; it made him churn, made him feel weak. the riddler was not weak.

“leave,” he said simply, his tone low; he didn’t want to yell at you, and yet, you only worried more, as he pulled himself from you, taking off the filled rubber, tossing it in the trash, and cleaning his shaft with a tissue. he pulled his pants back up, tucking himself back in—looking away from you in shame. how could he say something like that? you pulled your own pants back up, standing off his desk and still, giving him those worried eyes. stop it. “eddie, it’s okay, it could’ve just been–” but he didn’t want to hear it, his usual scowl returning, turning to face you as he pointed to the door. “i said to leave. you understand what that means, don’t you? do you need paper and crayons, or do i have to teach you such a simple thing that even a dog can do?” you were taken aback, a frown tugging at your lips. he wanted to take it back immediately, tell you sorry, but he couldn’t stop himself. “don’t come in tomorrow, i’ll ask one of my other common moron employees.” he waved his hand dismissively, and you knew not to press further. he only allowed a certain extent before he lost his shit.

tears pricked the corner of your eyes, threatening to roll, so you grabbed your jacket just as quickly and left. he wanted to feel guilty for being cold, and god, it clawed at him, but he pushed it down. he felt sick. he didn’t love people or things; he loved his work, but that was different. his pride and joy. you? you were just… a distraction, an eager worker in need of money. you may have understood the majority of his riddles and work, his big words, his genius, but—no, no, you didn’t mean anything to him. how could he even think that? he had to busy himself, going to clean off his desk where you previously were. he stared down at your notes, your reports… he couldn’t keep you. couldn’t bear to subject you to his cruelty any further.

he was never good at keeping good things. it’s easier to let them slip, rather than have them think he was the good thing.

‎۫*͟ living in a city like gotham wasn’t exactly… ideal. things were constantly stolen. people were killed. vengeful people dressed in costumes hunted the big, bad bat, who protected the city. yet, amidst the terrible things and constant gloomy weather, a few sunspots managed to shine through—even if only for a moment. edward didn’t trust the goodness in people, despite his recent attempts to leave behind chasing the bat after nearly a decade. even the kindest hearts, he believed, hid something tainted and filthy within their pure souls. he knew he did. at times, he lashed out, killed an uncooperative man for a case, or snapped at those who vexed him, even slightly. he was not pure or kind; his heart had soured over the years, perhaps even grown mold. he still held onto the evil—the riddler. people lately mistook him for something soft, which irritated him endlessly. the riddler didn’t do soft. he loathed sentiment, mainly because of the hidden, gnawing need to be someone’s sentiment—or at least, to be appreciated. attachments were tricky—always had been. friends, lovers, were one riddle he couldn’t quite solve. edward was thorough. things had to have patterns, a code—something to decipher, even the simplest things in front of him. it had to have an order he understood. that vexed him, because even friendships or dating became complicated.

for example, just recently, after cracking a case, the gcpd celebrated his triumph, his gift. he asked a few officers to dinner, just to feel… normal, or included in their mundane lives. excuses rolled out like a truck, and his lip twitched just barely. too busy. he could hear faint laughter as they walked away, hushing like gossiping teenagers. he felt a twinge of embarrassment, so he left work early and hid in his lair for a few days. edward nygma, the riddler—the most genius man in a city of idiotic scum—didn’t do embarrassment. no. and yet, even now, as a man learning to shed the riddler, he still felt like a joke.

but not to you. you were bright, far from his tainted, sick heart that still held evil. he thought hiring an assistant would help his detective work, lighten his load, and give him someone to talk to without the urge to throw a chair. you became more. you were eager to help—polite, all smiles and questions. he adored your piqued interest. he amused you, but you never mocked him. instead, you looked at him with genuine kindness, making him wonder if it was a ploy to humiliate him, as others had. he sensed no malice from you, but he worried. he was enraptured by your brightness. “mr. nygma?” you called, your voice strained but pleasant; to him, it was honey, saints calling to him. he adored it in his own way. he straightened his posture, elbows propped on his desk, the one he’d earned with his new title, detective nygma, and smiled. “yes, my dear boy. i heard. you and i will have quite the chase tomorrow with cobblepot, so get your analysis done by tonight, if you can.” his charming tone was reserved for moments like these—when mindless muses didn’t vex him. you didn’t, probably couldn’t, even if you tried. “have you finished your menial tasks gordon handed you?” he asked, observing your gentle demeanor. he pondered how you ended up in something as twisted as police work. maybe you had a sense of justice. would you ever tell him why?

