Fanfiction n' Stuff

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Sparkling moonlight filtered through the tall latticed windows, bathing the halls in iridescent light. You could feel him from across the palace, his slow, steady breaths, the gentle laps of water brushing against his shoulders. You followed the sensation like a string, pulling it taut and letting it guide you to him.

The doors to your shared private chambers slid open as you strode inside, kicking off your rugged boots and socks at the door and placing them neatly against the wall. You ran your fingers through your hair as you wandered fully into your bedroom, glancing over to the right.

He hadn’t bothered to shut the door to the bath, and you could smell something akin to amber and spice lingering in the air, soothing you. It was an open invitation that you accepted eagerly; you missed him dearly, even though you slept in the same bed and brushed against his presence in the halls; it wasn't enough. You needed to see him, to feel him, to fill the ravenous, empty pit that you felt when your other half wasn't around.

You peered into the bathroom, your fingers curled around the rough metal door frame. The entire room was covered from floor to ceiling in glossy black marble tile, a large, deep tub in the center of the room, and a tall, tinted window behind it that overlooked the courtyards below. It was elegant, ornate, and distinctly regal; never in your life could you have imagined residing in a place like this, with creature comforts that had never been afforded to either you or Maul. You were sitting in the pinnacle of luxury now, and you could've never dreamed of it.

Maul was sitting in the pristine porcelain tub, his eyes closed and his body fully submerged up to the bridge of his nose, the water still enough that his reflection was clear against it. His coloring noticeably stood out against the muted colors of the room, blood-red skin harshly contrasting against the ceramic. You waited for a moment, not quite entering his space, instead lingering right at the edge of it, almost toeing at the edge of his perception, waiting for permission.

You could hear the rasp of his voice curling into your mind like fog, then piercing through your thoughts as clear as a sharp-edged dagger.

“Enter.”

You didn’t wait, padding into the room, bare feet against the cool tile.

You shed your garments into a small pile on the damp marble floor, stretching your arms above your head as your gaze shifted over to the tub where he was sitting. He didn't move, didn't even bristle as you straddled the edge of the tub, carefully dipping your toes in. The water was lukewarm now, but soap suds still clung to the thin surface like film. You sank down into the water until it encompassed your shoulders, careful not to disturb him too much. When you settled in between his legs, the metal of his calves brushing against your thighs as you sat on your knees, the water steadying, he opened his eyes.

“It’s late.”

“We barely see each other during the day anymore.” You murmured back, running your fingers through your hair. His eyes almost seemed to glow, reflecting the minimal light in the room.

“I wanted to see you,” you added, leaning forward slightly. His gaze flickered, his shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowed. As gentle as your tone was, he still seemed to believe you were scolding him.

“It has not been by choice.” He replied briskly, a tinge of disappointment coloring the echo of his voice.

“I know.” You reassured.

His tattoos almost seemed to glisten in the low light, a thin sheen of water clinging to his skin and dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he slowly sat up with a sigh, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, cracking his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders. His muscular build blocked the moonlight cascading from the window behind him, casting a looming shadow over you.

“…Let me help you,” you gently offered, reaching out to him with one hand, fingertips brushing over the skin of his arm.

He was stiff and weary in a way that felt like his bones were aching from the inside out, emanating to you through your inexplicable bond. He let out a huff of air, scowling as your fingers grazed along his bicep.

“I’ll be fine.” He muttered, brushing you off gently, tugging your hand away from his arm before he simply glanced away, his hand falling back to his side as hurt flickered across your features. He was being resistant again, pushing you away when it was clear he was in pain. You frowned, scrunching your nose. You couldn’t push him far, but you knew how to drag him right back to you.

“Don’t push me away.” You leaned forward again, whispering into his ear, soft, pleading. You reach back out to him, dragging your nails up his chest before resting your hands firmly on his shoulders. He tensed on instinct, but slowly eased into your ministrations as the pads of your fingers prodded for the tight muscles of his shoulders. He leaned into it, even as your fingers inched up his neck, still rubbing deep, soothing circles into tight muscles and taut tendons.

His breathing grew heavier, quickened at the sensation, and you swore you could feel his skin heating up against your skin.

You prodded gently at the barriers he kept tightly wound over his mind, guarding himself. He was hesitant, but gave you reluctant entrance. Sheer stress oozed into your skin from his, dripping into your thoughts as you closed your eyes, navigating the familiar sense of darkness that connected you. On the surface level, hiding his truer thoughts was unbidden memories of years of training and war- the acrid tang of blood, smoke, and anything raw and unsavory filling your senses and taste. It was simply a mask, an obstacle that you dipped around. Because below it at all, in the depths, behind the layers and barriers, was more of his core, his worries, his stressors.

The stressors of training his brothers and the Empire’s forces slowly closing in on Mandalore were prominent. Then you felt…  fear, pure creeping fear. Fear for your safety, fear for the safety of his brothers. Fear that all led right back to the root.

Sidious.

All encompassing, encroaching on his thoughts like a nightmare that neither of you could seem to truly run away from. You grimaced at the mere thought, but you knew how his mind went in circles. From the root of the past, to the present, to the endless future, constantly and without end. Sometimes you felt like your head might explode, sharing a mind with him like this when he was so deeply afraid.

But you gently coaxed him forward, until you were pressed chest to chest, damp skin squishing together, your hands drifting down to glide over the ridges of his spine. Maul’s apprehension was palpable, his fingers twitching below the water. You took each pulsing memory, each distressing, paranoid thought, and began to unravel them like a rusted, tangled chain. It was a gift, to have his trust in this way, to be entrusted with something so fragile as his very thoughts. He was so prone to shattering like glass, only to meld back together by the fires of his rage as something messy and new. But each time you were there, to bear witness to the change, to watch him rise and inevitably fall again. But each time you were there to pick the pieces of him back up again, to shelter him until he could recover.

“Things will be on our terms this time.” You whispered to him. Desire simmered in his gaze and drifted freely through your thoughts. It wrapped around you both, steady and certain. Forehead to forehead, his lips mere inches from yours. For a moment, the world narrowed to just this—just him. Your breath mingled in the narrow space, warm and unsteady. Neither of you dared to move, savoring the fragile moment and too scared to break the fragile moment.

“…Thank you.” He mumbled, calloused thumbs rubbing circles into your hips beneath the surface of the water. The words sounded rough, dragged out of him against his pride, yet there was something distinctly vulnerable about it, something carefully unguarded. But it meant everything to you. You returned the affection in kind, your hands drifting up to rub at the base of his horns. A low growl rumbled from his chest, but you didn’t mind. He was relaxed now, as much as he could bring himself to be.

Your nails dug into his back as he pressed messy kisses along the curve of your neck. He grabbed you more firmly by the hips, dragging you forward until you were sitting on his thighs. His teeth bared, blood beading up from the wound and dripping into the water below. He lapped up the remnants from your sin before muttering into your ear, mirroring your statement.

“Things will be different this time.” He echoed it softly, a vow meant only for you.

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you huff, rolling your eyes ever so slightly.

"what word, my lord?"

his lower lip twitches, curling into a frown.

"you 'thought' that you would be able to handle the mission by yourself when you clearly you were not capable of doing so. you required reinforcements, yet did not dare ask for them. why?"

exhaling, your shoulders loosen, the tightness wound up in your chest dissipating. the adrenaline from hours prior is starting to wear off, the beat of your heart slowing as he settles beside you, almost perching in the chair to your right. before him lays your arm, resting on the sterile metal of the armrest.

there's a burning sensation that begins to creep in, searing throughout your hands, licking at your fingers. a scarlet stream trickles down, spilling onto your wrist. it plunges, gathering into a bead before it falls to the floor. your jaw clenches, the discomfort starting to make itself known.

your lip quivers, a shaky breath tumbling out.

"i-i don't know why."

his nostrils flare, eyes narrowing into slits.

swallowing thickly, your gaze flickers to the left, in a feeble attempt to avoid his probing stare.

it was no use, though.

resistance was futile.

he was already inside of your mind.

you could feel it. the sheer weight of his signature as it poked and prodded, infiltrating every corner and crevice. tearing cleanly through the walls you fought so desperately to keep intact.

"m-maul," a whine rises in your throat, the burning transitioning into fiery agony, "p-please. it hurts."

the zabrak shakes his head, putting up a finger.

"not yet. i'm not finished."

squeezing your eyes shut, you grit your teeth, shallow breaths tumbling from your lips, "h-hurry up. please. i'm begging."

he hums, a rumble thundering in his chest. the corners of his mouth twitch, curling into a smirk. in the low light, you catch the gleam of canines, the rumbling in his chest flowing into a chuckle.

"so, you deliberately avoided asking for reinforcements because you were afraid i would have thought you were weak?"

exhaling, you groan, heat billowing into your cheeks, "i-i mean, something like that, yeah."

the zabrak tsks, shifting his torso toward to his left. plucking a needle from the tray, fingers nimbly secure a thread to the needle, knotting it. he moves on to stimshot, inspecting the syringe. flicking a few drops from the tip, you can't help but feel the shame rise.

it wasn't like the mission went awry. if anything, it was a huge success. singlehandedly, you were able to fend off a group of smugglers and secure a port on nar shadaa, a remote moon in hutt space. since it was on the outer rim, it was not carefully surveilled by the empire. it would serve as a port for fuel, trade, and shipment.

sure, it was risky, as it was previously inhabited by some of the hutt's men. there were a couple of losses, but nothing worth future repayment. in your mind, the hutts actually benefited, as the men who ran the post were practically useless in gunfight.

sure, you probably did need a few reinforcements. scorn and icarus could have accompanied you. what was hours of your time could have been reduced to a few minutes. they could have loaded some spices and weapons onto the ship as future collateral. you could have returned with a few bumps and scrapes rather than the deep gouge in your hand.

but where was the satisfaction in that?

"i know your intentions were in the right place," your throat tightens as he speaks, the words barely audible, "but you need to learn there are times that you must rely on others. that mindset of yours is going to get you killed."

the syringe plunges into your arm, the zabrak's thumb unwavering as the fluid drains from the barrel. not a second passes before relief ripples in your veins. yet you remain still, head level with his.

"i understand, my lord."

he tuts, "do you?"

you nod, perhaps a little too fervently.

“i do.”

“good.”

there’s a beat of silence before he gets to work.

a tender hand, swathed in leather, wraps around your fingers, applying pressure. you assume it’s to keep you you from recoiling or fidgeting, although he had administered the stimshot moments ago. the other hand reaches for the needle and thread for the suture, his voice filling the room once again.

it was gentler that his normal cadence.

almost soft.

“are you ready? it may pinch you a little.”

dipping your head, you give him the signal to proceed. his head tilts a few degrees as he inspects the wound, tongue running along his lower lip. he pauses momentarily, grabbing a cloth and wetting it with an unknown liquid.

carefully, he sweeps the cloth over your wound, cleaning away bits and pieces of grit or sand. it’s endearing almost, how delicate he was being.

it was not often that he was like this.

if anything, it was rare.

“how did this even happen?”

you shrug, wincing as he inserts the needle, “don’t ask.”

the response earns a chuckle. one that you had never heard before.

it erupts from deep within his diaphragm, hearty and authentic, reverberating off the walls. it is almost boyish. like he was youngling once again, up to no good on dathomir, surrounded by his brothers, eyes glittering with amusement, devious smile plastered to his face.

your heart skips a beat.

as the air thickens, every movement becomes surgical, brimming with intention. he is almost finished with his work now, the stitching neat and precise. for a second, your mind wanders, pondering how many times he has done this before. not only to others, but himself.

fingers weave in and out, tying the final knot. the hand that once held yours tightens, lifting your wrist, bringing it to his mouth. lips wrap around the loose thread, teeth clamping down.

the thread snaps, your heart thudding against your rib-cage as his mouth envelops your palm, pressing a kiss to the heated skin.

“there. all done.”

the zabrak’s gaze floats up to you, and for the first time, you can make out the wispiness of eyelashes. the space between you dissipates as he inches closer, an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher swimming among his amber depths.

fingers caress your cheekbone, wandering down your jawline. he swallows, the apple of his throat bobbing.

“tell me something.”

“a-anything,” you stumble over the word, “anything you desire, my lord.”

“tell me there won’t be a next time.”

your eyes widen, a gasp bubbling up in your throat, “i-i, uhm, there won’t be a next time. w-why are you asking me to say this?”

he leans in, the flurry of his breath intermingling with yours. blood roars in your ears, the warmth spreading down into your neck. sweat clams up in your palms, the zabrak murmuring against your lips.

“you are making a promise to me that you will never go on another mission alone.”

“why can’t i go alone?”

A weak yell tore from your throat with the effort it took to lift your arms above your head, to block the attack with your own single blade. Its red glow was so much weaker than his, a visual taunt of just how outmatched you were.

There was so much strength behind Maul’s swing that you were thrown down face first onto the training mat. Your teeth rang from how hard they snapped together when your jaw met the ground. You tasted blood – you’d bitten your tongue. Without missing a beat, Maul drove his metal foot into your shoulder. The force of it sent your lightsaber flying from your hand, flipped you onto your back. You barely heard your own groan over the telltale white hot agony of a dislocated joint.

“You are weak,” Maul raged above you, uncaring of or perhaps even fuelled by the frightened tears now lining your eyes.

You clutched your damaged shoulder, planting your heels and trying to shove yourself back away from him. You were widening the gap between yourself and your weapon, but it had already landed somewhere behind Maul. You doubted your ability to even get to your feet; there was no chance you would manage to get past him to reach it.

Maul leapt towards you and his lightsaber missed your throat by an inch, because you had somehow found the strength to bodily throw yourself to the side. You scrabbled for purchase on the training mats with one hand, barely getting a knee beneath your body weight before Maul’s next kick collided with your ribs. More than one cracked under the impact. The pain was too much for you to even make a noise, stealing the oxygen straight from your lungs as you collapsed for a second time. You lay there gasping for air that wouldn’t come, completely and utterly vulnerable. Your body curled in on itself instinctively.

“You are worthless!” Maul roared.

He dragged you up towards him by the throat, far too easily, your head turning fuzzy as his grip constricted your air and blood flow. His face was quickly fading into a blur of black and crimson, even though his eyes blazed like twin flames. Somehow, losing your battle with consciousness, you managed to pick up on the second glint of colour from behind the fiery orange. It was bright and hard, a reflection of the light from his blade. The eyeshine of a predator.

Maul raised his weapon slowly, deliberately drawing out your fear. He brought the edge just close enough to your jaw to make your skin prickle from the heat.

“Maul,” you wheezed, a last ditch attempt as you clawed his wrist futilely. “Maul, please…”

Your blunt nails scratched weakly at his red and black skin, his attention never wavering from you for a moment. The room was going dark. You hadn’t even managed to hurt him. He paused, an ugly sneer twisting into a facsimile of a smile.

He raised the lightsaber above his head, making a show of how it cut through the air as he aimed for your throat –

“Maul, no!”

The shriek you gave when you finally woke up to find his face mere inches from yours, eyeshine glinting through the darkness exactly like in the dream, was unholy. You scrambled back from him, hands against his chest as you shoved away from the gentle – painful, deadly – grip he had on the back of your neck. He watched you silently. The Zabrak moved a single arm to click on the bedside lamp, otherwise staying perfectly still beneath you. The light revealed his brows to be slightly raised in what you could only describe as surprise. You drew in a deep, shuddering breath, your hands shaking violently against his skin, fingers splayed over his collar. You could still taste the blood, but after a moment you realised that it was real. You had actually bitten your tongue.

Another breath while you calmed down enough to understand that you were in bed. He had been holding you to him, his arms gentle and his touch reassuring. He now had one open palm raised in the space between you, a placation and a visual reassurance that he was unarmed. Your heart thundered and your breaths were frantic to match.

You were safe. He had you, he would only ever protect you – never hurt you. You were safe.

“Maul,” you whispered, relief crashing through you.

You all but collapsed on top of him, tucking yourself into his chest and holding onto him as best you could manage. His arms were around you instantly, his hand on the back of your head grounding, protective. He watched the way your whole body was shaking, how you curled around him like he was your only hope for survival.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice ever so soft. “It was a nightmare, nothing more. You are with me now, I have you.”

You swallowed, forced to quickly blink away an onslaught of senseless tears. It had seemed so real. But Maul had never once hurt you badly during all the time you had trained with him. He was a harsh teacher, and he consistently pushed you to your limits, but he was the best fighter you knew of by a long shot. And you knew the effort he put into teaching you fairly, how viciously he avoided renewing the cycle of trauma from his own training. You trusted him with the absolute certainty that all his hatred and capacity for violence would never be turned on you.

That still didn’t make the terror dissipate quickly. Maul was more than capable of dealing you far worse damage than his nightmare counterpart, especially with how completely he outmatched you in a fight. And his words from the dream were your own fears come to light, which made them so much harder to shake off. You were more afraid still of the possibility that Maul might think of you in the same way as you thought of yourself.

You realised belatedly that your nightmare had disturbed Maul’s rest as well as your own.

“Sorry for waking you,” you muttered, your words muffled where you were largely hiding your face against his collar.

You felt him shake his head.

“No, none of that. It does not matter.”

His voice was so steady, so assured, that you felt yourself relaxing against him. He gave you a moment to gather yourself before speaking again.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

You shook your head vehemently. You knew well enough how his mind worked, and the last thing you needed was for him to think this proved you were secretly terrified of him, or that you thought he might one day turn on the only person he’d ever decided he could afford to trust.

“No, it’s okay,” you told him instead, thoroughly unconvincing.

“No?” He parroted. “Well, given that it was my name you were calling, I think perhaps you should.”

Your blood turned icy cold in your veins. You’d been talking in your sleep?

“Did I say anything else?” You asked, dreading the answer and knowing he would have easily picked up on your increased heart rate and shortened breaths.

“Some. You seemed to be pleading – begging, really. I couldn’t quite understand why.”

You swallowed again to give yourself a second to think. Maul’s scrutiny, even from above your head, felt like a physical weight. His voice said you held his full attention, which meant there was no way he would simply let this go. But you were too shaken to figure out what you needed to say.

“It doesn’t matter, it was just a dream.”

“Dreams can be important. As you know, they can sometimes represent visions-”

“This one wasn’t.”

Maul paused, his patience starting to fray a little at the edges. He was going to the trouble of trying to help you and you were obstinately refusing to let him.

“You know I could just find out for myself,” he murmured gently, fingers tapping the back of your head as if to the beat of some death march. “You’re hardly shielding your thoughts from me.”

Kriff.

You panicked to pull up your fragile mental walls. But you were still learning how to control them, so instead of locking the images of the dream away, you focused in on them with all your might. In the process, you projected one out which was so vivid, it might as well have been a holopic. And Maul hadn’t intended to look inside your mind, truly he hadn’t. But when he saw himself, his weapon drawn and his fighting stance accurate to the finest detail, curiosity had overtaken him.

It was over in seconds. You knew he’d seen the whole thing and you felt the moment his presence retreated from your mind like the relative calm following a roiling wave. You reeled back, supporting yourself above him on your elbows so you could see his reaction – or non reaction, as it seemed then.

An apology was the first thing to come to your lips, as if you could be held accountable for something your subconscious had invented.

“For what?” He asked, voice rich as velvet. “For seeing me as you believe I am?”

The bitter tone cut through all your fear like a bucket of ice cold water. Maul shifted as if to try and create distance between you and you followed without hesitation. You pressed your weight down on top of him for what little good that would do, unafraid as his eyes narrowed to a glare and his brow furrowed.

“That is not how I see you,” said fiercely, holding his gaze even as he challenged you to back down.

“Perhaps it is not how you wish to see me,” he conceded, “but that does not change the facts.”

“The facts being that my subconscious invented a threat for me to be afraid of in my sleep.”

When you held your ground, the Zabrak snarled. Literally. It vibrated through his chest and into yours with all the threat of a predator about to tear apart a prey item limb from limb, but still you didn’t move.

“I am not afraid of you,” you growled, because for all Maul’s posturing you were absolutely certain you were safe with him. “And I do not believe for a second that you would intentionally hurt me.”

You closed your eyes and lightly rested your forehead against his to prove your point. You sensed the way he stilled, the disbelief that you would dare to take such a risk with him. Followed hotly by the anger that you would have the ignorance, the complacency to think him so weak, so enthralled by personal attachment that he wouldn’t –

You cupped his face with both hands and pressed your lips to his. You felt his downward spiral grind to a halt as he returned the kiss, as he laid a calculated hand on your back. He was studying you with a brutal efficiency when you pulled away, thoroughly analysing everything about you.

“I don’t believe any of what you’re thinking,” you told him, brave in the face of his scrutiny. Braver now that you could still feel the warmth of his hand through your nightshirt. “I… But I know what you must think of me.”

Saying it out loud made your mouth taste like ash. You were inviting him to bring your worst fears to light and consolidate them, to let yourself hear the words in the his voice. Maul slipped a finger beneath your chin to return your gaze to his. The lamp had turned his eyes into a beautiful contrast of amber light and darkness, and they were no longer piercing or angry. The creases around them were smoothed for once.

“You may be weaker than I wish you were,” he said softly, “but you are learning. That is what matters.”

Your eyes began to prickle against your will, and when he slipped a gentle hand around the back of your head, you took the opportunity to close them. The praise, coming from him, was almost too much to bear.

“Yeah, okay,” you muttered, hardly audible because that was all you could manage around the well of emotion lodged in your throat.

Maul is a bold and forward character. He won't allow others to make him feel small or inferior. So, he expect his partner to be the same - lift him up, excite and arouse him, and sometimes, challenge him.

Maul is father flirtatious, with the right person. He's not raunchy, or crude. He can be cheeky at times, sure, but rarely when others can overhear his flirtatious remarks.

He wants you all for himself. No sharing. No wandering eyes. If you're going to commit to him, then you have to commit to him, and him alone, and he'll do the same with you.

Maul isn't one for riches and jewels. He's not going to spend thousands of credits on jewellery that you'll never wear. Maybe an odd item here or there, but he'd rather spend those credits on things you actually need/want; new clothes, repairs, etc.

Maul isn't one for a quickie, or making love in an uncomfortable place. You won't be hooking up in a storage cupboard with him!

Silk sheets, dim lighting, plenty of foreplay, safe word at the ready if either of you need it.

This man had a fantastic vocabulary range, is well-mannered, stands tall and proud… why would he rush things for a quickie in the cockpit? Or during a time when he can't relax, and enjoy you for hours on end?

To nobody's surprise, Maul can purr. It's not something he can do on demand, nor does he often notice that he's doing it. It's just a natural reaction that kicks in whenever he feels truly safe and content, usually as he's drifting off to sleep.

Maul is a giver. Yes, he likes receiving, but you're the one person who he feels this intimate bond with, so he's going to ensure that he keeps you happy, and satisfies all of your needs.

His main love language is physical touch. To go all these years alone, then finding you? He won't be too public about it, minus resting his hand on your lower back every so often, but behind closed doors, Maul is grabby and attentive.

His horns aren't as sensitive as people assume. They're just bone, after all. It's nice to run your fingertips around them, but please don't grab onto them like he's some kind of bull!

Markings are a sign of possession, which Maul enjoys. Not intense bruises or whip marks! Hickeys, light scratches from his horns or nails. You're more than welcome to leave them on him too, if you can find the space through his heavily tattooed body.

And he doesn't care if others notice them. It probably won't take long for others to realise that you two are an item, especially given how protective Maul is over you.

Protective, not possessive. You are your own person, after all, and Maul finds it amusing when someone steps out of line, and attempts to flirt with you.

Cut to a looming shadow over your shoulder with piercing orange eyes. Yeah, they're not going to attempt flirting with you ever again.

Maul is quite the cuddler, especially after sex. He's not clingy, but he enjoys having you in his arms, or vice versa. This is the time when he'll babble on about present things on his mind, usually 'work' related.

He's already quite open with you, but this is the open door for you to push ideas in his direction, and really assist him through his quiet pleas for support.

Overall, he's very patient and attentive. However, there's a high bar to reach if he's interested in you. He won't settle, especially for someone who doesn't meet his needs, or life goals.

In a life full of chaos, misery, desperation, hatred, Maul needs someone who can ground him. A firm, yet gentle word whenever he's going overboard, or a hand to cling onto when times are tough.

On the bright side of things, you know exactly where it is and who possesses it. You are far from pleased to have to see that leech of a man again, but needs musts. You will swallow your pride and play the fool for this plan to go smoothly. For a chance to go home. Placing the lightsaber down on the table in front of you, you silently drift towards Maul. Your footsteps are light as to not pull him out of his deep concentration. Might as well do it while he is incapacitated. He will be less apt at chasing you if he does decide he has finally had enough of your antics. Your alliance remains fragile even if you have come to a mutual understanding. He might have admitted to your bond but he is capable of severing it when it no longer serves, of that you are well aware.

"What?", he mutters through gritted teeth, followed by a low whine.

"It's about the key."

There is no further acknowledgment until you decide to continue speaking. Maul has his eyes closed, head resting against the back of his seat as sweat beads along his brow. He looks utterly exhausted, on the verge of either passing out or losing his sanity entirely. You swallow thickly and kneel by his side, hoping the closeness will soothe him or at least be seen as grovelling for leniency. You have no healing abilities of your own but you can at least provide companionship if that's what he's after.

"I've sent out a call to my buyer... His ship is orbiting the Hosnian system. I know it's tricky but he will get us safe passage without any eyes on us."

"Let us hope your friend proves reliable.", Maul sighs.

"Dryden is not my friend."

His eyes snap open in an instant, pinning you in place harder than the Force ever could. The silence that passes between you is deafening, ringing in your ears. You can see the gears turning, the calculations taking place in the back of his mind. You've either made a complete fool of yourself, or this is a piece of information he is delighted to hear. You cannot tell yet. His hand finds your shoulder, fingers digging in deep in your muscle and you huff painfully. Another gesture you cannot place, either intimidation or simply trying to relieve the pain in his leg. The droid at his side makes a sound of satisfaction, a little 'tadaaa!' that signifies he has finished his task. Maul's next words do not make anything clearer, his tone measured and flat. He is giving you an out. A chance to redeem yourself, perhaps.

"You sold the key to a Jedi holocron to Dryden Vos."

"Well, actually I sold him a half of my lightsabers.", you mutter quietly.

"To Crimson Dawn... My operatives.", Maul continues, jaw set.

Realisation hits you at the same time it does him. You've both had the half of the solution this entire time, technically speaking. It's as if this had been planned by the Force itself all along. The laugh that comes out of him makes you think he has finally snapped, the pain has gotten to him and he has lost the plot entirely. It is a maniacal sound that builds from the bottom of his throat and spills out across the room. The droid backs away as Maul tests his leg and swings them both off the edge of the seat. His hands are atop his knees but he does not make to rise. Instead, he leans towards you, expecting you to explain yourself yet not giving you enough time to stumble around to find your clumsy words. His lips form a sinister grin as he stares down at you.

"I didn't know--", you stammer.

"Oh, this is playing out to be much better than expected, yes... And perhaps... We will have an answer as to why a lone Pyke could have been foolish enough to try to kill me."

"You think he sent that guy?"

"Crimson Dawn and the Pyke syndicate have a long history of mutual hatred... I would not be surprised if Dryden Vos was attempting to seize control for himself.", Maul muses.

"Then let's pay him a visit.", you say with a cold smile.

Better than expected, indeed. You would pay good credits to see Maul wipe the floor with your former client. The man is arrogant and overbearing, but until you have your hands on both your weapons, you will have to allow him to breath the same air as you. After that, who can say? If Maul is under the suspicion that Dryden is attempting a coup then it is all the more reason to make him regret having ever crossed your path.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The reaction you get as you come out of your room and into the main body of the ship is not one you would have expected. While Maul is doing his best to blend in the darkness again, hood drawn up over his horns, you know that your role aboard the First Light will be one you have played with Dryden before. Maul might be able to play his part as the puppet master of a vast crime operation, you on the other hand are nothing more than an arts dealer. You have kept your Jedi status hidden for a reason. And as such, the extravagant gown you had packed for the occasion must fit the bill. It is a façade but it feels good to look this exquisite. Especially when it's the former Sith's eyes on you.

They travel the length of your figure, all the way from your heeled shoes to the crown of your head. Your back is left completely exposed, the gown pooling down low and gathering tightly around your neck. It is another one of your relics, rescued from a Senator's estate sale. You had brought it with you on the off chance that opening the holocron required more than your half of the lightsaber. Thank the Stars for your foresight.

Maul cocks his head to the side, flexing his hands into fists. He seems to want to say something but does not relent on his stoic control. Whatever morsel of a compliment he might have wanted to pay you dies on route to his lips. You grin knowingly and prop a hand on your hip as you watch him. His posture is impeccable as always, only his eyes betray a certain unease. At least that will provide entertainment if Dryden decides to keep you on his ship longer than you intended to stay.

"Yes?", you hum as you bat your eyelashes at him innocently.

"I suppose that lightsaber fetched you a good price."

You stride towards the space between the two ships where you have docked, stepping inside the elevator that will take you up into the private section of the First Light. Maul follows you in, blocking your path to the door. He faces you as you gather your hair up into a loose hairstyle that clears your neck of curls. You catch his eyes following the motion. It's not quite curiosity or desire on his face, but something else. He disapproves. You want to roll your eyes at him for being so obtuse. In all your life, you have never met a man that seems to have so many opinions yet withholds them at the most crucial times.

"You know what he's like, I have to keep up appearances. If we go in blasters first he'll clam up.", you lament.

"Careful not to fall too deep into your role. We are here for one thing and one thing alone."

"Are you scared I'll run off with him or something?"

His only response is a snarl, teeth bared as he quietly seethes. You can't suppress the chuckle that escapes you. If you didn't know better, you would think him jealous. But you know it isn't right. Maul simply hates having to put up a front for someone he holds in as low a regard as Dryden. The deception feels beneath him when he knows he could take everything from that man with the snap of his fingers. This seductive method is foreign to him, and he does not enjoy having it applied by you. Someone Dryden has history with.

"Are you?", you press on.

"Enough.", Maul snaps back.

His eyes haven't left yours, head cocked to the side and hands clasped behind his back as he frowns in your general direction. The scrunch of his features is as delightfully amusing as it is frightening. You swallow thickly. From your point of view, you have won the argument so why does it feel like a loss? You have successfully riled him up and guessed at the source of his annoyance, but it has not brought you much pleasure. Things would be simpler if he admitted seeing you dressed up, and for another man at that, did something to him. Maul is as honest as he is secretive.

The elevator slowly creeps to a stop and the door slides open, revealing an empty corridor you recognise. The way to Dryden's private office is much like the rest of the ship, polished and clean. Falling into step with Maul, you let him usher you down the curved hallway. You can feel a reprimand brewing beneath his silence. It only helps in reigniting your anger and frustration. It does not seem fair that you would have to suffer yet another lecture when he is the one acting like a pissed off tooka, back arched and hissing and all.

"We all have a part to play in this, including you. I cannot waste time with petty fights."

"My most sincere apologies, my Lord.", you say with a sarcastically deep bow at the waist.

He rounds on you in the blink of an eye, seizing your arm and backing you into the corner of an alcove as you attempt to shuffle out of his grip. Unstoppable force meeting unmovable object. You have executed this dance poorly, tipping him over the edge from displeasure to potential rage. His voice is low, bearing irritation. Your mood remains light as you hold the brimming tension at bay.

"Must I discipline you?"

"I could take it."

Maul blinks at you, brows furrowed as he leans back a fraction. You don't allow yourself to look away as the corner of his lips twitches up in what approximates a smile. Something resembling amusement playing on his face. Ah, perhaps you are wrong after all and his feathers are not so easily ruffled by your teasing. He seems much more pliable and less easily riled now that you've settled on a status for what you are. His moods influence yours, and vice versa.