“just barely,” you tittered, and god, for just a moment, he felt weak, “but i powered through! as you said, laziness is for the inept.” your tone was lighthearted; you aimed to please him, he could tell. you didn’t do it because you were scared of who he used to be, who still lurks in his dark corner, but out of connection. it was endearing, he pondered briefly how well the people around you treated you—if he could treat you better. shaking himself out of his thoughts, his grin softened, offering you his sincere praise for your work. “indeed, my eager sunshine.” taking a brief pause, he stood from his chair, adjusting his tie. even now with his new self, he couldn’t bear to throw out his things. “i do admire your work ethic, very thorough.” a simple praise, small, but you beamed, because you knew he was sincere. he was an honest man, you knew, if he didn’t like someone? it was terribly hard for him to hide. you’d seen the way he scowled at police officers in the precinct, gordon, the bat—oh, the bat was the worst. because he didn’t trust edward still, and it made edward seethe, he had to restrain himself, reminding himself, no, that’s what riddler would do.

upon standing, he reached for his cane—pushing his weight onto it as he sauntered over to you, getting a better look before he headed out, having errands to run. menial things, but important. he admired your features, the crook in your nose, your growing adam's apple. he remembered when you first started working for—no, with him, you told him a bit of your personal life. your medical journey of transitioning, and goodness, how you’ve grown beautifully in your skin. he even told you that with all the filthy money he’s stolen over the years, he’d pay in full for procedures, should you ever want them. it was a rare thing that he cared for someone so deeply, like a jewel, and yet, you were important to him. “what are you doing after work?” it was so forward, he knew, but again, he was troubled with conversing at times. you seemed shy when he inquired, but when you smiled sweetly, he almost melted. “don’t have any plans. i’ll either go to the gym or just chill in my apartment. what about you?” you wondered about his life outside of work, how he managed as a new man, despite his wrongdoings of the past; he almost beamed. it was a simple question, and yet, everything. “errands, simple things, perhaps a little robbery later.” he waved his hand, and when you tilted your head, curiously, he cleared his throat, charm faltering. “that was a joke,” he deadpanned, and you caught on and chuckled warmly, hands folding in front of you out of habit. “oh! sorry, sorry, my head is just… all over the place. busy day, mr nygma.” he quickly raised his hand, halting you kindly, offering his usual charm. “please, sweet thing, we’re past pleasantries. call me eddie,” he mused, tipping his head just slightly, as you gave a firm nod, wry smile cracking at your features. he had such a natural charm, even if it was just casual talk, part of you wondered if he was single. he couldn’t have been, surely, he’d be married.

he was observing your manners, so drawn to every sculpted feature of your face, hair, and figure, like a gorgeous statue, carved with care. he didn’t even hear your question until your gaze softened, almost luring him like a dazzling creature, enraptured by his simple attention. “apologies, repeat what you said, i didn’t quite catch it.” staring at you with pools of inquiry, as he always did, you tittered, and he couldn’t get enough of such a simple sound. “i said, um—i was wondering if, maybe, you’re not doing anything after work on sunday, we can go to dinner?” you raised a brow, treading carefully around the question, considering, in a way, he was your boss. “as coworkers, of course, i wouldn’t want to insinuate something. or upset your partner.” dancing around such a simple ask, his brows scrunched in confusion, lip curling as if you’ve spit in his food. did you think a man like him, the riddler, was romantically tangled? surely, you were tugging his leg. “i have no partner, my dear boy, i’m single. i don’t have the time nor the concern for a romantic escapade. such things are so base to me. not worthy of my time.” now, at that, he internally cringed. you looked at him with relief, with a twinge of glumness—he quickly recovered, clearing his throat and waving his hand in a nervous flutter. he wasn’t good at this. “forgive my wording, i simply meant that… i don’t exactly date often. i’m out of practice, i suppose,” he fiddled, just slightly, eyeing anything around him but you. he’d wondered if you thought less of him. eyes raised to once again meet your gaze, you only cracked a smile at him, stepping closer, offering your understanding. your you. “well, it can just be a simple dinner. get to know each other outside of work, in a way.” your tone was inviting, and he was eager, too quick to take it from a hanging tree of tempting fruit. “i’d like that.” 

getting a green light, no jabs intended, your smile brightened, stretching from ear to ear—and oh, how he beamed at your eagerness. were you certain it was just coworkers eating dinner? in a flurry of fluster and excitement, you stepped forward, pressing a peck to his cheek, just grazing his sideburn. stepping back, you gave him a wave and made your way out of the building to your car. now, again, he wasn’t one for sentiments, nor did connection come so easily to him; in turn, he didn’t know how to take the gesture. a simple act of affection. but just barely, in his office, his gaze softened where you once stood—he’d make it a mission this evening, to text you, asking you your favorite things, and commit them to memory, just for keeps. he fell to such a simple vice, like a man under a spell—and part of him, the evil in his corner, wanted to ignore you. fire you the next day, in worry his mold would taint the goodness in you. he’d sit and think about it overnight, and yet, as he made his way out of the building, taking care of small errands, the evil quiet, he found himself hoping you’d understand him as edward, not a joke, or the riddler.

perhaps he wouldn’t mind standing in your sunspot, amongst the gloomy weather of the city. doing himself a selfish act since his reform, just this once.