"This... affection, as flattering as I'm sure you intend it to be, is misguided."

"It's not flattery.", you counter.

You let the silence build between you. Tentatively, you rest the hand of the arm he isn't currently holding against his cheek. He allows it but does not lean into the touch. There are still too many walls, too many boundaries he will not cross for you. Or with you. His gaze is searing, searching yours for meaning.

"And yet it is not devotion either."

"Can't a girl have feelings?"

He rolls his eyes but does not pull away. As surprise as you are that he has allowed you to touch him, you find yourself dumbfounded that he lets you kiss him too. A slow caress that turns desperate as soon as it is reciprocated. You seek out more immediately, moaning into his mouth and pulling him closer by the front of his cloak. It is days of built up need all encompassed in the press of your lips against his, your tongue across his bottom lip, your fingers finding skin. You feel his gloved hand trace down the length of your bare spine, resting on the small of your back and pulling you in so that you're flush against his chest. As if he were stating a claim on you.

He is all teeth and carnage, making your head spin with need. Maul hasn't learnt to let go in a way that shows any restraint. Instead, he kisses you the same way he approaches any endeavour; confidently and without mercy. It leaves you gasping, chasing after him when his lips leave yours.

He is the first to pull away, letting go of your arm and removing your hand from his cheek all at once. There is no regret in his gaze, just a distant sadness bordering on a plea. It is as vulnerable as you are likely to see him. You're just as lost as he is when it comes to your feelings. All you know is that every time you act on them, your chest feels lighter and your mind is quiet. It feels like a long rest after a day of running.

"I cannot give you what you want."

"This is enough.", you reply assuredly.

"For now.", he murmurs with a doubtful look upon his face.

"It will be."

"And when it is not? Will you resent me, make me out to be your villain?"

"I'm not asking for your devotion either. Just this... whatever it is."

"We will revisit this conversation at a later time.", Maul says with finality as he pulls away from you completely and returns to the corridor.

It is with great difficulty that you attempt not to sulk behind him, but instead hold your head up high. You are aware that your skin is flushed and your lipstick might be smeared as you announce yourself at the door. A voiceless assistant directs you inside.

"Lord Maul, and... company?", a voice calls out, bewildered to see you both at the same time.

The place is just as you remember it, gold and black with relics and artefacts adorning the walls. You plaster on your most dazzling smile as Dryden Vos gets up from his circular seating area and strides towards you. The grin barely cracks as he brackets your arms in his palms and leans down to kiss both your cheeks. You do not recoil, instead letting him think you enjoy his attention.

"Dryden, hello.", you purr.

"Ah, always a delight to have you! Please, come sit."

He places your hand in the crook of his elbow as he leads you the long way around the room so that you may observe the many new acquisitions he has made. They range from all cultures across the Galaxy, masks and weapons scattered about the room on pedestals. While Dryden collects, you analyse. And you find that his tastes seem to be purely for aesthetic purposes. There is no rhyme or reason to the pieces before you. No real interest in any of them past their bloated price tag.

"I didn't know you knew him.", the man says under his breath with a tilt of his head back towards Maul.

He has remained standing by the desk, watching the two of you take a turn around the room with open hostility. His arms are crossed over his chest. If you didn't know better, you could almost think he was the one sulking now. He is clearly unhappy to let you test your method first, that he has to watch you at work when his way of doing things is simpler and twice as effective. You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the Zabrak.

"Another client of mine, quite interested in that old laser sword I sold you last year."

"Really? Now that's interesting..."

You've stopped in front of a weapons cabinet and there it is. In plain sight amongst other Jedi and Sith weaponry. The other half of your lightsaber calls to you, its pull impossible to resist. You reach out for it but Dryden pulls you back, his fingers brushing your shoulder too gently. You freeze, looking up at him as you remind yourself to smile adoringly. Maul's annoyed energy flares up at your back.

"May I?"

It feels ugly to have to ask to take what is rightfully yours. You twitch to ram the blade down his throat. Dryden hums, his eyes on Maul. If he holds any suspicion, he does not show his hand. But you can tell the dynamic is unsettling to him, that he can read there is more to this that you let on. You can only hope this interaction will be short enough and he will not demand answers.

"Please, you're my guest. I'm sure there's quite a bit in here that will interest you."

"Indeed.", you breath out.

"We should do this more often, you know? Your brilliant expertise is sorely missed. If you're looking for more permanent employ I could--"

"Vos.", Maul cuts in.

"My apologies, my Lord."

Both men go to sit as you wrap your hand around the handle of your weapon. Its body fits perfectly in your hand. You feel balance finally returning to you. How could you ever have parted with it? And to give it to Dryden, of all people. Someone with no respect for your culture nor your history. You realise too late that your anger is misdirected. Your outrage is at yourself for that show of weakness, not at anyone else. If you hadn't been so scared and alone, this would never have happened.

You rejoin the two men slowly, each step calculated. There is a powerful ally to be had in Maul, regardless of your attraction to him. This will never have to happen again. He is right, you were soft. No longer.

"I was under the assumption that the matter with the Pykes had been settled.", Maul says calmly, each word a threat of its own.

"It has."

"Then explain to me how one of them found themself aboard my ship when passing through your system."

"We're in delicate company, perhaps I could...", Dryden begins before being interrupted.

"You are a busy man, it is therefore futile for me to reiterate the conditions of your tenure of Crimson Dawn, correct?"

"Yes, my Lord.", he mutters sycophantly.

"Excellent."

Maul reaches out his hand and you place the lightsaber in his grasp as you come to stand behind him. You watch Dryden for a reaction. His jaw is clenched, his eyes narrowed at the betrayal. But he is in no position to speak or to make comments, not if he wants to keep his head attached to his shoulders. The lines on his face turn red with fury for a blink before he settles his temper. Maul rises and turns away, already on his way to the door as if finished with the conversation.

"Everything you own belongs to Crimson Dawn, belongs to me. Do not forget that."

"A pleasure to do business with you, Dryden.", you smile coyly as you lean over to pat him on the arm.

He laid beside you, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. The harsh overhead lights from Arkham crawled over your skin and his. It was late – late enough for you to bribe a few guards so you could make it into his cell. Now, silence settled over you two like a weighted blanket, suffocating, your head resting against his chest.

You studied every bit of him: the long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. The sharp edge of his nose, the strong firmness of his jaw. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sight. Quietly, you reached up, fingers trembling at the risky movement – but once your fingers connected with his cheek, his eyes snapped open.

“What are you doing?” he asked, blue eyes hazy, voice groggy with sleep.

“You’re beautiful.” The words slipped out of you against your own control.

You watched the breath catch in his throat, the subtle shock in his eyes that he quickly masked. The edge of his mouth twitched, but he turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

“Of course I am,” he finally said. “Took you long enough to notice.”

Edward Nashton was a man of many talents.

He could code at an exhilarating rate, solve equations well beyond the means of other people’s intellectual capabilities, and calculate pi to the trillionth digit. However, what Edward Nashton could not do, was be someone’s babysitter.

And that’s exactly what he felt like now as he looked at you, studying you from head to toe as Commissioner Loeb introduced you to him. Normally, Edward wouldn’t normally care about a new hire at the GCPD – but this was different. You were different.

And that was because you weren’t just any new hire.

You were a released patient from the newly refurbished Arkham Asylum that had been opened last year, a thoughtless attempt to rehabilitate Gotham’s most insane of criminals. Your file sat on Loeb’s desk, a thick stack of all of your crimes: arson, armed robbery, murder, extortion – the list went on and on. And Edward was absolutely appalled that you would be allowed out of Arkham and given a second chance at rehabilitation.

“Nashton,” Loeb said. “I’m assigning you to be her handler.”

Edward’s eyes flickered to you. “Her…handler?” More like babysitter, he thought, anger churning wildly in his stomach. He couldn’t believe this – and not only this, but he didn’t like the way you were leaning back in your seat, one leg folded across the other, a seductive smirk plastered across your face. The kind of smirk that made his skin crawl. Edward couldn’t help but notice that you were wearing a low skirt just above the knees, and a white blouse that was more low-cut for his liking, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows. There was an air about you, one filled with a seductiveness and superiority that he did not like.

Oh, he did not like this one bit.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nashton,” you said, not bothering to stand, gazing at him with a heavy gaze, a thin line of eyeliner swiped across your shimmery eyelids.

“Pleasure,” Edward muttered, but he was less than pleased at all. A criminal inside the GCPD, where you could steal secrets and feed inside information to other criminals? Not exactly something he’d like to be dealing with right about now. But he, found, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, couldn’t stop the pull as he inhaled a sexy scent of sweet salt and caramel radiating off of your body and through your hair.

“She’ll be acting as an assistant for the department,” Loeb continued. “Make sure she gets settled in and has whatever she needs.”

“Very well,” Edward said, even though a lump formed in his throat. He glanced at you again, and Loeb’s brows furrowed as he stared at him, before nodding in dismissal, waving his hand lazily.

“Well,” Edward said again, clearing his throat. “I’ll show you around.”

“Oh, and Nashton,” Loeb said, catching his attention again. “We don’t have the space around the department, so she’ll be sharing your office with you.”

That made Edward still. His skin crawled at the thought of letting you into his private space, his stomach twisting in knots, but he nodded, gritting his teeth; the very prospect of being forced to share his sacred space with you irritated him to no end. But, he clenched his jaw and swallowed down his words of anger as his fists curled into hands, digging into his palms, into the thin leather of his fingerless gloves.

You can deal with this, Edward, he told himself. He’d dealt with a lot worse in his time here already, and in his life in general. Babysitting you would be nothing he couldn’t handle. All he had to do was show you around, ignore you, and that would be that. Right?

As Edward made his way out of Loeb’s office, you followed close behind, that scent of your perfume still tickling his nose. You shut the office door behind you and turned to him, before flashing him that tricky, seductive smile. Your lips were pink and glossy, your cheeks flushed pink, and when you blinked, the shimmer across your eyelids caught in the light. There was something about you that made his heart clench in his chest, his loins stir in a way they hadn’t in a long time, but he clenched his teeth and curled his fists tighter.

“Well,” Edward said, clearing his throat. “I suppose I’ll be showing you around.” He jerked his chin for you to follow him, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

You certainly didn’t look like a criminal. He’d seen his fair share of criminals come in and out of the GCPD, and Edward was good at reading people – but you? You didn’t give off the aura of a criminal at all. Not even your eyes held that same coldness other psychopaths and murderers and degenerates held. There was something different about you, but he couldn’t place it, as much as he maybe shouldn’t bother trying.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice smooth, full of confidence.

He glanced at you again, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes dipped to look at the way your blouse was open just enough for him to get a nice peek at your cleavage. Quickly, he looked back up, his cheeks heating to the billionth degree.

“See something you like?” you asked, smirking.

Shit. You’d noticed. His cheeks burned even harder, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, averting his eyes from the way your own gaze burned holes in his skin.

“This is my office,” he said instead, opening the door and flicking on the light. Crappy, yellow overhead lightning flickered on inside his Cybercrimes Division office – which wasn’t much of a department at all. Just a couple of desks, all of them empty except his own, stacked with computer monitors and his hefty CPU he’d built from scratch with painstaking care. Perhaps against GCPD protocol, but he didn’t care much. Much better than the archaic machines that were in the precinct anyways.

“Take whatever desk you want,” Edward murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You glanced around, frowning, before you looked back at him. “This room is a dump,” you said, wandering over to one desk with a gentle sway of your hips. You reached down, swiping your finger across the thin layer of dust that had coated everything.

That made Edward snort. “Apologies, your highness. I didn’t realize I needed to do a deep cleaning before your arrival.” The sarcastic words dripped out of him like venom.

You glanced back at him, smirking, rubbing your finger against your thumb in an attempt to rub off the dust. “I don’t mind things getting a little dirty,” you replied, but there was something in your tone that made Edward’s stomach do a thousand flips.

He shifted on his feet, gazing at you as his cheeks continued to burn. But you only turned around fully and smiled, before hoisting yourself onto the desk and crossing one slender leg over the other, placing your hands behind you to prop yourself up as you leaned back. Edward’s eyes widened at how brazen and bold the movement was, and he took a step back, clearing his throat.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be on the desk,” he said, his words level.

“You could join me, if you want?” you asked, raising your brows, your tone suggestive.

Edward felt excitement shoot all the way down to his cock. Excitement that he hadn’t felt in years – as if his cock had a mind of it’s own, coming to life, desperate for attention and stimulation. He shifted back and forth on his feet and swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I don’t think so,” he said. But the words were strained, his cock pulsating.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re no fun.” You jumped off the desk, before wandering past him, pausing to reach up and pat his shoulder. “I’m sure I can change that.”

Edward’s eyes went so wide he was surprised they didn’t pop right out of his head. He blinked, trying to process everything you were saying, but he only stepped back and cleared his throat once more. This couldn’t be happening – he needed to remain at his utmost professional behavior. He could not allow himself to fall into this…trap. Whatever trap you were laying for him, like a black widow spinning her web of lies and deceit.

He took a wide step back from you, ensuring there was enough distance between the both of you, clearing his throat again as words lodged there, swollen and hollow. Finally, he said, “I’m going to show you around the department now.”

Before you could say more, he turned on his heels and headed back through the halls, determined to keep his eyes forward and his cock from growing in his pants. But the continuous sweet smell of your perfume only continued to invade his nose, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest, each heavy beat only worsening inside of him. He swallowed the lump in his throat, but continued showing you around the GCPD. You were quiet, your eyes forward, nodding along as he introduced you to several department heads. But the entire time, he couldn’t help but notice that any man you passed by, you flashed the same flirty smile, the same bedroom eyes, batting your lashes, wielding your sexuality like a weapon.

A true black widow, indeed.

By the time he finished showing you around, Commissioner Loeb pulled you back into his office to fill out some paperwork, giving Edward a moment to breathe. Wiping the sweat from his temple, he hurried into his office and quickly shut the door, sliding into his seat, fingers racing across the keys as he looked up your new employee file and everything he could find about you: apparently, you’d been in Arkham for six months, receiving extensive rehabilitation before being deemed to fit to return to society. It didn’t take him long to learn that you were living in a halfway house for convicted female felons, and that you were being forced to work here at the GCPD as part of your parole. But as he dug deeper, he found a laundry list of your crimes: from murder, to extortion, to theft. Apparently, you used to be work for your parents at the Cresthelm Foundation, but something – something Edward couldn’t quite find – made you have a psychotic break and turn to life of crime.

He tapped his fingertips against the desk, a gentle thrumming as curiosity brewed in his veins. You came from an affluent family, had a myriad of wealth at your disposal, you were well-educated…so what made you snap? That was the question he found eating away at him for the next hour, until the door to his office opened. He sat up, quickly clicking off your file and hiding it away, sitting up straighter as you entered the office.

He swiveled around in his chair to look at you. “Everything all right?” he asked, trying to maintain some sense of professional politeness, though he couldn’t care less.

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Nashton,” you replied. But your gaze was hardened like stone.

Edward lifted his chin slightly, his curiosity stirring, but he only turned away, glancing once more at his computer screen. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with you being in his office, or apparently, the assistant to the department. You crossed your arms over your chest, and looked around, gazing at his empty office, before your eyes settled on him again.

“You don’t like to decorate,” you finally said.

Well, you were right about that. He had nothing: no family photos, no little knickknacks, nothing on his desk that gave any indication that his office was like his second home.

“I find it a foolish waste of time,” was all he said.

You smirked. “Smart man.”

His heart pounded deep in his chest. That lump in his throat formed again, heat rising across his throat, but he looked away and focused back on the computer screen before him, at a random document he’d pulled up to make himself look like he was busy.

“What’s a matter, Mr. Nashton?” you asked, your voice oddly smooth and quiet as you shut the door behind you, your hands trailing down to lock it.

The sound of the lock turning made him sit up straighter and turn to you. He blinked once. Twice. A third time as he noticed the way you approached his chair with slow steps, like you were the predator and he the prey, a gentle sway to your hips. Your eyes were narrowed, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes that made his insides do a thousand flips.

“Cat got your tongue?” you asked, the corners of your lips twitching upwards.

Edward cleared his throat again, trying desperately to find the words to ask what the hell you were doing, but they caught in his mouth and died on his tongue. Finally, he prepared to stand, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair to propel himself upwards, when your hand suddenly shot out, long-nailed fingers splaying out on his chest, pushing him back down.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” you said before he could even protest. “You might be my assigned handler here, but I’m not interested in having a babysitter. Understand?”

His cheeks burned, the touch of your fingers across his sweater vest practically radiating your warmth all the way through the fabric and onto his skin. No one had ever touched him like this before – spoken to him like this before – and it was irritating and exhilarating all at the same time, excitement shooting all the way down to his neglected cock. He couldn’t help himself – couldn’t help the rush of heat pooling in his bloodstream and down to his loins. It’d been ages since he’d touched himself, nonetheless, let someone else touch him, and he felt his cock rise at attention, the sound of your dominating voice stirring desire deep in his belly. Slowly, your eyes dropped down to the growing bulge in his pants, and when you looked back up, you smiled.

“Miss—” he started to say, your name rolling off his tongue.

Your smile only grew, a wickedness filling your eyes. “What’s wrong, Mr. Nashton?”

“This is highly inappropriate,” he said, his words stumbling out of his mouth. The heat radiating across his skin and pulsating all the way down to his cock only worsened, as if he’d been dunked in a boiling vat of lava.

“I’ve always like the inappropriate,” you replied. “And I can tell you do, too.” As you spoke, you pressed your hand harder into his chest, forcing him to sit back down.

Edward’s knees buckled underneath him. The force of your hand was hardly anything strong – he was sure he could overpower you in an instant – but his knees gave out against his control, and he sank back into his chair, gazing up at you as you quietly straddled him, your thighs coming to rest on either side of him. Your skirt hiked up a little, revealing a lacy little thong, and your center brushed against the bulge in his pants. He gasped, a shark intake of breath, and shuddered as your hands settled on his shoulders.

“Have you never had a woman touch you?” you asked, laughing lightly. “How pathetic. For a man as handsome as you, I’d think you’d get all kinds of action.”

“Miss…” he said again, your name rolling off his tongue. “I don’t even know you. I’m supposed to be your handler. Not—”

“Not what? My new plaything?” you asked, rolling your hips once.

Edward shuddered again as your core rocked against his hard on. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the sensation like nothing he’d felt before. He had every urge to grab onto your hips, rip your thong right off, and impale you on his cock right then and there. But this was highly inappropriate – he could lose his job if you were caught straddling him like this, if…

“I’m no one’s plaything,” he muttered.

“See, Mr. Nashton, that’s where you’re wrong,” you whispered, leaning forward to gently brush your lips against his earlobes. “Because you’re my plaything now. And unless you’re willing to march in there and demand the Commissioner send me away, well, go for it. But if you do that, you’ll miss all the fun we’d have together. And right now, I think you could use a bit of fun.” In response, you rolled your hips once more.

Edward could’ve cum right then and there. Your body was pressed tight against his, your smell intoxicating, the feeling of your hot core so close to his throbbing cock – it was all too much, and Edward had never been in this position before. He didn’t know whether or not to push you off or bend you over his desk right here and now.

“I bet you say that to all the guys,” he muttered again, rolling his eyes.

“Only the ones I like,” you said with a light laugh, your breath tickling his cheek. “And I quite like you, Edward Nashton.”

“You’re insane,” he whispered, a low groan escaping his lips.

And then you pulled away and slid off of him, rising back to your feet and smoothing down your skirt and adjusting your blouse as if nothing had happened at all. He blinked, the heat continuing to pulse through him, his eyes going wide as you turned and unlocked the door, grabbing onto the handle, before turning back and shooting him a look.

“Sometimes insanity needs a little bit of company,” you said. “Think about what I said.”

And you were out the door without another word, shutting the door to his office behind you, leaving him all alone, breathless, his cock aching with desperate need. He smoothed back the sweaty hair from his head, wondering just what the hell happened and how he was ever going to survive the next few days, weeks, if not months, with you working here in the GCPD – but a soft smirk twitched at the edge of his lips. He’d been looking for a challenge. Someone to keep him on his toes – and maybe that’s exactly what you presented to him.

There were many things in his life that Edward did not like.

And one of them was standing right in front of him at this very moment: the man named David Payne, who had been assigned to be his new handler at the GCPD. It’d been two weeks since Payne joined the GCPD, and he was certainly living up to the nickname that Edward had pegged for David that very first day: a pain in his ass.

And oh, that’s exactly what David had become.

Now, Edward would say he wasn’t a stickler for the rules. In fact, he rather enjoyed breaking them when it was to his own benefit, when others weren’t a part of his own game, which was a different matter entirely – but Edward was determined not to let David bother him, not to let the man get under his skin.

Even though that was exactly what he was doing now.

Edward frowned, signing in at David’s desk as he was required to do every morning upon his arrival into the GCPD, as if punching in with a timecard. David was busy hunched over his desk, scribbling away at a stack of papers; his brows were furrowed, a look of frustration written across his face that Edward couldn’t help but notice. The sign-in sheet David had printed for him was resting across the edge of the desk, and Edward scribbled in his name at the bottom. Two more sign-ins and outs and he’d need to flip the page over.

“Good morning, Mr. Nigma,” Payne greeted without looking up at him.

“Good morning,” Edward muttered, barely sparing Payne a glance. As he finished signing in, he looked back up and around at the department bullpen: it was busy today, with officers and detectives mulling about. You were already heading to your desk and taking off your jacket, draping it across the back of your chair.

Edward’s heart ballooned in his chest as he took note of the way you moved, the way you walked, how you carried yourself and settled into your seat for the workday. His heart leapt into his throat, as it always did when he watched you, but he finally pulled his eyes away and headed into the Cybercrimes Division office. As he flicked on the light and began booting up the computers and monitors for the day, he couldn’t help the stirring of annoyance bundling deep within his gut. Ever since he learned about your past relationship with David Payne, he couldn’t help the jealousy rumbling deep within his bones. Edward wasn’t an idiot. He knew you weren’t a virgin – far from it, in fact – but still, having your ex-paramour here, and acting as his handler, bothered Edward more than he cared to admit to you. Especially when he watched David saunter over to your desk like he was doing now, with a cup of coffee—

Coffee?

Oh, absolutely not. Edward’s eyes immediately narrowed into slits as he watched David approach your desk, coffee in hand, as he set it down in front of you, a soft mist steaming from the mug’s opening. Rage rushed through Edward’s veins, and he clenched his teeth, grinding them together so hard they might as well shattered to dust.

Absolutely not.

Coffee was his thing with you. Not David Payne!!!

With a furious huff, Edward tore off his jacket and draped it across his chair haphazardly, instead of with the careful precision he always took, and headed back out of his office and over to your desk just in time to hear a snippet of conversation.

“David, you really didn’t have to go through the trouble of getting me coffee,” you were saying, looking between David and the mug with wide, concerned eyes.

David waved his hand nonchalantly. “I thought you’d like the pick me up. You always were a coffee fiend, princess.”

Princess. There was that nickname for you David seemed so content to use. A nickname which made the hairs on Edward’s body stand straight on end with a prickling heat. Just before you could open your mouth, you noticed him standing there and swiveled in your chair to face him, forcing a smile onto your face, but it was one of your fake smiles, the kind Edward knew meant you were trying to hide your real feelings.

“Something wrong here?” Edward asked, his tone like ice.

“Actually,” David said, looking between you and Edward, before his gaze slid to you once more. But he shut his mouth and shifted, before saying, “No. No problem here.”

And then he turned on his heels and walked back towards his desk. Edward smirked, triumph and satisfaction racing through his bloodstream. Take that, Payne, he thought. Getting David to back down was one thing, and it was clear who the winner was here.

“So,” Edward said, his gaze sliding to you. “Coffee, hm?”

“David’s just being nice,” you mumbled, but looked down at the mug, wrapping your fingers around the handle. You brought it to your lips and sipped slowly.

Edward’s smirk quickly vanished when he realized you were, in fact, not dumping out David’s coffee into the break room sink and forgetting about it entirely. The triumph in his chest fizzled to cold ash, deflating his heart like a popped balloon as it sank to his empty gut.

“Too nice,” Edward murmured.

You shot him a look. “He’s fine, Edward.”

Edward knew that look well: you were telling him to back off. To not be jealous. But he couldn’t help himself. He did not like someone else encroaching on you, trying to stake a claim over you, marking you as their own – not when you were his and his alone. Even if he was sharing you with Crane, you were still his only. And Edward would not let anyone take you from him, as long as he lived on this damn Earth.

“Just…be careful, all right?” Edward asked.

You nodded, but Edward frowned, turned on his heels, and headed back into his office to get to work for the day. But as he soon discovered, he found he couldn’t focus. His gaze continued to stray to you, and to Payne, wondering just when the man would come over and invade your personal space again. He wasn’t normally so distracted, but he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate with each passing minute. Not only that, but Edward couldn’t help but compare himself to the man – his achievements, his medals, his accomplishments. Could David Payne calculate pi to the trillionth digit? Could he build a robot army from scratch, engineering, designing and programming them all himself? No, Edward did not think he could, and that was why he had the upper hand against Payne and always would.

At least, so he thought.

It was around lunch time when Edward made his way out of his office, ready to join you in the break room, when he discovered you weren’t at your desk. Edward frowned, looking back and forth, wondering just where you could’ve gone. He made his way to the break room next, but he peeked inside and found it empty, besides two officers eating a very smelly lunch that reeked of tuna casserole. Turning away, Edward frowned, trying to find out where you might’ve gone. You’d never mentioned you were leaving to go check out a case. So where were you now? Worry bundled in his belly, and he hurried through the bullpen, checking around each corridor and nook and cranny that he could find for any sign of you, but he saw nothing. His brows furrowed, and he returned to his office, quickly pulling up the GCPD security cameras. A dozen screens appeared before him, and he searched each one, desperately wondering where you’d gone – when he finally spotted you: you were down on the lower level, where the firing range was.

But you weren’t alone. Because David Payne was with you.

Edward’s eyes narrowed into slits, his heart beating heavy against his chest. Heat prickled along his skin as he shook his head and forced himself back to his feet. You’d never mentioned going with David to the firing range – and he wasn’t going to let you stay there alone any longer with him. Edward hurried back through the bullpen, took the elevator down, and made his way to the lower level, stepping out onto the floor. The firing range was divided into two sections: the armory, where other officers were busy cleaning and putting together guns, and the firing range itself, where he could hear the echoing pop pop of guns being shot against a backdrop. But you and David were standing nearby, around one corner where Edward had seen you on the monitors. As he approached, words hanging on his tongue, he paused as he caught snippets of the conversation the two of you were having.

“I’d really like to take you out to dinner,” David was saying.

“David…” you said, quietly.

Edward paused, the breath catching in his throat. He stood there, hands curling into fists, as he listened for your next response – your rejection, anything.

“I have a boyfriend,” you finally said. “And Edward – he wouldn’t like it if he found out I was down here talking to you about dinner.”

David scoffed. “You really let him control you, don’t you?”

You sighed. “He’s not controlling me, David. He’s—”

“Then what is it? He hovers around you constantly. I can’t even bring you a damn cup of coffee without him coming to see what’s wrong, for Christ’s sake,” David said, his voice growing exasperated and breathless. “And now you’re worried about being caught with me.”

“Well, yes. You dragged me down here so he wouldn’t hear us.”

“Because I know he’s going to hover,” David replied.

Hover? Is that what Edward did? Was he guilty of hovering? No, of course he wasn’t. He was simply worried for your wellbeing, for making sure you were being safe and protected. There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with Edward keeping an eye out for you.

Was there?

“Please,” David said. “I just…dinner. As friends. That’s all I’m asking.”

Say no, detective, Edward thought, desperately.

But another word slipped from your lips instead.

“All right,” you said. “Dinner. As friends.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

Edward’s heart deflated, popped like a balloon. He immediately turned on his heels and stormed back through the armory, taking the elevator, but instead of heading upstairs, he took it down two floors to forensics. His heart hammered in his ribcage, each beat driving him mad, as anger churned hot like a wildfire in his belly. How dare David ask you to dinner. How dare David even try to butt his way into your relationship with him. David was nothing but a nuisance, a bug that needed squashing – something to be destroyed and ruined. The man couldn’t be as perfect as everyone thought he was, could he?

The doors opened, and Edward stormed down the dimly lit hall into the morgue, where he quickly found Jonathan working at his desk, surrounded by vials and beakers and chemicals, all with an acrid smell that filled Edward’s nose. As he quickly noticed, Dr. Collins wasn’t in the room, which Edward was grateful for – which meant he didn’t need to hold back.

“He asked her to dinner. Dinner! With him!” Edward cried, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. “In secret! Can you believe that?”

“Are we speaking of David Payne, or some other tiring imbecile?” Jonathan sighed.

“Payne. That – that idiotic brute,” Edward hissed through his teeth. He was trembling, hands shaking at his sides, fingers tucked into a white-knuckled grip.

“And I assume she said yes?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes. She said yes. Why would she say yes?” Edward asked, exasperated. He didn’t understand why you would say yes to David – why you would bother. Why you would want to pay the man any attention at all. Wasn’t Edward good enough for you? Was he not paying you enough attention? Was the sex not good enough? Was David offering you something more, some need that Edward was failing to meet? His mind was spinning with a thousand questions, picking apart each one, trying to find some semblance of an answer for your behavior.

“You know the simple answer is to ask her,” Jonathan said. He finally perked up from his desk of chemicals and swirled around in his chair to face Edward. His eyes were narrowed into slits, the thin scars on his face reflecting white in the light.

“But I—” Edward opened his mouth. Shut it. Jonathan was right. The simple thing to do was ask you – but there was another solution, too. He turned away, bristling, as he rubbed a hand across his jaw in consideration as a new plan began to form in his mind.

“I know that look, Edward,” Jonathan said. “What are you thinking?”

Edward turned back to him and smirked. “I have the perfect plan, Crane.”

“And what’s that, Edward?” Jonathan raised his brows, smirking.

“We’re going to get Payne fired.”

______

Edward was a believer that everyone had secrets. Everyone. Small or big, it didn’t matter what, but everyone had them in some capacity. And a man like David Payne – a man who grew up in Gotham – had to have a few secrets of his own. It didn’t matter how illustrious his career was, or how many medals he’d received – he was too perfect. So perfect, in fact, that he had to be hiding something – and Edward was determined to find it.

Edward soon found himself looking into Payne’s past. Deeper than the surface level stuff. He looked into Payne’s family history, his heritage, his school transcripts. He found old social media of Payne when he was younger, but even in high school, it seemed Payne was a rockstar: not only was he captain of the football team, the debate team, and volunteered his time at a local animal shelter in high school, but he got a free ride to Gotham University on a football scholarship, where he majored in Criminal Justice, before joining the police academy. By all accounts, all transcripts and records of David from his teachers and peers were flying colors: he was a remarkable student, well-mannered and well-liked. There was absolutely nothing Edward could find about David’s history in Gotham that sent alarm bells off on his head.

Later, when he returned to the forensics lab to find Jonathan, Edward slumped into the nearby seat and leaned back, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“The man is perfect,” Edward muttered.

“No man is perfect,” Jonathan said, shooting him a look. “Every man has a weakness of his own. Something to exploit and bend to your will. Payne will be no different if you look hard enough.”

“I have been looking,” Edward sighed, cupping his hands over his eyes to block out the blinding white lights overhead. And dammit, he’d been looking hard. But maybe…maybe the truth was that David really was perfect. Maybe there was nothing wrong with him at all.

“Have you looked into his time in Metropolis?” Jonathan asked.

That made Edward perk up. He’d been so focused on David’s history in Gotham that his missing years in Metropolis had slipped Edward’s mind. He’d been so determined to find something in David’s younger years, that the most obvious thing was escaping him now.

“Not yet,” Edward said, because he didn’t want Crane to know he hadn’t looked into it.

But Jonathan only shot him a look that said he didn’t quite believe him. The way his eyes bore holes into Edward’s skin made his own skin crawl. At least Jonathan didn’t look as scary as he did when he had that God-forsaken mask grafted onto his face.

“All men have secrets,” Jonathan said. “Don’t let him fool you, Edward.”

Edward nodded, letting Jonathan’s words sink in. David might claim he didn’t have any skeletons in his closet, but Edward wasn’t inclined to believe him. There had to be something he was missing – something David was hiding. But what was it? No man was as self-righteous and self-sacrificing as a man like David Payne seemed to be.

“I’m not easily fooled, Crane,” Edward mumbled, looking away from Jonathan’s piercing stare that could drill holes right into his skin.

“Well, you’re certainly letting him make a fool out of you,” Jonathan replied.

That made Edward’s stomach roll with anger, churning like a tidal wave. “And he’s not making a fool out of you, too, Crane?”

Jonathan blinked once. Twice. Lifted his chin slightly as his eyes narrowed into slits, before he said, “David Payne’s intentions with our little pet does not go unnoticed to my eyes, Edward. But unlike you, I’m not so easily riled up by the competition.”

Edward lifted his chin in return. “That sounds like a challenge, Crane. How about this: the first one of us to find something on Payne that can get him fired, gets, oh…a whole week with our little mouse? No sharing.”

A sparkle filled Jonathan’s eyes then, and his lips curved upwards into a smile. “Very well then, Edward. If you insist on a silly game, I’ll indulge you for now.”

Edward grinned. Oh, he had no intention of losing this one, not at all.

______

It was later that day when Edward returned to his office and soon began digging further into Payne’s past, only this time he focused his efforts on the MCPD – the Metropolis City Police Department. A cursory search only concluded that, as he’d discovered before, Payne was well-liked amongst his fellow officers and had a laundry list of five-star recommendations from his superiors. Edward supposed the only skeleton in Payne’s closet he could find at this moment of time was that he slept with a student (you) at the academy when he shouldn’t have, but it’d been so many years ago now and he no longer worked for the academy, that Edward doubted anything would come of it if he unveiled the truth to Cash.

No, he had to dig deeper.

It was a good thing Edward was good at finding people’s dirty little secrets.

And so, Edward dove deeper. Against, perhaps unsanctioned methods, he found himself hacking into the MCPD’s database, pulling up Payne’s old file and reading through it with care. There was an extensive backlog of Payne’s activities before leaving the department, but nothing that stood out or raised any alarm bells in Edward’s mind.

There was absolutely nothing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, curling his hands atop his fists in frustration. There had to be something – something Edward could use. But what was it? But the longer time passed, the more Edward was beginning to believe he just might not find anything at all.

?

There were three things Jonathan Crane was absolutely sure of: one, all men had secrets; two, there were no innocent men, and three, David Payne was keeping skeletons in his closet. Jonathan knew enough about human psychology to know that everyone – no matter how squeaky clean their record – that people always had something to hide. Some kind of moral failing or secret that they locked tightly away for no one else to find.

But find it, he would.

Jonathan was not the competitive sort, but if it meant getting to have you all to himself for one week and not having Edward breathing down his neck, he’d gladly win this little competition he and Edward had arranged.

As he left the GCPD, claiming to stay behind to do some paperwork, Jonathan waited until Payne was preparing to leave as well. As he’d come to learn, Payne stayed later than his assigned shift, often into the wee hours of the evening. That was fine with Jonathan – he had plenty of work to do, anyways, and time ticked by quickly. But as soon as he saw Payne getting ready to leave, Jonathan followed him out of the precinct. You and Edward had already left for the evening, which was good; he wanted the moment to look into Payne himself. He was certain a man like Payne would let his guard down when he believed he wasn’t being followed.

And follow him, Jonathan did.

Payne got into his car and took it out of the precinct. Jonathan called a cab, instructing the driver to remain on Payne’s tail, to which the driver only shot him a look and puffed a waft of smoke into his face from the cigarette in his hand. Jonathan waved it away, frowning deeply, the stench of nicotine filling his nose. Jonathan offered the man a thick wad of cash if he followed Payne, and as he suspected, the driver was quickly inclined to agree without question.

Typical, Jonathan thought. People were so easy to read.

Payne took his car through Gotham, weaving in and out of traffic, careful, yet with the controlled precision of a practiced driver. Jonathan’s gaze remained peeled on him, the cab careful not to be too close or too far (as if the man had done this before), before Payne pulled over to a small business downtown in Otisburg. A club named The Moonshine, with blinding white lights overhead, sparkling in hues of yellow and pearlescent, the symbol of a moon their logo, hanging above the tiled sidewalk. Payne parked out front, got out, and headed inside.

“Don’t wait for me,” Jonathan said to the driver and got out of the car. He slammed the door behind him, tucking his brown coat tighter around himself, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed Payne inside. The cab peeled away, tires roaring against the pavement.

Jonathan made his way into the club and looked around. It seemed Payne hadn’t noticed him. His head was held high as Payne made his way through the central lobby of the club, filled with a relaxing jazz music that Jonathan quite enjoyed. The club had dark blue walls with paintings of the moon and stars sprawled across, and black leather booths scattered about. The scent of wine and perfume and tobacco filled Jonathan’s nose, but he kept his eyes glued to Payne as he made his way to one singular booth in the back corner of the room and sat down beside another man, one with dark hair and beady eyes like a sharks.

Oh? Jonathan wondered, quickly finding an empty seat to take where he could keep an eye on Payne. True, Jonathan didn’t know the ins and outs of Payne’s personal life, but he found himself curious as to what the man was doing here and who he was meeting with. The more Jonathan could learn, the better. He had every intention of weeding out the competition.

Besides, any time he got alone with you was worth it.

A waitress came by, and Jonathan ordered a simple glass of Pinot Noir. From here, and with the sound of the music, he couldn’t hear the conversation Payne and the other man were saying. But what he did notice was how close they were sitting, the low conversation it appeared they were having. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he stared, curiosity swirling in his stomach. He leaned back slightly in his seat, eyes focused as he watched for a long time, long enough for his wine to arrive and for him to down half the glass with slow, careful sips. By the time he finished his glass, he noticed Payne and the man exchange a few words – before the man suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled something out: a wadded up brown paper bag, and he slid it Payne’s way. Payne grabbed the bag and opened it, glancing inside, before looking back up and nodding, a smirk twitching at the edge of his lips. And then he stuffed the bag into his coat pocket, before shaking the man’s hand and standing, heading out of the club.

Jonathan watched him go as his mind swirled with questions. There was plenty that could be in a brown paper bag that size: money, drugs, perhaps? Certainly it wasn’t big enough to conceal a gun, but it was big enough to conceal numerous other things – things that, clearly, Payne did not want anyone to see. Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed his wine stem and sipped the rest, downing it in one swallow, even though it burned on the way down. He didn’t mind the burn, didn’t mind the taste of alcohol on his tongue. He didn’t drink often, but when he did, he preferred the good stuff, top shelf.

Licking his lips, Jonathan got up and headed out of the club. He couldn’t be sure what the man had given Payne, but he certainly had a feeling that the man was hiding something from everyone – including you. And Jonathan was determined to find out what it was.

?

Edward had spent all night diving into Payne’s bank accounts. He’d stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, looking into everything he could find, including the transactional history of the MCPD – but what he soon discovered was something he hadn’t expected: a series of unauthorized transfers into an offshore bank account owned by Payne himself. The money was taken from the MCPD and deposited into Payne’s account, and there was quite a hefty amount of money involved – numerous funds in large amounts sent to the account itself. From what Edward could tell, the transfers seemed to be hidden deep within the MCPD – buried away from anyone who gave a simple glance. But for someone like Edward, who knew how to dig deep, it wasn’t hard to find. But he couldn’t help but wonder what the money was from or who it was for – but he was determined to figure out why David Payne was getting it at all.

Frowning, he rubbed at his tired, exhausted eyes. He’d been up for hours, and he was regretting it; he’d been getting far too comfortable developing a normal “sleep schedule”, and his body was growing too used to it. The printer roared to life beside him, as he printed off all of the documents he’d so far discovered. As he waited patiently for the stack to finish, he leaned back in his seat and sighed. He hoped this wasn’t a wild goose chase and would be worth it. Seeing Payne get fired, winning a challenge against Crane, and having you all to himself for a week, well…that was certainly something he was looking forward to.

All he’d need to do know was present the evidence to Cash – these shady deposits into an offshore account – and then Payne could be fired on suspicion of taking internal bribery. Yes, that’s exactly what it had to be. Why else would these transfers be hidden?

A knock on the door suddenly got his attention, and he looked up to find Mack standing there, leaning slightly into his office. He raised his brows and asked, “Hey, Nigma. I need you for something, mind giving me a hand?”

Edward glanced at the stack of papers continuing to print, but nodded, and said, “Very well. What do you need, Detective Rollins?”

And he followed him out of the office, leaving the stack to continue printing.

______

It was sometime later when Edward finished helping consult on a case for Mack when he returned to his office to find the stack of papers still where he’d left them. Frowning, he took a quick look over at them before thumbing them, curiosity lingering in his belly. It still wasn’t enough – but he’d need something more secure, more proof. Perhaps he could get Payne to fall for a trap – something to prove he was taking bribery and taking money under the table. If he had a history of this at the MCPD, he’d have to have a history of it here in the GCPD now, too. If only Edward had an opening…and that was when the idea struck him.

He slid back into his seat, fingers flying across the keyboard, as he quickly made a false program in the GCPD’s serves and set it up to be sent to Payne’s email. It would only take a few moments, just a basic question: Looking for an officer who knows the benefits of discreet. Anyone know any blues up for the job? Got myself in a situation.

The email would be sent to Payne and Payne only. No one else would get it, and if Payne responded, Edward would know almost immediately. But he’d made sure to hide the email amongst layers of encryption, so Payne wouldn’t be able to tell who it came from. If Payne responded, taking up the offer to do some dirty work, Edward knew he’d have him then. Edward smirked; oh, yes, his plan was bound to go smoothly indeed.

And as he suspected, Payne responded within minutes: I can handle it. Time and place?

Edward’s smirk returned, and he shot off a meeting location and time. This was perfect – he was going to nail Payne for this! All he had to do now was show it to the Commissioner, that Payne was willing to take bribes for anything. Once he met with Payne and proved it, it’d be over, and he’d win.

Oh, yes. It was all going to go according to plan.

Later that night, Edward told you he was staying late to do some work and waited until you left for the night. When he was certain you were gone, he headed down to the basement level to find Crane still working, hunched over his desk, scribbling on a pad of paper.

“Care to join me in seeing Payne make a fool of himself?” Edward asked.

Jonathan perked his head up and turned around. “I take it you have a plan.”

“A plan which is much greater than whatever you were doing,” he said. “And what exactly have you been doing, Jonathan?”

“I followed Payne to a club last night,” Jonathan replied. “Someone gave him something in a brown paper bag. Drugs? Money? Either way, the man is not up to anything good.”

“Then come see for yourself what happens when I catch him red-handed,” Edward said.

Jonathan smirked.

Together, Edward and Jonathan made their way out of the GCPD and headed to the Stacked Deck, a small bar. The cab dropped them off out front, and the both of them headed inside – but neither of them saw Payne anywhere. Sharing a glance with each other, they slid into one of the booths in the back, keeping their heads down and eyes open for any sign of Payne.

Except, when the door opened, it wasn’t Payne who walked in at all.

Because it was you.

“Oh shit,” Edward muttered, heat crawling up his throat.

Almost immediately, your gaze seemed to narrow in right at them – hardening when you found both of them sitting in the back, and you frowned, storming over. Edward knew the look on your face: you were mad. More than mad.

“Ah, detective,” Edward said, forcing a fake smile onto his face.

“Cut the crap,” you muttered. “Sorry, am I not the one you wanted to see? Or were you hoping David would show up instead?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Edward said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

You shot him a look, before reaching into your purse and slamming several emails down on the table in between them – the stack of files Edward had been printing earlier. Edward blinked, heat continuing to crawl up his throat as he stared long and hard at that.

“Care to tell me what you were doing digging into David’s bank accounts?” you demanded, your brows furrowing, lips pursing into a thin line.

“We believe he’s not who he says he is, pet,” Jonathan said, his voice cool and collected. “As Edward has proven, he has accepted the invitation to—”

“To catch you two being idiots?” you muttered. “He showed me the email. I know it was you who sent it, Edward. And don’t play dumb, because you’re too smart for that.”

Edward blinked. “How did you know?”

You raised your brows, your head tilting slightly to the side. “Because I heard you and Jonathan talking yesterday. I came down to surprise you both and heard you talking. Did you two really think you were going to get away with this?”

“Oh.” Edward’s gaze slid to Jonathan, who was staring at you long and hard, as if he was trying to recall when you might’ve been listening in.

But finally, Jonathan leaned back and smirked, lips twitching upwards. “Well, well, it seems you’ve played us both, pet. I’m surprised by you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled by this, you know,” you said.

“But he asked you to dinner,” Edward muttered, as if that would somehow make this better, as if it was a good enough reason for his behavior.

“So that gives you free reign to get him fired?” you asked.

“Well, I…” Edward didn’t know what to say.

“Well, for starters, we’re going back to the GCPD and you’re both telling Cash everything. And then apologizing to David. Are we clear?” you asked.

Edward groaned, throwing his head back like he was a small child. He felt Jonathan’s glare on his skin, burning holes into him, drilling all the way down into his soul.

“But how do you explain all of this?” Edward asked, gesturing to the stack.

“Cash will explain all of it to you when we get back to the precinct,” you muttered, before spinning on your heels and heading out of the bar without another word.

Edward sighed, looking back at Jonathan, but the two of them followed you out of the bar. Together, the three of you returned to the precinct, and you led the way into Cash’s office – where David Payne was already waiting.

“Well, well,” Cash said, smirking. “My two trouble makers are here. Care to tell me what’s been going on?”

“Why, yes, if David here explains first,” Edward muttered.

David looked between everyone, before shaking his head and laughing. “The offshore bank account payments were from an undercover operation,” he said. “I was working on an under-the-radar case. The head of the precinct didn’t want the funds to be known in case someone went digging into the MCPD bank accounts. You can call him if you want and ask. Cash has the file about the operation right here.”

In response, Cash slid a case file closer to Edward across the desk.

Edward frowned, snatching it up – and sure enough, David was right: he’d once been involved in an undercover operation, taking down a series of gangs within Metropolis. As a result, the funds he was given to continue his undercover case had been placed in an offshore account, out of the view of most prying eyes.

“Then how do you explain what that man gave you in the bar?” Jonathan asked.

David threw his head back and laughed. “He’s an old friend of mine. We met up for a drink. He said if we ever met up again, he’d owe me this.” From his seat, he pulled out the brown paper bag and handed it over to Jonathan.

Jonathan shot him a curious look, before opening the bag and peering inside. Edward raised a brow, leaning over slightly to attempt to glimpse a better look, before Jonathan turned the bag towards him fully – but as soon as Edward looked inside, his insides deflated.

Because staring at him was a pair of google eyes attached to glasses to a large, fake bulbous nose. The kind of googly eyes that bounced out and wiggled with movements. Edward blinked once. Twice. A third time. Tried very hard to wrap his head around the ridiculousness staring at him in the face. This was the bag Jonathan thought that was so suspicious? He raised his hand, his gaze sliding to him, narrowing into slits, but Jonathan only looked just as perplexed.

“I lost a bet a few years ago,” David said by way of explanation. “He said if I ever returned to Gotham, I’d have to wear that the next time I volunteer at the hospital. I volunteer and read to the children there who are sick. The kids will get a kick out of it.”

Of course David Payne volunteered at the hospital and read to the children. What else didn’t the man do that was so spectacular and made him the golden boy of the precinct? Edward frowned, grinding his teeth together, as he looked around the room, before his gaze finally landed on Cash’s smug smirk, the self-satisfied smile across his lips. Heat crawled up Edward’s throat and he turned to you next, but all he saw was the fire burning in your eyes. Your arms were crossed, your brows furrowed, looking less than pleased with him.

Shit, Edward thought. This was not good.

“Well?” Cash asked, leaning back in his seat. “I think you two owe Payne an apology. What were you even hoping to achieve?”

“Well, we, I—” Edward stumbled over his words. How was he supposed to explain what his master plan was? A master plan that had spectacularly failed.

Payne smirked at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you: I have no skeletons in my closet, Nigma. Dig all you want, but you won’t find anything. Maybe that I got a C on a math test in high school, but that’s about it.”

Edward’s frown deepened as embarrassment flooded all throughout his bloodstream. It ignited like a wildfire in his veins, and he clenched his fists together, the brown paper bag balling in his hands. He grinded his teeth together and felt his cheeks burn with deep crimson. Jonathan looked back at him, but Edward swore he saw the same redness crawling up his throat, too.

“Actually,” Cash said, pulling back Edward’s attention. “I want to thank you for bringing David’s brave heroics to my attention. I think I’m gonna offer you a promotion, David. You’ve earned it.”

“What.” The word slipped out of Edward’s mouth.

What?!?

No – this was the complete opposite of what Edward wanted. Payne was supposed to get fired, supposed to be packing his desk up right about now and be on his way out of here. Not this! Anger churned in his belly, and he watched the way you smirked at the new development.

“Now, you two get out of my office while I discuss David’s promotion with him,” Cash said. “And don’t let me find you pulling this kind of BS again.”

Like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs, Edward turned around on his heels and headed out of the office, Jonathan close on his heels. But when Edward looked back, he found you following, shutting the door behind yourself. As soon as the door was shut, you turned to both of them, an enraged look crossing your face.

“You two have a lot of nerve trying to get David fired,” you hissed. “I can’t believe you would do this – that you would try to get him fired!”

“Detective, I—” Edward started.

“No,” you snapped, shaking your head. “I don’t want to hear it. You two are both on my shit list right now. And I’m not speaking to either of you.”

With a huff, you sauntered past them and headed through the department, a swish to your hips that Edward figured was very purposeful, and you disappeared around the corner, out of view. Edward’s skin heated to the millionth degree, embarrassment and shame burning him from the inside out, and he looked back at Jonathan.

“Well,” Jonathan said. “That did not go as planned.”

“No,” Edward muttered. “No it did not.”

Absolutely nothing had gone according to plan, and Edward knew he was going to feel the full brunt of your anger for the next few weeks to come.

Edward Nigma was a man who required 24/7, undivided, single-minded devotion.

Not affection. Not partnership. Devotion. The kind that demanded you rearrange your entire schedule, moral compass, and internal monologue around the gravitational pull of his ego. The kind of loyalty that bordered on spiritual. 

And you? You gave it freely. Willingly. Obsessively. Your admiration for him wasn’t subtle. It was a public service announcement. A one-woman private fan club with no shame and no filter. If he so much as quoted Fibonacci at breakfast, you clapped. If he ranted about subpar encryption algorithms over dinner, you swooned. You had once compared the cadence of his voice to an aria composed by artificial intelligence and rage. 

Lucky for you, he hadn’t kicked you out for it.

In fact, your absolute, shameless worship of him was probably the only reason he tolerated you at all. No—that wasn’t fair. He didn’t just tolerate you. You were useful. Amusing, even. A well-trained audience with the occasional flash of insight. A little mascot who threw yourself at his feet and begged for the privilege of watching him monologue about zero-knowledge proofs or his latest grudge against the GCPD and Batman and whoever poor bastard that crossed him. You doted. You applauded. You followed him around with bright eyes and a notebook. You were—forgive the crude term—a groupie. A fangirl. A living, breathing ego boost in sneakers.

You loved him. Not in some vague, innocent, fluttery-hearted way. No, you loved Edward Nigma the way a forest fire loves droughts. You adored his mind. His charisma. His cruelty. You memorized the lines of his face, tracked the rhythm of his speech, catalogued his temper tantrums like weather patterns. You found poetry in the way he cursed at his bots when they failed. You once described his smile as “visceral.” And meant it.

You were content—almost content—with knowing it would never be returned. You weren’t delusional. Not entirely. You understood who he was. The kind of man he was. What made him tick. The psych profiles were public domain by now—Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline, High-functioning sociopath. Obsessive-Compulsive Traits, God Complex, take your pick of the DSM-5. 

Love wasn’t in his code. You knew that. You accepted it. So you didn’t ask for affection. You didn’t need it. You just needed the privilege of being near him.

And he? Well. He let you stay. Because deep down, maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that liked being loved this loudly. 

Even if he’d rather die than admit it.

Of course, that never stopped you. Not really. Your love wasn’t the sort that shriveled without reciprocation. No, your affections were self-sustaining—thriving on scraps, on glances, on that rare moment when Edward let his guard down long enough to forget you were watching. Still, even your depraved little heart had limits. You could only bottle up so many fantasies before the pressure built, before your mind—bless it—needed an outlet.

So, naturally, you turned to the only coping mechanism you trusted: fanfiction.

Yes. Fanfiction.

Not just yours. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no… 

There was an entire underground fandom dedicated to Gotham’s infamous Rogues Gallery, an entire internet ecosystem of anonymity and madness. Forums, blogs, private Discord servers, locked taglists. Digital shrines built to the city’s most wanted. People who didn’t just fear the rogues—they loved them. Obsessively. Passionately. Erotically.

And you? Well, you fit right in.

You picked the best following, obviously.

Each rogue had their own little cult: Joker with his chaos-worshippers. Ivy and her eco-feminist simps. Two-Face and his yin-yang kink crowd. Scarecrow and his masochists. Even fucking Condiment King had a niche following—mostly ironic, you assumed. But The Riddler? The Riddler had an audience. A devoted one. Hundreds of writers, artists, and degenerates bleeding their admiration into every piece of horny prose they uploaded.

So yes, you indulged. You let yourself get pulled into the filth. You read late into the night, one hand buried between your thighs and the other scrolling. And if you happened to print out your favorites? Keep a few copies stashed for emergencies? Well, who was going to stop you?

He was your heart. Your gloriously brilliant, narcissistic, sociopathic, riddle-wielding megalomaniac of a man. You scrolled endlessly through his tag, heart pounding every time you found a fic that got the voice just right. Every time someone described his hands the way you imagined them—precise, elegant, cruel. You had favorites bookmarked. You had headcanons. You had opinions about his stamina. You knew exactly how you wanted him, and the internet—God bless America—gave you content.

...Yet.

Certainly not Edward.

He had no idea.

But then—you slipped up.

You weren’t paying attention. Which, ironically, was exactly the sort of thing that got you in trouble. Not just with him. With yourself. With the universe. But in your defense, this piece was so good—hot enough to short-circuit your brain. The kind of smut that made your thighs shift and your fingers twitch, your mouth parted just slightly as you reread the same paragraph for the third time, breath catching with every line...

“You’re really pushing it today,” he rasps, voice taut with suppressed fury. His empty hand catches your other wrist, keeping you close to his body. His thumbs rub little circles on your palms, but the look in his eyes is anything but soft. It’s a warning. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?”

“Something hot, I hope.”

Edward’s eyes narrow. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” He walks you backward, step by step, deep into the bedroom, your low fairy lights luminating the pathway. “That smart mouth. Running away from me. Acting like a petulant child just to see how far you can push me.”

“Is it working?”

“Oh, it’s working.”

You were just reaching the clash—already squirming a little where you sat, lip caught between your teeth—when it was ripped away from you. Not emotionally. Not metaphorically. Physically. Yanked.

A startled whine burst out of you, unfiltered and immediate, something sharp and needy and too genuine to fake. You clutched at the air, blinking in disoriented horror as the page disappeared from your hands.

And then you heard him.

“What,” Edward drawled, dangerously calm, “could possibly be so important that it prevents you from listening when I’m talking to you?”

Your blood ran cold.

Your face ran hot.

Your body made a whiplash attempt to do both at once, because there he was—looming, frowning, one hand pinched around the paper you’d just been drooling over. It hung limply in his grasp, crinkled from your fingers, the print still fresh enough to read with ease if he so much as tilted his head.

Which he did.

Which he was doing now.

You were fucked. So fucked.

The page crackled softly as he adjusted his grip, fingers twitching with faint disdain. You weren’t sure if it was because of the content or the formatting—Edward had opinions about both. And yet… he still hadn’t looked at you. Still hadn’t handed it back. Still hadn’t burned it, ripped it, made a scene.

Edward Nigma, The Riddler, was reading it.

Your stomach dropped through the floor. “Edward,” you tried, voice too high, too quick, “that’s not—I mean, it’s just—"

His brows twitched. His eyes narrowed. His mouth moved—just slightly, silently—and you knew exactly what line he’d hit.

And then he read it. Aloud.

“‘You think you’re cute, don’t you?’” His tone was flat. Curious. Calculating.

Your soul detached from your body.

Edward blinked. Once. Then again. And then slowly, like he was solving a riddle carved into an ancient tomb, he tilted his head and looked at you. Something flickered behind his eyes. Confusion, sure. Offense? Probably. But also… amusement. Or horror. Maybe both. He was short-circuiting in real time.

“This is…” He flipped the page, scanning more. “This is me. This is fictional pornography of me. You’re reading… your own filth about me.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I mean—not mine mine. I didn’t write it—”

“Illiteracy would be the least concerning factor here,” he muttered, eyes flicking down again, brow furrowing deeper. He was blushing now. You could see it. High on his cheeks, creeping toward the tips of his ears. His gaze darted, flicked across a line that made his nostrils flare and his lips part slightly, and oh no, he was still reading.

“Edward,” you croaked, reaching for the paper. “Please—”

But he stepped back. Out of reach. He held it high, a hostage negotiator clutching a ticking bomb.

“Do you have any idea what kind of psychological implications are buried in this text?” he asked, the voice of a man drowning in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what this says about your obsessive tendencies, your compulsive emotional projection, your frankly unrealistic expectations of my—” He paused. His mouth moved. You saw his pupils dilate. “Oh my God, there’s a line about my hands—”

That was your moment. You lunged. Snatched the page right from his distracted grasp.

“Hey—!”

You didn’t run. No. You stood your ground, smoothed the page, cleared your throat, and read it aloud.

“‘That smart mouth. Running away from me. Acting like a petulant child just to see how far you can push me—’”

“STOP READING THAT IN FRONT OF ME,” Edward barked, voice an octave too high, already retreating like a spooked alley cat.

“‘Oh, it’s working,’” you purred, walking after him with the slow, deliberate menace of someone with nothing to lose.

“You’re unwell!” he snapped, backpedaling toward the hallway.

“Thank you,” you chirped sweetly, flipping the page.

“Do not follow me with that—”

You did.

You absolutely did.

You pressed forward, drunk on the power of watching Gotham’s most arrogant man literally run from your voice.

“‘In one swift, fluid motion, he spins you around—’”

“Do not say the dresser line—”

“‘The way he shoves you into the dresser, the mirror rattling against the wall—’” you called after him, voice sing-song. “—is almost reckless, and it makes you giggle.’”

Edward made a sound—half choke, half high-pitched snarl—and whipped around with wide eyes. “That never happened.”

You flipped the page like a weapon, eyes sparkling. “No,” you purred, grinning, “but you’re thinking about it now.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Color flared in his cheeks, high and hot. “You are—” His voice broke again, and he pointed at you, trembling slightly with indignation. “—deranged. You have a condition. You need to be sedated.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” you chirped, flipping to a fresh page. “Let’s see… ‘his grip tightens on your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze—’”

“No.”

“‘Gone is the teasing smirk, replaced by raw, unfiltered need—’”

“STOP!”

“‘You know sometimes you can push him too far, but the sight of him like this, utterly consumed by desire—’”

“OH MY GOD.”

“You don’t remember this one?” You paused, feigning confusion. “You wanted me to call you Mister Nigma, sir—”

Edward’s entire soul left his body. You could see it. The exact moment he ascended into another realm. He staggered back like he’d been hit by a tranquilizer dart, one hand flailing for balance against the nearest wall.

“Where did you even get these?” he croaked.

A theatrical gasp was inhaled sharply through your lips, a hand to your chest. “Oh, Eddie…” You gave him a wicked, sympathetic smile. “Baby, you’ve got fans.”

He looked like he was about to vomit.

Then you stepped forward, shaking the next page out with reverence. “You want to hear the one with the wet thong line? It’s a favorite.”

“No!” he cried, a man on the edge. “You’re sick! You’re feral! You need a leash and—wait, don’t read another word—”

“‘And as if he can read your mind, Edward’s hand shifts between your legs—’”

Reaching a fever pitch, he let out an honest-to-god shriek and bolted back down the hall, muttering curses about arson and selective amnesia.

And you? You followed. Smiling. Reading.

Because if you were going to go to hell, you were dragging him with you.

You pursued him with the unrelenting focus of someone with absolutely no shame and nothing to lose. Edward was retreating fast now, his boots scuffing the concrete as he moved like the hallway might grow a trapdoor to swallow him if he just ran hard enough.

“You’re embarrassing yourself!” he called over his shoulder, breathless, one hand gesturing frantically while the other waved in an attempt to swat away your voice like a fly. “Do you want me to have a stroke?! Is that your plan?!”

“I’m just trying to support your legacy!” you beamed.

He disappeared around the corner.

You took a deep breath and turned the page.

“‘M-Mister Nigma…’ you gasp, your voice breathy and needy as you rock on his fingers—’”

“NOOOOOO!”

You rounded the bend just in time to see him stumble against the far wall, his hands braced like he was trying to physically hold his soul inside his body. His ears were crimson. His hair was a disaster. His breathing was not okay.

“‘Please, please, Mister Nigma, sir, please make me cum—’”

“SHUT! UP!” he howled, hands flying to his head. “I’M GOING TO FLING MYSELF INTO THE GOTHAM BAY.”

“Eddie,” you purred sweetly, slowing your pace now, savoring the kill. “You should be flattered. Not everyone gets literary tribute written to the exact way they touch cunt.”

“IT’S FICTION!” he screamed, voice cracking. “IT’S LITERARY DEFAMATION!”

You stopped a few feet away, grinning down at him where he had slumped dramatically against the wall like a man in mourning.

“Oh,” you cooed, folding the papers with exaggerated care, tucking the chaos under an arm. “If you think this is bad, wait until you see the fanart.”

His whole body shuddered. “There’s pictures?”

“Full color,” you cooed. “Shading and everything.”

Edward groaned—loud, full-body, forehead-to-wall groaned.

And you, victorious and still high off the chase, just patted his shoulder as he tried to reboot.

“Let me know if you want me to have the author write a sequel,” you added helpfully. “I was thinking next time, maybe in your workshop. Tools involved. Bit of a dom!Riddler callback…”

He wheezed like a dying cat as he slid to the floor. Your eyes followed, watching bemused, lips pursing to the side.

“...I’ll take that as a yes.”

AN: Shameless plug of my fic Candy referenced in this. :3

Did you like this? Check out the rest of the PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE RIDDLER series!

Tag List: @trulydisturbed @wolfsrahne28 @riddled-with-fear @illustratedartist @angelsmile28 @caesariawritesstuff @jezabellesunshine @wingedqueenlynx @jazanatorr

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Favorite Position:

Doggystyle. Edward craves control, and this expands heavily into the bedroom. He needs to be 100% in control at all times. Any position where he’s in control is his favorite, particularly when it comes to taking his partner from behind. He likes how dominating it feels to control the pacing and thrusts, that he can grab his partner’s hips or ass or hair and force their face into the bed/nearby surface.

Really, any position where he can maintain eye contact, control the way he fucks his partner and keep them submissive, is what he gravitates towards.

Least Favorite Position:

Edward isn’t a huge fan of missionary. He finds it to be too intimate and too close. His chest pressed against his partner’s, with barely any space in between, makes him feel too vulnerable and like every part of him can be seen, and he hates that.

Edward may only engage in missionary with a partner who he feels deeply for, or when he’s trying to use the position to maintain more control over his partner. Essentially, anything where he’s physically close enough to touch noses is uncomfortable for him.

Oral – Giving or Receiving or Both:

Edward loves to both give and receive oral. He definitely enjoys burying his face in his partner’s cunt; he loves the taste, the smell, and the way he can bring his partner to tears through overstimulation with just the use of his tongue. He already has a Silver Tongue, and putting it to another use is a huge turn on for him.

Likewise, he enjoys receiving it as much as the next man. Having his partner’s lips wrapped around his length, pleasuring him while he looks down from above, is sure enough to make him mentally unravel.

Anal:

Edward is into it. He doesn’t mind getting in there and using his mouth, either. He quite enjoys the way his partner submits to him and allows him to have complete control and trust. He see’s it as a sign of his partner’s true submission.

Turn-Ons:

Anything where he’s in control is a turn on. His partner being actively submissive is enough to immediately make his cock hard. He won’t admit it out loud, but he’s also particualry a fan of a bratty partner – someone who will push his buttons and toe the line of his patience. Having a partner who flares him up is a turn on.

Of course, he also depends greatly on praise and ego-stroking. Mentioning how genius and amazing he is, how handsome and skilled – it’s all a recipe to get him going.

Intelligence is a must. Edward doesn’t have time for a partner he deems to be “stupid”. Which, unfortunately, is how he considers most people. However, if he were to find a partner who he found some value in, he’d be interested.

Someone who has the same interests as him, such as a knack for computers or anything mechanical, will catch his attention. It’s much easier for him to engage in conversation with someone who actually knows what he’s talking about rather than give him a deer in the headlights look.

A partner who knows what they want. Edward doesn’t have time for someone who’s indecisive or uncertain. He appreciates someone who takes charge, makes decision, and sticks to them.

Cleverness is also a big turn on. Someone who can match his wit, or engage in a verbal sparring match with him will catch his interest. He needs someone who can keep him on his toes and challenge him, not bore him.

Turn-Offs:

Humiliation is a huge no-no when it’s directed at him. While he doesn’t mind humiliating his partner, if it’s turned back on him in any way, he won’t be happy. He also hates feeling out of control, unless it’s calculated and a planned part of the intimate game, so to speak.

Disrespect and disloyalty. He doesn’t appreciate a partner who’s going to disrespect him, and any blow to his ego is going to make him crumble into pieces, even if he won’t show it. He also doesn’t have time for someone who doesn’t want to make time for him. If someone decides someone, or something else, is more important, he’s quick to lose patience and interest.

Stupidity. If a partner is too dimwitted or has what he deems is a low IQ, he’s going to quickly be turned off. Especially if this person has no willingness to learn, he’s not going to waste his time.

Anyone who’s overly pompous. Edward is allowed to have an ego, but if his partner acts too high and mighty with their nose up in the air, he’s going to be disgusted.

Kinks:

Praise Kink – he depends on his partner singing his praises. If his partner tells him how wonderful he is, especially while in the middle of the deed, he won’t be able to control himself.

Breeding Kink – while Edward has no interest in being a dad, he can’t help but feel like Gotham and the rest of the humanity would benefit from him passing on his outstanding genetics. He gets off on the idea of breeding his partner and having offspring.

Cane Play – Edward definitely enjoys using his cane in the bedroom. He likes to use the question-mark end for spanking, or the staff end to tilt his partner’s chin up or run it down his partner’s body.

Light Bondage/Spanking/Control - He’s into light bondage and spanking, including the use of cuffs or restraints, or using collars on his partner. He’ll never allow it on himself, but with his partner, he enjoys the control and seeing them vulnerable.

Speech Control – “Yes, sir. No, sir.” Edward greatly values respect, and having a partner who address him as such – or even as “Mr. Nigma, sir” is sure enough to turn him on and drive him wild.

Objectification – Treating his partner like a toy. Really, anything that allows him control is a big kink.

Experience Level:

Eddie doesn’t have too much physical experience. He’s quite picky and selective when choosing a partner, so his experience level is little to none. But you can be damn sure that this man has read every book, article, sex guide, and manual available to ensure he’s properly prepared to give and receive pleasure. His need for control masks his inexperience, but he’s a quick learner, and it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he’s doing.

His photographic memory also makes it easy for him to remember porn and techniques he’s seen that he can then utilize in the act. Once he gets started, he’s going to dedicate himself to being Edward Nigma, the Greatest Lover You’ve Ever Had.

Pace Preference:

Maintaining control, above all things, is his first priority. Edward greatly prefers to take things at his own pace. He loves to drag things out, to enjoy the game of back and forth with his partner. But when he loses himself in the moment, he’s prone to becoming intense, possessive, and dominating.

Anything too slow makes him uncomfortable. If the sex is too slow, almost on the verge of making love, than he feels too vulnerable, as if you’re looking at every part of him. He needs to maintain a moderate to rough pace to keep himself from feeling like he’s tipping over the edge into something more.

Aftercare:

Since Eddie resents vulnerability, his aftercare is very minimal. He’s quick to return to whatever he was doing and put on the mask of control, snark, and cockiness. He refuses anything from his partner – like water or a tissue to clean up and will get what he needs himself.

However, he is quick to get his partner a towel or some water if the session was particularly intense. He won’t show vulnerability during this time, but uses this a way to ensure his partner is still taken care of and depends on him.

Dirty Talk:

This man loves dirty talk. He playfully disguises it behind clever word play, superiority, riddles, and double meanings. He gets off on making his partner squirm. This man is not above talking filth, and enjoys watching his partner flush from his words. He’s quite a fan of degrading his partner, and anything that makes him feel like he’s “winning” is a plus.

Public vs Private:

While the thrill of getting caught is tempting, Edward would despise actually being caught in such a vulnerable position with his pants down. He also would refuse to allow his partner to be seen that way, either. Secret trysts where they could almost be caught still gives him the edge he wants without the actual danger.

Doing the deed behind closed doors where someone might hear you is a huge turn on. The knowledge that someone might walk in at any moment or one of his goons might hear it will thrill him.

Control Preference:

Control is a 100% a must. He only allows his partner to take perceived control. When he does, it’s a calculated move, and he never truly gives up total control. He refuses to budge an inch and show any ounce of vulnerability.

Clothing Preference:

Edward is quite insecure about his body. The act of fully undressing feels far too intimate for his liking. He’s usually willing to unbutton his shirt or shrug off a jacket, and usually just slips his cock out of his pants instead of taking them off fully.

He truly has to like his partner and trust them to feel vulnerable enough to undress fully, but that trust needs to be well-earned.

As for his partner, Edward doesn’t care what they wear or how they dress on a day-to-day basis. He doesn’t have time to notice such things – however, he is a bit of a fan of seeing his partner dress up for him. Whether it to be a nice dress or suit and tie, he’s going to notice if something is different.

However, he is desperate to see his partner in green. If you go out of your way to wear something green for him – green clothes, green lingerie, etc – he won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.

During the deed, he prefers his partner to be fully naked, or at least partially unclothed. He gets off on the power dynamic of being mostly dressed while his partner isn’t.

How to Fluster Them:

Genuine praise from his partner that isn’t part of the game is sure to fluster Edward. Anything that catches him off guard emotionally, such as a tender moment from his partner, can make Edward lose focus on the task at hand. Especially if his partner manages to surprise or outwit him.

Edward relies so heavily on control, and is so traumatized from years of abuse, that anything from his partner that feels real is sure enough to make him squirm. A random compliment that isn’t part of the game or is thrown his way will catch him off guard.

Actually engaging with him. Edward might not admit it out loud, but he’s used to people ignoring him because he talks so much. If you actually keep your attention on him and what he says, and engaged in conversation with him, he’s going to notice.

Favorite Time of the Day:

Late at night. Edward prefers the quiet solitude that night time brings. He loves the quiet sounds of the city, and how it feels he can be with his partner uninterrupted. Having a moment where he no longer has to put on a show and can somewhat relax is something he craves.

Favorite Place to Have Sex:

Edward isn’t particularly picky about the location – though he does quite enjoy bending his partner over his work bench or hoisting them on top of it. He likes the control of having his partner in his space.

Edward is hesitant to invite a partner into his bedroom. He’ll only do so if he truly cares about his partner and is willing to show that level of vulnerability with them.

Secret Soft Spot:

His scalp. Preferably if his partner has long nails and can scratch and massage through his hair. It’s enough to make him melt, even if he won’t show it.

Favorite Place to Be Touched:

His hands, wrists, and forearms. He works so much with his hands, and having them be touched and massaged is a huge relaxation for him.

Least Favorite Place to Be Touched:

Definitely his neck. He has far too much trauma from being choked out by Batman to ever let a partner touch or kiss him there. If he did eventually, it’d be a huge level of trust and commitment to his partner to let his guard down like that.

Jealousy/Possessive Level:

Extremely possessive, and easily jealous. Anyone who so much looks in his partner’s direction or shows them an ounce of affection, and he’s already plotting their demise in his head. He hates competition, and the thought of losing what he considers “his” is quick to make him angry and territorial.

Edward is a master planner, and he’ll be quick to rid himself of any competition. Whether it be murder, blackmail, or a bribe – he’s sure to eliminate anyone who gets in his way.

Favorite Compliments During Sex:

Anything that praises his ego – especially his intellect – but he’s not picky about his physical appearance being complimented, too. Really, this man’s praise kink and desperate need for attention is through the roof. He’s sure to soak up any compliment at all.

Stamina:

High. This man might not be the most physically capable, but he has spent years doing manual labor by working with machines and engineering traps. He can last quite long ad push himself far, but he’s not usually going to go multiple rounds without some time in between. If he does manage to get it up quickly soon after the first round, it’s usually do to him being very turned on or feeling the need to continue punishing (or rewarding) his partner. If it’s just a quickie, don’t count on him to get it up again so soon after, especially if he’s distracted or feels like he has too much work to do.

Marking Preference:

Edward absolutely loves marking his partner. Bruises, hickeys, a collar or jewelry with a hidden meaning – he wants the world to know who his partner belongs to, and he isn’t afraid to show it. Bites and scratches are a plus, too.

Edward desperately needs the world to know who you belong to. He’ll parade you around in all green, especially an outfit with his question mark motif on it, just for people to know he has a claim over you.

Tits, Ass, or Both:

Edward enjoys both, but he prefers the grip and hold a nice ass gives him. He’s particualry fond of spanking. Of course, he loves burying his face in a nice pair of tits and sucking and squeezing them to his content.

Length:

About 6 inches flaccid, 7 when erect. Bigger than people expect.

Circumcised, slightly angled upwards and a little to the left. Several noticeable veins running through the shaft.

Mess Preference:

This man is not above making a mess. Blood, Sweat, Saliva, Cum – it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he gets off on seeing how ruined his partner is. Seeing his partner lying there, sweaty or their eyes glassy as cum pools out of them – it’s definitely a sight he won’t forget anytime soon.

In fact, if his partner doesn’t look ruined afterwards, he’s going to consider that a failure. He needs you to look like you’ve just been thoroughly fucked or he won’t feel accomplished in the act.

Grooming Preference:

When he’s in a better mental state, he prefers to keep himself neat and tidy. But when Edward’s not in a good mental state, he lets himself go, since personal hygiene and grooming go out the window.

It’s not uncommon for Edward to be wearing dirty, oil-stained clothes and to have greasy hair or dirty fingernails if he’s been working long hours.

He prefers his partner to keep themselves neat and tidy, but he’s not too picky. He doesn’t care much if his partner is in the same state as him or immaculately groomed, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of sex.

Love Language (In Bed):

Words of Affirmation. This man is starved for attention. Worshipping his mind and moaning his name like he’s the last man on Earth is going to completely unravel him.

Acts of Service is secondary. He won’t say it out loud, but knowing you’re taking the extra effort to take care of him – feed him, remind him to rest, keep his workspace neat and tidy – are all things he’ll appreciate more than he’ll ever say aloud.

Sexual Insecurities:

As much as he masks it with arrogance, Edward has incredibly low self-esteem. He’ll hide it behind tricky words of grandeur, but deep down, he’s terrified that he’s not enough – not strong enough, not handsome enough, too loud, too annoying, too controlling and too desperate for your attention. He’s afraid that if he slips up, let’s the real him through, that you’ll realize he’s a waste of space and that you’ll leave him.

This ties into his ability to please you in bed. He won’t show it, but deep down, he’s worried he’s not man enough to please you, and that you’ll be so unsatisfied that you’ll look for someone else instead. His lack of experience makes him feel not worthy enough for your attention and like he’s not going to prove himself in bed.

Post-Sex Behavior:

Edward switches between two modes: overly talkative or unusually quiet. If he’s engaged in a quickie, he’ll usually go right back to what he was doing and dismiss you without saying much. If the sex was intense, he spends much of his time afterwards analyzing what the sex meant and what it means to him, and to you. He’ll fall quiet while he’s overanalyzing, but try to mask his concern by being talkative and putting back on his mask of arrogance. Edward hates to show vulnerability during sex, and unless he truly cares about his partner, he won’t cuddle with them. Cuddling is too intimate – and his partner truly needs to be special to show that side of himself.

Edward definitely pretends not to let the intimacy bother him, but deep down, it does. He refuses to show any ounce of vulnerability and tenderness if he can help it. Sex is not something he takes lightly. The very act of choosing a partner, being intimate, and allowing himself to be one with someone is not something he decides to do without much thought taken when it comes to the risks and rewards.

Edward’s fingers raced across the keys. A greenish glow from the computer cast along his face, reflecting in the frames of his glasses. His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration pounding at his temples. There was never a dull moment in the GCPD, was there? He’d been hunched over his desk for three hours now, working tirelessly on coding and processing systems. He needed to get his work done – the quicker, the better. He was itching to get out of here and end his workday. He just wanted to be back at your apartment with you, enjoying his evening.

“Nigma!” a voice said. Loud, gruff, calling him from the other room.

Edward perked up. Cash’s voice boomed throughout the Homicide Division’s floor. Sighing, irritation prickled across his skin as he stood from his seat, heading out of his office. Why was Cash calling him? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? No, of course not. He’d been on his best behavior for weeks now. He made his way through the bullpen, his gaze straying for just a moment towards your desk – which was empty, alongside Mack’s. The two of you were currently off investigating another case. It would probably be a few hours before you returned. Turning his attention back to Cash, he entered Cash’s office, but surprise rippled through him when he saw another man sitting at the desk, across from the Commissioner.

The man immediately looked up and turned to him, quickly standing. He had broad shoulders and quite the handsome face: bright blue eyes the color of the sky, a chiseled jaw, blonde hair neat and cut short. He looked like a model out of a men’s cologne ad, and he even smelled of patchouli, oud, and amber and iris.

“Nigma,” Cash said. “I want you to meet Sergeant David Payne. Payne, this is Edward Nigma.” His voice was filled with a strange, comfortable lightness.

“Ah, Mr. Nigma,” David said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you. You’re quite the name around here.”

Edward didn’t shake his hand. Instead, his eyes narrowed into slits as he frowned, studying the far too-handsome man in front of him. He wore a pair of blue slacks and a white button down with a matching blue-and-gold tie. An expensive, leather watch was around his left wrist, the face of the watch a crystal clear, reflective surface.

“Nigma,” Cash said, clearing his throat. “I know we’ve had Rollins filling in as your handler for a few weeks while we get someone else to fill the position, and that’s where Sergeant Payne comes in. He’ll be taking over the role of your handler.”

Edward’s frown deepened. Sergeant Payne? More like a pain in his ass. He bristled, but forced his best smile onto his face, determined to make the best impression he could.

“Well,” Edward said. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified for the job.” Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why a man like Payne would want this job at all.

“I’m looking forward to work together,” David said.

“Likewise,” Edward muttered, his smile growing tight-lipped and forced. He’d always known Mack wouldn’t remain his handler forever, but still, he wasn’t expecting this.

Cash looked between them, his nostrils flaring, as if he could sense the tension between them. “Payne will reach out to you later. I’m currently getting him debriefed on our precinct.”

“Yes,” David said. “I’ll be seeing you later, eh, Ed?”

Edward lips turned downward. He didn’t like being called “Ed”, especially by a man he did not know. Oh, not one bit. His brow twitched as irritation prickled across his skin.

“Edward,” he said a second later.

“Hm?” David asked.

“It’s Edward,” he said again, a little more forcibly this time.

“Right. Sorry,” David said. “Well, we’ll touch base later.”

Edward nodded, and quickly left the room, feeling less than dismissed. Agitation grew inn his belly, like a wildfire coursing through his veins. His gaze strayed back to your empty desk; he wished you were back, so he could complain all about Payne. Alas, he’d have to wait, even though his patience was growing thin. He returned to his office and collapsed into the nearby chair, defeat settling over his bones. Slipping his phone from his pocket, he sent you a quick text: What can’t you have for breakfast or dinner?

Your response came five minutes later: I’m having lunch with Jonathan.

Edward frowned. Dammit, Crane was always getting in the way. It had been a few weeks since the little incident back at the museum when he agreed to share you. A decision he was still questioning if it was the right one, but still, he was growing antsy.

Well, I’ll just have to join you, he sent back.

Don’t get mad if Jon is jealous, you replied.

Edward smirked. He could handle Crane. Setting his phone aside, he got back to work. Work, which really meant he was going to snoop into David Payne’s life. His fingers raced across the keys as he began prying into everything he could learn about Payne: the man was thirty-six, born and raised in Gotham. Both parents passed away years ago. Had a younger sister. Apparently, the man had quite the colorful career: he’d received several Community Engagement awards, two Lifesaving Medals, and a Silver Star for Bravery. He had a reputation for risking his life and protecting the innocent, no matter the cause. Several years ago, he moved to Metropolis, running his own department in the Gang Intelligence Unit. He was involved in several undercover operations and single-handedly took down three gangs in the city. Well, he certainly had a lot going for him, but Edward wondered why he would leave Metropolis and move back to Gotham. Why would he give up such a decorative career to come back here?

That was the question Edward found himself asking as he returned to work. It was just around one o’clock when he finally emerged from his office. His gaze immediately landed on your empty desk, but Mack was sitting at his, hunched over a series of folders piled up in front of him. He frowned, concern flashing through him.

“She’s in the break room,” Mack said, as if sensing what he was going to ask.

“Thanks.” Edward turned on his heels and headed that way, excited knots twisting in his stomach. It had been hours since he’d seen you, and he was growing desperate to look into your eyes, to hear your voice, but as he approached the break room, familiar, soft laughter filled his ears. Laughter he recognized as your own, that made his insides do a thousand flips. Crane, he thought. He must be in there now. But as Edward entered the room – he realized it wasn’t Crane at all. It was David Payne.

David was standing beside the table you sat at, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall in a sort of suave, cool guy pose that made Edward frown. You were leaning forward slightly, cleavage peaking out of your blouse, giving David quite the view. A light flush was across your cheeks, your eyes bright and shining in a way Edward hadn’t seen in weeks. It had been quite some time since Edward had seen you look so…alive. So carefree. So much brighter and filled with a lightness that he hadn’t seen from you in so long. Edward stepped into the room and cleared his throat. David lifted his gaze to him, and you turned your attention, your eyes focusing on him.

“Oh, hey,” you said, pursing your lips as if to contain a smile.

“I thought we were having lunch together?” Edward asked.

“We are,” you said, shifting in your seat. “But have you met David? David, this is my boyfriend, Edward Nigma.”

“We’ve met,” Edward mumbled.

“I’ve actually taken the position as Nigma’s handler,” David said.

“Oh – wait, really? You didn’t mention that,” you said, looking taken aback as you glanced between them, your eyes growing wide with concern.

David shrugged, a smile curving at the edge of his lips. He was too handsome, too devilish for Edward’s liking, and he couldn’t help but notice how the flush darkened on your cheeks.

“We were getting so caught up. I didn’t want to ruin the moment,” David said.

“The…moment?” Edward asked. A thousand questions spun through his mind. What moment had he walked in on? Why were you looking so captivated by David’s mere presence?

“David was one of my instructors at the police academy,” you explained.

“Oh.” Oh. Edward frowned harder, his hands curling into fists. Now it made sense: why the two of you seemed so familiar, so…close. In a way that Edward did not like. It certainly seemed more than that. Perhaps you’d once had a crush on him. He certainly had a swoon-worthy face, capable of making any girl melt.

You shifted uncomfortably as an awkward silence filled the room. “David just moved back to Gotham from Metropolis,” you said..

“So I’ve heard,” Edward said.

“I take it you looked into me already?” David asked, smirking.

“Call it natural curiosity to learn just who’s going to be taking over my handler duties,” Edward replied, matching his smirk, puffing out his chest a little more.

“I don’t blame you,” David said. “I’d be curious, too. But I have nothing to hide, Nigma. There aren’t any skeletons in my closet.”

Edward sincerely doubted that, but his smirk only grew. “Then we’ll get along, won’t we, Payne?” Pain in my ass, he thought.

“Am I interrupting something?” another voice suddenly asked. Cool, cold, calculated – the voice of Jonathan crane. Edward turned to find him standing there, his eyes narrowing. He wore a pair of brown slacks and a white button down with a brown vest, a bolo tie hanging around his neck that looked strangely like a noose.

“Nothing at all,” David said. “Dr. Crane, I presume? I’m David Payne. I’ll be taking over as Nigma’s handler.”

“A job I’m sure you’ll regret soon enough,” Jonathan said, looking around at the scene. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating; Edward could feel it prickling through the air like dry lightning.

David laughed at that, his shoulders shaking with the movement. “I think Nigma and I are going to get along just fine. I have my fair share of experienced with egomaniacs.”

Edward quirked a brow. “None like me, I’m sure.” His smirk widened.

David’s eyes narrowed, studying the two of them. He smirked in return, before pushing off the wall. His gaze dropped to you, his eyes filling with lightness.

You turned your attention back to Edward and Jonathan. “David was actually my instructor at the police academy. That’s how we know each other.”

Edward bristled, jealousy coiling in his stomach like a writhing snake. Beside him, he felt Crane stiffen, as if he, too, was catching the same jealousy. Suspicion crept into his bones, making the hairs on the back of Edward’s neck stand on end.

“Well,” David said. “I’ll leave you to your lunch. See you around, princess.” As he said it, he gave your shoulder a soft squeeze.

Edward immediately saw red. You flushed, a soft smile curving at the edge of your lips, as David nodded to him and Crane and headed out of the room. Another man touching you? You? And calling you princess? He didn’t like this – not one bit. How close you were to David, the flush to your cheeks, the look in your eyes…oh, he did not like this. And now, he couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes followed David as he left the room, before flicking back to them.

“Princess?” Edward muttered, quickly taking the seat across from you.

You blinked, straightening your shoulders. “Oh, it’s nothing. David just used to call me that back in the academy.”

“Then why are you blushing, pet?” Crane asked, his voice holding a smooth, controlled tone. He took the seat beside Edward, sitting straight up, hands resting on his knees.

“What? No, I’m not,” you stuttered, brushing a lock of hair behind your hair in that nervous way you always did. You looked between them with wide, uncertain eyes.

“You’re signs of attraction are clearly evident,” Crane continued. His voice was level, but Edward could detect a hint of jealousy within his tone.

It was your turn to bristle, your gaze dropping to the table. You pursed your lips into a thin line, avoiding both of their gazes. “David and I have…history. Okay? That’s it?”

“What kind of history?” Edward asked. He needed his curiosity sated.

The blush darkened on your cheeks. “Um…the inappropriate kind where I kind of slept with my teacher?” you said, though your voice was soft and meek, embarrassed.

Edward went very quiet and still for a long moment as he tried to process just what you said. The same man you had a history with was now his own handler, now going to be a thorn in his side, a pain in his ass here at the GCPD. Well, this was not a development he expected today.

“Oh,” Edward said, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Crane leaned back in his seat, lifting his chin slightly. “That’s more than inappropriate, pet. Were you planning on keeping this information from us?”

“Well, I was never expecting to see David again, so yes,” you replied. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. We just slept together. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

“And yet, you allow him to call you pet names and linger far too close,” Crane continued.

You bristled again, shifting in your seat. Edward watched as Crane’s eyes narrowed into slits, how he kept a close eye on your every move, as if your body language would give away how you were feeling. But you only pulled your eyes from him and looked down at your nails.

“You’re both overreacting,” you muttered.

“Oh, I assure you, detective, this is far from overreacting,” Edward grumbled. Jealousy continued to twist in his stomach. He did not like knowing another man slept with you. Of course, he wasn’t an idiot – he knew you weren’t a virgin. But still, the very idea of you giving your body to another man or woman burned an angry fire in his belly.

He saw Payne for exactly what he was: competition. Another man practically staking his claim over you? No, no way was he going to allow that to happen. Sharing you with Crane was bad enough as is.

You shot him a look, before your hand reached out to touch his own, your fingers soft and rough against his knuckles. “Neither of you need to worry,” you said. “I promise.”

Edward exchanged a look with Crane. But the man’s posture was stiff, his eyes uncertain; he was certainly doing a better job of hiding his own jealousy. Keeping it under a tight grip of cold control, not daring to show it. Edward leaned back in his seat, frowning.

“Both of you are insufferable,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “You need to behave.”

“Demanding things now, pet?” Crane asked.

“Yes, I am. Now, can we get lunch? I’m starving,” you said.

Edward nodded, but uncertainty continued to brew in his stomach. The day passed without seeing much of David, and soon, the days began to bleed into nights. Edward and Jonathan both kept their eyes on you, but as Edward soon discovered, David really was turning into a pain in his ass. David was not only a stickler for the rules, but he also had a strict set of rules for Edward to follow, too, which including needing to sign in and out of every shift, and have David confirm he’d even been here in the precinct at all. His ankle monitor needed to be checked every night before he left, to ensure it hadn’t been tampered with, and David instructed Edward to keep a detailed record of all the work he did every day. So, yes, Edward was truly experiencing his own pain and suffering with David at the helm as his handler. You had never been so strict, but of course, considering the nature of your relationship with him, you would never be able to be his handler again. Edward would gladly take Mack back any day, too. But, Edward supposed he couldn’t complain; you were his girlfriend, after all. Even if the last few weeks had been hell for the both of you.

As the days passed, however, Edward began to notice things that bothered him about David and the way he hung around you. He often stood too close, and Edward caught you and him laughing about something from your police academy days more than once. It brewed a dark jealousy within Edward’s stomach, especially now, as his gaze remained fixed on the both of you out in the bullpen, talking. You were sitting at your desk as he stood beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. Your cheeks had that familia flush to them, your eyes bright and shining. Edward couldn’t take his eyes off the sight, too glued to what he was seeing to stop himself. He’d been on his way back from the bathroom when he saw the scene, and now, he stood nearby, out of sight, his feet planted on the floor.

“So,” David was saying. “How are things going? You know I’m more than happy to help you with your cases.”

“That’s sweet of you to offer,” you said. “But I’ve got it covered.”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly, lips curving upwards. “Look at you. All grown up detective. Still thinking of running your own department one day?”

That seemed to make you pause, your eyes cast downward, the flush disappearing from your cheeks. “I don’t really know anymore,” you said.

Edward frowned. You’d never mentioned wanting to run your own department before, but his heart skipped a furious beat. He didn’t like when you didn’t share things with him. It irritated him more than he wanted it do. The very idea of you shutting him out aggravated him.

“Well,” David said. “I know you’ve got it in you. You always strived for bigger things. Better things.”

There was something in David’s voice that Edward didn’t like, as if he was thinking that he was so much better for you. Edward didn’t like this, not one bit. No one was better for you than him. He was the only one worthy of your attention and devotion…wasn’t he? Besides, what did the hulking brute have going for him, anyways? Besides being ridiculously good looking and having been awarded numerous medals, but still. Well, let’s see how he handled Gotham. The bumbling, hulking idiot.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thanks for the offer, David. I’ll let you know if I need any help.”

“Anytime, princess,” he replied, pushing off the wall, but he paused. His gaze fell on you, lingering much too long. “Do you want to get coffee after work?”

You blinked, taken aback, and a red haze filled Edward’s vision as he waited with bated breath. Anger rushed through his veins like hot wildfire. Please say no, please say no, he begged.

“We can catch up,” David said, almost a quiet plea.

You wee quiet for a moment, but you finally said, “Sure. I’d like that.”

The red haze in Edward’s eyes darkened as jealousy twisted in his stomach like a hot knife. He couldn’t believe this, that you would say yes to that bumbling idiot. It was egregious. Outrageous! How could you even think of getting coffee with another man? Scowling, Edward turned on his heels and stormed into the elevator, taking it all the way down to the bottom level for forensics. As soon as it opened, he walked with large strides, heart hammering against his ribcage, as he strolled into Crane’s office, only to find the man surrounded by beakers and chemicals alike, his gaze steely with hardened focus.

“She’s getting coffee with him,” Edward immediately balked out. “With him! Can you believe that?” He didn’t even bother to keep his voice down, didn’t care who heard.

Crane lifted his eyes to him, frowning. “With Payne?”

Edward nodded. He sucked in a breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to put a tamper down on his anger, bubbling and boiling over. “This is outrageous,” he muttered.

Crane was quiet for a moment, before setting aside the notepad in his hands. He pushed up his glasses farther onto the bridge of his nose. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Edward mumbled. It wasn’t like he could do anything. “Payne said he didn’t have any skeletons in his closet, but I’m sure he does. No one is that innocent. I’m sure I can find something to get him fired.”

“Careful, Edward,” Crane said, peering at him. “No need to get yourself into trouble.”

Edward scoffed out a laugh. “Easy for you to say, Crane. Aren’t you jealous of him?”

Crane didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was enough.

Edward frowned, turning away, grinding his teeth together until they ached. His heart pained in his chest like it was being squeezed by a fist. It hurt, knowing you were going to have coffee with another man who wasn’t him. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and turned back, frowning harder, studying Crane, who gazed at him with a cold curiosity.

“Your jealousy is written all over your face,” Crane said.

Edward bristled, feeling heat creeping up his throat. “I hate him,” he whispered. He didn’t even know Payne, didn’t care to. Edward just knew he hated him already.

“You’re afraid she’s going to leave you for him?” Crane asked.

“Of course I am!” Edward muttered, louder than he intended. “Here he comes in, with his stupid smug smile and dumb face, acting like he can control me and take her from me? Well, not a chance. I won’t let it happen. I refuse to let it happen.”

Edward wouldn’t lose you. He refused to.

He refused to let Payne take you from him, and he would do anything he needed to keep that from happening. Crane smirked, his scarred lips turning upwards.

“Then we at least seem to be in agreement,” Crane said, glancing back down at the vials and chemicals laid out before him.

Edward nodded, his eyes narrowing. So it seemed Crane wasn’t willing to share you with Payne or anyone else as well. Edward lifted his chin slightly, studying the man before him, as his insides churned with a sick satisfaction. Oh no. Edward would not let you go at all, and if Crane was willing to help keep you at his side, at both of their sides…Edward could live with that.

For now.

He could deal with all of the pain and suffering Payne thrust upon him as long as he didn’t lose you. Edward wouldn’t lose you – he never would.